Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
It was lovely to hear after so much uncertainty.
When Crew enters the hotel, I immediately recognize him. His face doesn’t look as harsh as it did when I confronted him in the parking lot of the Lamaze class. He also doesn’t appear as old since suspicion isn’t hardening his features. He is a handsome man in his mid-thirties, and he wears a suit like he should be commanding the boardroom of a Fortune 500 company.
He exhales sharply when he spots my gawk before he crosses the room. He’s carrying a battered messenger bag, and his strides are efficient and long, reaching me quicker than three heartbeats.
“Macy?” He thrusts out his hand in offering as if confident in his assumption.
I nod, and we shake hands. His hold is firm but lacks the arrogance often seen in powerful men. It is reassuring and genuine. “Crew, it is so nice to meet you.”
After I officially introduce him to Grayson, we settle into a corner booth of a little café attached to the hotel. Crew removes a handful of files from his bag and spreads them over the table between us while I stare at him, trying to reconcile the man across from me with the boy who was pictured with Kendall a month before her abduction.
It’s weird imagining him with Kendall. Even after all the composite sketches and age-progressed images, I still picture my sister as a fresh-faced college student, her hair in a messy ponytail and a bright smile across her face. She was always laughing, as if the world were her own private joke.
The faint wrinkles creased in the corners of Crew’s eyes, and the flecks of silver at the temples of his dark hair, prove that time has passed.
We’ve all changed.
I more than anyone.
Crew seems like Kendall’s type, though. He has a magnetizing intensity and a sturdiness that draws you in like a magnet. I want to trust him and believe that together we will bring Kendall home.
Over the next hour, Grayson, Crew, and I dive into the files. We trade theories and piece together fragments of Kendall’s last known sighting. It isn’t as far back as I once believed, and it proves what I’ve always known. My sister is alive.
Crew kept everything. His personal emails and phone records with Kendall are the highest stack. He even kept a concert ticket stub with Kendall’s phone number scribbled on the back.
It’s from the night they met. Crew said he spotted her across a packed mosh pit, and he knew in an instant that she’d be his wife one day.
I won’t lie. I swooned like crazy during his story, and then I had to fight back tears.
Stupid hormones.
I ought to go easier on myself. To be loved like that is the greatest gift a man could give a woman. It is most likely what Kendall has held on to all these years, and what has kept her going.
Crew is as meticulous with his notes as I am, and as we break them down, hope flickers like a candle inside me. We’re making progress, yet despite my excitement, I can’t miss how often Grayson glances at his watch.
He’s hiding the cause of his distraction, but I know him too well. He’s meant to gallop in on a white horse and save Cameron in a little under forty minutes. The drive from the hotel to her apartment is thirty-five minutes. He’s cutting it close, and his concern about his possible tardiness dots his brow with sweat.
I tickle Grayson’s arm, my breath hitching when a spark jolts through my hand. I brush it off because of the love bubble Crew’s stories formed. It doesn’t belong to me.
“Go,” I say, stealing Grayson’s focus from my sister’s sale documentation. “I’ve got this.”
He stares at me with furrowed brows for half a second before he shakes his head. His brisk shake wafts the scent of my shampoo through my nose. “No. I am as invested in this case as you are. I want to stay.”
Though I value his support, he can’t heal until he focuses on himself. “I’ve got this,” I say again, squeezing the section of his arm he slapped while recalling how Cameron clung to him.
Reminding him of her fear from that night is cruel, but I’ll do anything if it’s for the greater good.
He searches my face for any signs of regret about my offer. When he fails to find any, I give him my best reassuring grin.
Finally, he gives in. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will. I promise.”
He acts as if I never spoke my last two words. “Anything, freckles. I don’t care how minute it seems.”
“I will.” I keep my reply short, confident that if my voice were to crack, he’d never leave.
His lips brush my temple, and he sucks in a deep breath before he dumps enough notes onto the table to pay our bill three times over and heads for the nearest exit. When he leaves, my heart only cracks a smidge. I’m being the bigger person. That should be rejoiced, not commiserated.