said. “Maybe in the meantime we could hack into the case files somehow? Like through the police network?”
Lucas dug his laptop out of the bag and popped it open on the desk, making sure the monitor faced the back wall, away from any curious eyes.
I dropped into a chair while Lucas logged on, examining the rest of the library. I noted the number of people in our section—thirteen; the closest escape routes—emergency exit, far left corner, another one through the librarian offices to the right of the front door, worst-case scenario, picture window, ten feet away; and the furnishings, backpacks, and decorations, all in one swift stream.
Across the way, my gaze froze on a poster of two teen girls, reading on a beach. The sign planted in the sandbeside them read PENN’S LANDING .
My mind expanded the landscape of the sign, following the beach to a boardwalk. I saw a man, walking hand in hand with a child. A puff of pink cotton candy waved from her other hand.
No, wait. I felt the warm strength of the man’s hand, tasted the crunch of spun sugar on my tongue.
A hot wave pulsed through my head, and everything dimmed. The next instant, I saw the man throw his head back and howl with laughter, and then that image fizzled, revealing a blur of others that made my stomach churn.
Blissful emptiness as I held the gun steady, aiming at Peyton’s head.
Hunter thrashing against his restraints, his screams muffled by the gag in his mouth.
My finger, releasing the trigger.
And me, feeling nothing . . .
“I just sent a test email to Blythe and it bounced back, so hacking into the police network it is,” Lucas said, glancing up at me.
His words plucked me from my self-inflicted horror. I started, but couldn’t expel any sound through a suddenly dry mouth.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice concerned. “Are your sensors picking something up?”
“No, I . . .” I swallowed, wet my lips. Tried to decidewhat I should tell him. “It’s just . . . I need to know if Hunter is okay.”
“Right,” Lucas said, nodding. “Not knowing must be hard.”
Hard? Try unbearable.
“Once we do this case-file search, I can try tracking Hunter’s cell phone again,” Lucas offered. “I wasn’t able to turn anything up at the cabin, but maybe things have changed.”
He was just being nice. Odds were we wouldn’t be able to locate Hunter, or even Daniel for that matter. Every cell, every chip, every atom of my body froze when I considered the possibility that Hunter was still in danger. He’d only ended up at Quinn’s through my subterfuge. If anything happened to him . . .
Then again, if Hunter was fine and we located him, would he speak to me again? And even if he did, what would I say? How could he forgive me? During our last interaction, I’d been a monster.
Inside me, despair warred with hope. Together, maybe, we could all make our way back from the brink of darkness.
“Thanks. I appreciate it,” I managed to say, despite the growing lump in my throat.
Lucas nodded and started to click-click-click his way into the police database. As I watched his fingers, saw the code flow across the screen, I once again marveled at his skill.His eyes burned with determination.
In less than ten minutes, he was in.
Case numbers flitted across the screen, and Lucas performed a search.
Sarah Laurent Lusk
Her case number was 4220.
Lucas quickly found the docs associated with her case, numbered one through fifty-four.
Numbers thirty-one and thirty-two were missing. Deleted by an anonymous user. Which might not mean anything at all.
Our heads together, we scanned the existing files, Lucas downloading them onto a flash drive so we could peruse them in a more private location later.
As I read over his shoulder, a phrase in an early report by Edgar Blythe made me freeze.
. . . possibility of arson . . .
Lucas pointed at the line on the screen, making sure I caught it. But I’d already moved on, and a shadow rippled over me.
Lucas dug his laptop out of the bag and popped it open on the desk, making sure the monitor faced the back wall, away from any curious eyes.
I dropped into a chair while Lucas logged on, examining the rest of the library. I noted the number of people in our section—thirteen; the closest escape routes—emergency exit, far left corner, another one through the librarian offices to the right of the front door, worst-case scenario, picture window, ten feet away; and the furnishings, backpacks, and decorations, all in one swift stream.
Across the way, my gaze froze on a poster of two teen girls, reading on a beach. The sign planted in the sandbeside them read PENN’S LANDING .
My mind expanded the landscape of the sign, following the beach to a boardwalk. I saw a man, walking hand in hand with a child. A puff of pink cotton candy waved from her other hand.
No, wait. I felt the warm strength of the man’s hand, tasted the crunch of spun sugar on my tongue.
A hot wave pulsed through my head, and everything dimmed. The next instant, I saw the man throw his head back and howl with laughter, and then that image fizzled, revealing a blur of others that made my stomach churn.
Blissful emptiness as I held the gun steady, aiming at Peyton’s head.
Hunter thrashing against his restraints, his screams muffled by the gag in his mouth.
My finger, releasing the trigger.
And me, feeling nothing . . .
“I just sent a test email to Blythe and it bounced back, so hacking into the police network it is,” Lucas said, glancing up at me.
His words plucked me from my self-inflicted horror. I started, but couldn’t expel any sound through a suddenly dry mouth.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice concerned. “Are your sensors picking something up?”
“No, I . . .” I swallowed, wet my lips. Tried to decidewhat I should tell him. “It’s just . . . I need to know if Hunter is okay.”
“Right,” Lucas said, nodding. “Not knowing must be hard.”
Hard? Try unbearable.
“Once we do this case-file search, I can try tracking Hunter’s cell phone again,” Lucas offered. “I wasn’t able to turn anything up at the cabin, but maybe things have changed.”
He was just being nice. Odds were we wouldn’t be able to locate Hunter, or even Daniel for that matter. Every cell, every chip, every atom of my body froze when I considered the possibility that Hunter was still in danger. He’d only ended up at Quinn’s through my subterfuge. If anything happened to him . . .
Then again, if Hunter was fine and we located him, would he speak to me again? And even if he did, what would I say? How could he forgive me? During our last interaction, I’d been a monster.
Inside me, despair warred with hope. Together, maybe, we could all make our way back from the brink of darkness.
“Thanks. I appreciate it,” I managed to say, despite the growing lump in my throat.
Lucas nodded and started to click-click-click his way into the police database. As I watched his fingers, saw the code flow across the screen, I once again marveled at his skill.His eyes burned with determination.
In less than ten minutes, he was in.
Case numbers flitted across the screen, and Lucas performed a search.
Sarah Laurent Lusk
Her case number was 4220.
Lucas quickly found the docs associated with her case, numbered one through fifty-four.
Numbers thirty-one and thirty-two were missing. Deleted by an anonymous user. Which might not mean anything at all.
Our heads together, we scanned the existing files, Lucas downloading them onto a flash drive so we could peruse them in a more private location later.
As I read over his shoulder, a phrase in an early report by Edgar Blythe made me freeze.
. . . possibility of arson . . .
Lucas pointed at the line on the screen, making sure I caught it. But I’d already moved on, and a shadow rippled over me.
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