Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
An hour and forty minutes later, Conrad and Barrow sat in an interview room with the mother, breaking the news. Her daughter was safe, but in custody, where she would stay. The woman crumpled, no part of her ready to accept her only child’s starring role in this nightmare of a case.
“If you need anything else, feel free to contact someone at GBH,” Conrad intoned, itching to bolt. This much emotion gave him hives.
Barrow aimed an incredulous look in his direction before whipping out his wallet and pulling out a card. “This has my personal number,” he told her, thrusting the paper into her hand and giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll help any way I can.”
“Thank you, Tim.” She offered him a watery smile. Her gaze darted to Conrad, and the smile faded. She nodded stiffly. “Agent Ryan.” Head high, she made her escape.
Barrow tsked at him as soon as the door shut behind her. “You never even offered the poor woman your first name?”
So? It wasn’t like he’d intended to build a lasting friendship with her. “Your point?”
His partner barked a laugh. “I’m just happy we got this wrapped up so quickly. With Hightower slated to be primary on the next case, I might get caught up on my paperwork for the first time in a decade. But probably not.”
The all-nighters never bothered Conrad; he rarely slept, anyway. But the chance to work on Stella, his car, should have thrilled him. So why wasn’t he happy?
After a predictably sleepless night, Conrad headed to GBH headquarters, ready to right another wrong. Any wrong. Though he lived only three miles away, traffic turned the ten-minute drive into a half-hour commute. Classic downtown Atlanta. At least the view was nice. Morning sunlight dawned over sleek modern architecture and older buildings steeped with charm. Tree clusters displayed streams of hanging moss, bringing in a hint of nature to the cityscape.
He parked in his assigned spot in the underground garage, stalked to security and flashed his badge. An elevator carried him to his floor and straight into the bullpen. A large space filled with desks unhindered by cubicles. Scribblings made with dry erase markers covered clear walls and showcased link charts for ongoing cases. Several phones rang in tandem, blending with different discussions between employees. The scent of coffee overshadowed all others.
Men and women moved about at a fast clip. Closed offices belonging to senior agents lined the perimeter, and that’s where he found Tim deep in conversation with fellow agent Karen Hightower and their boss, Maxine Randall. Terse expressions and body language abounded.
No celebrating yesterday’s victory? Didn’t take a detective to know something bad had happened.
He joined the threesome. Wasting no time, he commanded, “Tell me.”
Hightower didn’t spare him a glance. The sleek brunette kept her attention fixed on the boss. “If you’re sure—”
“I am,” Ms. Randall interrupted with a sharp undertone. Though she neared retirement, her strength could not be called into question. She’d risen in rank when few female agents had walked these halls, let alone specialized in homicide investigations.
Conrad welcomed her no-nonsense demeanor. She never cracked a joke and often sent the toughest of men scurrying to their desks with a simple lift of an imperious eyebrow.
To be honest, he more than appreciated his team leader. He admired her.
“You’ll do whatever grunt work you’re assigned,” she informed Hightower.
Grunt work? Hightower was due to be primary. Had she ticked off the boss and earned a punishment?
“Grunt work,” the agent muttered, a muscle jumping in her jaw. “Of course. Happy to do it.” Hightower marched off, anything but thrilled, her heels clicking against the tiles.
Conrad wasn’t offended by the lack of acknowledgement. From the beginning, the decorated agent had reminded him of himself. Guarded. Driven. Focused. Even somewhat detached from the rest of the world.
Ms. Randall leveled her razor-sharp gaze on him. “You’re in charge, Conrad. Tim will fill you in on the way. Karen will be at your disposal.”
Hands in his pockets, he nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.” He never minded partnering up with Barrow, a workhorse who excelled at putting his nose to the grindstone and getting things done.
“We’ve got a bit of a drive. Let me grab a jacket.” The other man jogged to his office, where he donned a GBH windbreaker to protect himself from Conrad’s “arctic” air conditioner setting inside any and every vehicle, then joined him at the bay of elevators. “We should beat forensics, since they haven’t yet mobilized.”
They went quiet as they made their way to the parking garage. No need for any lingering journalists, witnesses or family members to overhear case details.
Barrow climbed behind the wheel of his SUV while Conrad strapped himself into the passenger seat. Soon they were soaring along the highway, and yes, the air conditioner blasted at full capacity.