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"By the border. Some warehouse." Her lips quivered as she spoke, the name of the place an apparition on the tip of her tongue.
"And you're sure you don't know the name of the person she was meant to meet?"
"Very sure," the woman said, shaking her head.
"And how did she communicate with this person? Did you overhear... did she tell you?"
The rust-haired woman paused, frowned, wrinkling her freckled nose, and then she said, "I think... Yeah, I must've overheard. Talking on the phone."
Ethan tensed next to her. He glanced at Rachel, a significant look in his eyes.
She kept calm, but if Anna Longshadow had been communicating with someone via phone... then there'd be records of the calls.
Rachel felt another little shiver of excitement.
Records could be traced.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The side office was a cramped cube of desolation within the reservation police headquarters, its walls a patchwork of peeling beige paint and corkboards burdened with layers of flyers and notices long forgotten. A single barred window offered a view of the arid landscape beyond, but the glass, streaked with years of grime, hardly let any light in. The hum of an aged air conditioning unit fought against the stifling heat, providing a monotonous soundtrack to the scene.
"Nothing," Rachel muttered, tapping the edge of her computer which displayed the phone records with a rhythm that matched her mounting irritation. She slouched over the metal desk, which was littered with printouts and her partner's open laptop—a stark contrast to the rest of the room's antiquated setup. Ethan hunched beside her, his eyes narrowing as he scrolled through the digital logs on the screen.
"Zilch," Ethan echoed, his voice a blend of exasperation and disbelief.
Rachel ran a hand through her dark hair, fingers brushing the thin strand of beads in her bangs, the gesture doing little to alleviate the tension that seemed to crackle around her. "Anna Longshadow was heard on the phone with whoever she was meeting up with. Phone records don't just..."
"Vanish?" Ethan supplied, his gaze still fixed on the laptop. He clicked through another page, the motion methodical, almost robotic. "We're missing something. Let's go over it again," Ethan said, his hand hovering over the mouse. "One more time from the top."
"From the top," Rachel agreed, steeling herself for another dive into the abyss of data. She leaned forward, her posture all business now, the frustration channeled into determination.
The cursor blinked—tauntingly stationary on the sea of digits and timestamps that flooded the laptop's screen. Rachel's fingers hovered over the keyboard, each keystroke a deliberate probe into the digital ether.
"Wait," Ethan's voice cut through the rhythmic hum of machinery that filled the cramped office space. "Look at this."
Her voice was a low whisper, eyes narrowing as she leaned in. "Another number?"
"Unlisted. Doesn't match any of Anna's known contacts." He scrolled to highlight a series of calls.
Rachel's pulse quickened. A burner phone.
"Texts, too," Ethan pointed out.
"Times?" she asked, though her gaze had already caught the pattern—late-night exchanges, the final one just hours before Anna vanished.
"Last call ended at 11:47 p.m.," he confirmed.
"The person she was meeting?"
Suddenly, Rachel tensed, noticing a subtle movement behind them from the hall of the reservation department. She turned slowly, and she spotted a shadow shifting beyond the frosted glass of the door. A figure loomed, an indistinct silhouette save for the unmistakable outline of a uniformed shoulder.
"Shit," Rachel muttered under her breath, her spine stiffening. The native cop on duty.
"Problem?" Ethan's voice remained calm, but his eyes sought hers, questioning.
"Company outside." She kept her voice level, her eyes locked onto the screen while her brain worked overtime. "Can't risk him seeing this."
"Why not?"
