The Vanishing Season (The Collector #4)(50)

“How much of a chance—” Johnson shuts her mouth with an audible click of teeth.

“We keep looking for Brooklyn,” Watts repeats gently. “She’ll lead us to the others.”

Her team nods and files out of the room. Ramirez and Kearney stay, anxious and silent.

Agent Dern sighs and pulls off her glasses, letting them fall gently on their necklace chain to rest against her chest. “Agent Eddison.”

“I’m on leave.”

“Yes.” She belatedly folds the arms of her glasses, still regarding him sympathetically. “It wouldn’t be remotely fair to ask you to focus on other paperwork while this is happening. There’s enough wiggle room that you can remain here with the teams, if you’d like, as someone with intimate knowledge of one of the cases in question, or if you’d like to return home to your family, I’ll certainly understand.”

For a moment, his lips white with tension, I’m not sure he’s even going to answer. Eventually, however, he manages a tight nod. “I’d like to help, if I can.”

“All right. Agents Sterling and Ramirez.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

Ramirez flicks my ear.

Agent Dern simply smiles. “Technically speaking, I should be pulling both of you off of this as well, but I’m not going to. Be careful with your actions, make good choices, and don’t make me regret my decision.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

Ramirez flicks my ear again.

“With your permission, Sam, I’d like to join them in the field for the duration of this case.” Vic holds her gaze when she turns to him. “Let me do this.”

She studies him for almost a full minute, then nods. “Provided the section chief has no complaint, I’m willing to hold you to the same terms as your agents.”

“Should I say ‘yes, ma’am’?”

“Sterling gets away with it because she’s sweet. You don’t have that to fall back on.”

Agent Dern stands and crosses to the door. “Agent Eddison, let’s get to my office and get your paperwork sorted.” He joins her, and she guides him out with a hand on his shoulder. He stumbles at the gentle pressure, walking beside her, his face caught somewhere between numb and pissed.

Kearney studies the board. “These girls were taken from all over the country.”

“That’s probably part of how he got away with it.”

“Are we assuming he, then?”

“It’s more likely, and easier than dancing around it, unless you think we’ll cut ourselves off from possibilities.”

“I guess it depends on why they’re being taken.”

“How are we going to do this?” Mercedes asks, her voice soft and scared in a way I haven’t heard in a little over three years. Not since blood-covered children started appearing on her front porch with a promise from a killer angel that Mercedes would keep them safe.

“This is a case,” Vic says firmly. “It’s personal, yes, but this is a case and we work it as a case. If anyone doesn’t think they can do that, tell me now. There’s no judgment, but we need to not find that out in the middle of things.”

We’re already in the middle of things.

But Mercedes—and it’s definitely Mercedes, not Ramirez—frowns at him. “I mean, how are we going to help Eddison?”

“I’ll drive your car back to the cottage, Mercedes,” Cass offers. “That way you can drive Eddison’s.”

“What will he be driving?”

“Nothing. Sterling can take him home. I know he’s a terrible passenger, but he shouldn’t be behind the wheel right now. I’ll stay with you again, and we can come back in the morning.”

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to remember how to breathe. A moment later, Vic’s hand is warm between my shoulder blades.

“You should know, Eliza, that whatever he says tonight . . .”

“I know.”

When everything is spiraling out of control, no one can dig in and hold steady. Not really. They lash out, desperate to grab onto anything.

They lash out.





Faith had been missing for a week.

Mamá had closed the door to Faith’s bedroom on Monday, unable to bear the sight of the empty space. She hadn’t been back to work all week, nor had Dad. Brandon missed the entire week of school.

And despite all the fliers and all the news coverage and all the volunteers scouring the city, there’d been no sign of Faith.

Brandon shut his bedroom door and sank back against it, sliding to the floor. His room was its usual state of messy, though not as bad as it was when he was younger. He’d come home from school one day to find his room entirely empty but for a sleeping bag, his alarm clock, and his school things. One day’s worth of clothing had hung from his closet door. It took him three months to earn everything back.

His room was maybe a little messier than usual, but neither of his parents cared, if they’d even noticed. They’d all been out looking for Faith at every moment, coming home only to collapse into bed and try to sleep. Downstairs, the kitchen counters and fridge were jam-packed with food the neighbors brought over for them so they wouldn’t have to worry about cooking.