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 gave a small huff of laughter. “That clears absolutely nothing up.”
He couldn’t help the quirk of his lip. “Tor is an acronym for The Onion Router. Basically, this router uses several layers of encryption and routing mechanisms to ensure complete anonymity.”
“So it’s not traceable at all? Even by law enforcement or by . . . a hacker?”
“No. It was actually developed in the nineties by US intelligence to ensure their communications and online activities couldn’t be traced.”
She took in a breath and blew it out slowly. “So then—”
“Cami, I’m sorry, but before I answer any more questions, you need to explain to me what this is about.”
Cami unwrapped one hand from around the mug and drummed her fingers on the table. Then she stood up and paced one way, blew out a breath, and then paced in the other direction before turning toward him. He noticed she was wearing two different shoes. She was obviously exhausted, and he felt a completely unwanted grip of protectiveness. He wanted to offer her a soft place to lie down . . . a blanket. He pushed those thoughts aside. But then when he met her eyes, he saw the vulnerability there and that protectiveness rose again, unbothered by his violent dismissal. “I had a baby. You . . . you know that.”
That moment in the grocery store slammed into his memory, the buzz of the overhead lights, the coppery scent of change on his fingers, the way his heart had gaped open when he’d seen her swollen stomach and the helpless look in her eyes. Kind of like now. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I know.”
“I put him up for adoption.”
Oh. Damn. He felt a sharp pang of sympathy. And deep understanding. She’d gotten pregnant during a horrible crime, and she’d birthed her attacker’s baby, but she hadn’t kept him. And who could blame her for that?
She sat back down, looking even more defeated. And suddenly he felt like he needed to take a seat too. So, he went to the table and pulled out a chair and sat across from her. “What you’re here about, does it involve the child you put up for adoption?” Was she looking for him? Did she think the dark web would provide her answers somehow?
She nodded and then bit at her lip, quiet for a moment as she appeared to consider whether to give him more information or not. Finally, she said, “I received a photo last night, and then a video that was posted to some sort of drop box on the dark web.”
“What kind of photo and video?” he asked haltingly.
“Both were of a young boy, about the age my son would be, and he’s in a room with only a bed and a bedpan and bottle of water on the floor, and there are bars on the only window.”
That sounded . . . not good. “Did you call the police?”
“I was told not to. I was told that if I did, innocents would be hurt. I’m assuming the person meant the boy, but I don’t know for sure.”
“Told? This person called you too? What did they sound like?”
“I’m almost positive it was a woman, but her voice was made to sound high pitched and sort of fast, like one of those windup dolls. And . . . it almost seemed prerecorded. Like, it didn’t really respond to what I said. It wasn’t so much a conversation as just instructions with pauses in between. Anyway, at first, I thought it was just a video that was sent, but now I think it’s a live feed. I stayed up and watched it, and it didn’t repeat at any point. I mean, it might be a really long video but . . . Anyway, she, this voice, said I had four days to locate him and that if I contacted the police, the video would be removed, and the boy would be given to others who don’t have his best interests at heart. I got the sense that was putting it mildly and that he’s in real danger. And I was told that if I contacted the authorities, I’d lose my opportunity.” She gulped in a breath as if she hadn’t breathed through any of what she’d just spoken. As if it’d poured from her, almost of its own accord, and she hadn’t been able to pull in air until it was out. He went over her words, digesting them.
“Opportunity for what? Cami, this doesn’t make any sense.”
“The opportunity for a do-over,” she said. “That’s what I was offered.”
“A do-over? What kind of do-over?”
“The only thing I can come up with is that this person, or persons, whoever called and sent me the video, is offering me a chance to save my son. Because maybe . . . maybe, I didn’t the first time around.”