Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Egan grasped my shoulder, shaking it. “We’ll find him. But you need to sleep. You will not do her any good if you cannot think from exhaustion.”
“I’ll sleep when she is home.”
“I think you should sleep now.” A voice came from the doorway.
I looked up, startled. “Julian?” I asked, confused. “Marcus?”
They walked in, looking serious.
I stood. “What the hell? How did you get here so fast?”
Marcus shook my hand. “We were already on the way for another reason. We detoured when Egan called.”
Julian stepped forward, hugging me hard. “You helped me find my wife. You took down the bastard holding her hostage. I’m here to help you find Raven. We both are.”
Marcus nodded. “But Egan is right. You need to rest.”
“I can’t. Not when I know she’s out there, scared, hurt, and God knows what else.”
Julian began to speak, but I held up my hand. “You didn’t rest until we got Tally back.”
He nodded. “Then let’s get at it.”
Hours later, I rubbed my eyes in frustration. “Whoever this asshole is, he is good. He’s fucking invisible.”
“Have you spoken to this Stewart guy who arranged the trip? Asked him who all he told about it?” Julian mused. “Maybe Andy overheard somehow?”
“No. He flies back today. I assume Deb will have contacted him and told him what happened, but I don’t know for sure.” I rummaged around my desk. “I have his card here. I’ll leave him a message to call.”
I called the number, leaving a message. “I’ll call the office and leave a number on his voice mail there as well.” I frowned as I studied the card. “Huh. Only his cell number—I hadn’t noticed that before.” I snorted. “Not that I looked. Stewart and I will never be buddy-buddy.” I typed in the web address on the card, bringing up the page. It took me directly to his profile, which had a picture and his bio plus his contact info.
“Jesus, this is badly done. They need a website overhaul,” I muttered, hitting the home page button and getting nowhere.
Julian took the card. “I’ll do it. I need to make a call as well. You concentrate on those fingerprints.” I had taken some to cut down on the time we needed. We were running every print Leo got through the Hidden Justice portals. It was slow work, but it had to be done. Julian left the room, closing the door behind him for privacy. I was sure he was calling Tally to check on her and the kids.
The room was quiet except for the clicking of keys, the odd grunt or noise, or the printer spitting out something we needed. The scent of coffee was heavy in the air, the aroma of the sandwiches they had brought in lingering. At their insistence, I ate the turkey club they ordered for me, the food tasting like ashes in my mouth. But I knew they were right and I needed the energy. Leo was downstairs running the building, doing what he could from his computer. Egan was trying every camera he could think to access to find an angle that would give us a hint of the kind of car Raven had been transferred to and where it went.
I tossed aside another set of prints that came up with nothing. I had six others running. Egan glanced at his phone and left the room.
I checked on Raven’s still unworking tracker, then studied the footage we had again, looking for a clue. Any clue. My computer beeped as a hit came in, and I pulled up the information.
“I may have something.”
I scanned the screen, suddenly on my feet as adrenaline flowed into my body. “Fingerprints came back with the name John Andrew Allan,” I read out loud. “Files are sealed.”
Marcus looked over my shoulder. “Not to us.”
I slammed my hand on the table. “No known address. Motherfucker—this is him. I know it is. The mug shot looks like Andy. Younger, but it’s him.”
Julian walked in with Egan. “I have something too, Damien.”
“What?”
“Stewart Anderson doesn’t exist. He mirrored a website from a company in the States and dropped himself in there. He created a whole fake profile.”
“But I met him.”
“I think we found your crumb.” He paused. “I think you met Andy’s alias.”
I gaped at him. “How is that possible?” I asked. “They look nothing alike.”
“Or so you thought.” He handed me the sketch Egan had done of Andy, then the picture he’d obviously printed off the fake website.
“Nothing alike,” I said again.
He handed me another piece of paper. “Look without the glasses, the colored contacts, or the wig.”
I stared down at the picture. “Holy fuck.”
“Take away the prosthetic add-ons, the scruff, and the padded shoulders…” He trailed off.
“It’s him.” I stood, rage setting in. “You mean to tell me I had dinner with that fucker—that he sat across the table, acting like someone else, planning all this? That he set this all up?”