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Fucking daaaays.
And up until this flicker of recognition, it’s been nothing but un-fucking-helpful.
“There?” Reid questions.
“Yeah. The brunette in the background.”
Sitting forward, I get closer to the screen and point her out the second she moves back into the frame.
“Her. I know her.”
“Fuck me, J. She’s blurry as fuck.”
“I must have been wasted when I met her then because I definitely know her.”
“Jesus. Okay.” He takes a screenshot and quickly emails it off to the team he has working on all this to see if they can pull any facial recognition from the image.
Something tells me they won’t because it is really fucking blurry.
“I really fucking hope you’re right and we’re getting somewhere,” he mutters. “Go through this list, see if any names stand out.”
“You know I don’t do names.”
He shakes his head but keeps his eyes on the screen.
Mav and Alana are in bed. With every hour that passes, I can see a little more of the hope in her eyes diminishing.
She is so desperate for answers, even if they aren’t the positive kind.
And I desperately want to be able to give them to her, even if the news is bad.
She needs closure. She needs to know that it’s okay to stop searching. To stop hoping for something that we all know is probably impossible.
“That’s her again, isn’t it?”
I squint, looking at the fuzzy outline of the girl up on stage.
“Maybe. It’s hard to tell.”
“Fucking hell, you recognized her when she was smaller a minute ago.”
“Don’t take that tone with me. I don’t need to be sitting here in the middle of the fucking night.”
“Yes, you do,” he snaps.
He’s right, too. Asshole.
I do need to be here right now. I’d do anything for my little dove. And right now, I’m not sure what else I can do to help.
“Wait.” Reid growls, sitting forward in his chair. “Her.”
He manages to hit pause on the screen just as the girl turns toward the screen.
“She’s a Creek girl. We went to school with her.”
My heart rate increases and my palms begin to sweat.
“Holy shit, Reid. We might find her.”
