Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 128083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
She downloaded Tor and then launched it and copy and pasted the address she’d been texted. A video showed up on her screen. It was the same room that had been in the still photograph, only now, it was in video format, and the child was lying on the bed, back to the camera. It appeared he was sleeping.
She blinked, her hands clammy as her heart sped faster. What was she supposed to do with this? It was just a video of a room. She was meant to locate this child somehow? It was an impossible ask. Or offer. Or whatever.
If you fail to find him in four days, he will be given to other interested parties who, shall we say, do not have his best interests at heart.
With a shaky exhale, she made the video larger and squinted as she looked around the dim room. Was there something on the walls that would indicate where this was? A cross-stitch that read, We love our home at 1234 Maple Lane, San Diego, California. She swallowed back the high-pitched, panicked chuckle that threatened to burst from her mouth. It was fueled by fear.
What do I do?
She really had no choice but to notify the police. She’d been sent a video wherein a child was threatened, and—even if that wasn’t true—he was alone in a room with bars on the window and needed rescuing from that predicament alone. She’d been “invited” to find him, but there was no conceivable way to do that. He might be anywhere on planet Earth, and all she had to go on was a video of a small, mostly empty room. And who was to say that the video was even recent? It might have been shot ten years ago. There was nothing to indicate place, but also nothing to tell her the date or decade.
Maybe there’s a way to trace these calls. But how, without the police?
I could call Dad. Maybe he still has some work contacts who could help.
She shook her head. No. He’d been retired now for eleven years. He’d moved to a new neighborhood and remarried two years before, to a nice woman named Gigi who was thoughtful and good to her dad. She’d gone to the wedding and wished him and her new stepmother well, then returned home and cried. She didn’t fault him for wanting another shake at happiness, though. He deserved to find love again.
But her dad would insist on calling the police. Which might be best . . . but not the thing she was willing to do first.
Forget the why or how, she told herself. Did she believe this was legitimate? In any way?
She didn’t know. But a child was involved, and she would not make the wrong decision without thinking this through. It probably was far more than it seemed, and she needed to get her thoughts in order and come up with a plan before making any move at all. She needed to understand the potential technological weaknesses behind whatever this was.
She sat there, her heart pounding and her brain doing somersaults as she filtered through all her contacts and friends, anyone and everyone she knew. Most of the people she was close to worked with butterflies, for the love of God.
She could only think of one person who might have the information she needed—but that person told me bluntly that he wanted nothing to do with me. Contacting him at all was a risk she wasn’t sure she should be willing to take.
But what if the child on the screen was in true danger?
Chapter Twenty
“Damn it.” Rex pulled his hand back and looked at the hole in the glove at his index finger, where a large thorn was sticking in the tiny patch of exposed skin. He plucked it out and tossed it aside, and then gave the rosebush a glare for good measure. “Savage,” he murmured.
Cami’s company had done a great job clearing the paths and making the garden look like a garden, and not a jungle, but he’d still decided to cut the remaining plants back and further groom the backyard. Now that the heavy lifting was done, he could see this space being a real selling point.
He stood up when he heard the sound of a vehicle drawing closer on the dirt road and then up his grandpop’s driveway, followed closely by a car door opening and closing. His brow knit as he moved toward the back door. When a knocking sounded, he started walking through the house.
Who the hell was that at eight a.m. on a Saturday? He pulled the door open and nearly fell over when he saw Cami Cortlandt standing in front of the porch. Had she knocked and then stepped all the way back, like she expected him to answer the door with a weapon and she needed to be able to run? She shifted on her feet, looking deeply uncomfortable, and also like she hadn’t slept a wink the night before. In one sweeping glance, he saw that her eyes were red rimmed, her hair was half falling out of an updo, and she had mascara smeared underneath her eyes. He frowned at her as he began removing his gloves, one finger at a time.