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I press down the fact that my body knows him well, the time and distance not mattering at all, and keep flipping through the book.
If I keep looking at him, staring at his mouth, I’m going to end up saying something I have no damn business saying.
I blink rapidly, trying to force the pictures back into focus. He may have a point about needing a break. I’d never forgive myself if I miss finding the man who has Alyssa because I’m too tired.
“What if I don’t find him in these books?”
Trenton looks up from the table. “The next step will be looking through missing women’s pictures.”
I press my hand to the middle of the mug book, irritated beyond rationalization.
“Why didn’t we start there? That has to be easier.”
He swallows, leaning in a little closer. “Karen Bishop could’ve been from anywhere in the U.S. There are fewer arrests in this county than there are missing women.”
He looks disgusted with having to relay this information.
“This will be quicker,” he says, his eyes searching mine, and it’s as if I can hear his thoughts.
Seeing face after face of missing women would do more damage to me.
I know it to be true because just the mention of them makes my stomach turn.
“Okay,” I tell him, slow to pull my eyes away from his.
Is it bad that I just need a hug right now? Would he turn me down if I ask?
I know he wouldn’t, and the danger of that has the power to hurt me as well. He’ll give me exactly what I need even if it’s something he doesn’t want to do. That in and of itself is forcing something on him, and I don’t ever want to be the person that encroaches on someone again.
I look back down at the book, realizing I have a lot of things in my life to work on, and gasp.
“What is it?”
“That’s him,” I say, pointing at the book but keeping my finger hovering over the page. Even in black and white, I don’t want to touch a likeness of this man.
The book disappears from my blurry line of vision as Trenton turns it to face him.
“Ronald Higgle? You’re sure? This mug shot was taken over fifteen years ago.”
“His eyes,” I manage, my chest heaving up and down with a weird combination of relief and fear. “I looked into the man’s eyes. I refused to look away.”
“Of course, you did,” he says, and I hear the pride in them, with him knowing it’s very unlikely I’ll ever back down from a challenge, even when facing death.
I pray he never finds out I begged for my life. I just couldn’t stand anyone else knowing how weak I was in that moment.
“Do we call the officer back in?”
He shakes his head as he types on his phone. “Not yet. Let me get some information to Max.”
Not thirty seconds after he sends the text, he gets one in return.
“Is this him?” Trenton asks as he turns his phone around to reveal the devil himself.
“Y-yes, that’s him,” I say quickly, looking away from the driver’s license image on the screen.
He sends several more texts, firing them off in rapid succession before standing and leaning out into the hallway. The officer arrives with another man.
Trenton looks less than pleased when he’s instructed to sit tight by the police officer.
He sends more texts, the crease between his eyes growing deeper and deeper before he presses something on his phone and holds it to his ear.
“I think—” he begins when the call connects but is quickly shut down.
I don’t know who he’s talking to, but it’s obvious he’s not happy with what he’s being told.
“I wouldn’t,” he hisses, waiting for another response. “I’d torture his ass first, then I’d—”
He growls, gripping his phone tightly as he pulls it from his ear.
“I want to help,” I tell him when he turns back to face me.
“You did help, Grace. I’m being told to stay behind, to not get any further involved. The police are heading to the property to do a wellness check with the hopes they see something that will allow them to enter the home.”
“Allow them? They’re the damn police.”
“And they have to have a search warrant. They’re working on finding a judge to sign one right now.”
“So we’re just going to sit here and wait?”
A slow devious grin spreads across his face as he shakes his head. “We’re going to wait for the station to clear out, then we’re going to head over there.”
“But we don’t have the address.” The only thing in the mug books is a picture, their name, and the date of their arrest. I imagine that’s purposeful so people don’t lie about finding who they’re meant to be searching for and end up on some vigilante mission.
His phone chimes with another text. “We do now.”
