Page 8 of Fallen Stars

But never stop looking.

“What part do we play in this? If they’ve lost funding, are we doing this pro bono?”

“Our focus is one individual in particular. But finding them may lead to others.” Tymber sits taller in his chair and pulls his phone from his pocket. After a few taps on the screen, he sets the phone on the table and spins it to show me the screen. “Sydney Messer. Fourteen years old. Last seen two weeks ago outside a burger joint with friends in the city.”

I pick up his phone and study the photo as Tymber shares more details.

“Her friends got on a different bus, but no one thought anything of it. They’d done it countless times. And her bus was scheduled to arrive at the stop five minutes after the other.”

“She never made it on the bus, did she?”

Tymber shakes his head as his face turns a sickly gray. “No. Her father, James, checked her bus pass when they couldn’t getahold of her. The last time it was used was on her way to meet her friends.”

I sit back in my seat and lace my fingers on top of my head. “The family is paying us?”

He nods. “I told him it wasn’t necessary. He’s a friend. I’d help without compensation.”

“Wouldn’t take no for an answer?”

He scoffs. “Rich bastard,” he teases then sobers. “I think he thinks if he doesn’t pay us, we’ll stop looking too.”

“Like hell.”

Tymber doesn’t say a word but nods in agreement.

Does the business need money to thrive? Of course. The same as every other business.

But when it comes to the people we call our own, it isn’t about the money. It’s about doing the right thing. And finding this man’s daughter is at the top of the list.

“Do we have more than the picture?” I point at his phone.

Tymber scoots his chair away from the table, rests his elbows on his knees, and drops his forehead to his hands. “On the way. James is emailing over everything they have as soon as he gets more from missing persons.”

“Forward me what you already have and I’ll get started.”

College taught me several legitimate ways to work with computers and software. I busted my ass for four years and made several professors proud to call me their student. I have a wall’s worth of accolades praising me for my accomplishments that sit in a box in my closet. Hell, I still get the occasional call from one professor in particular, asking if I’ll mentor a student for the semester.

College was the first place I truly felt accepted for who I was and what I had to offer. It was the first place I felt respected. Most people would show that off by hanging their degrees and certificates on the wall. I keep them stowed away and safe.Locked up tight. They’re worth more than a cheap frame that someone could damage.

In the past twelve years, much of what I’ve learned is from a shit ton of trial and error. Seeing what would happen if I tweaked programs. Digging deep into the development of websites and messing with code, fucking it up for a laugh.

My professors wouldn’t be proud of that.

But with how fast technology evolves, sometimes shortcuts and illegal methods are necessary to get the job done. And in this case, find a lost loved one.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

“Sent.” Tymber rises from his seat and shifts his gaze to mine, eyes solemn and lips in a flat line. “This case stays between you and me, L. I’ll exhaust my resources and let you know what I find. As far as updating the family, I am the only point of contact for James and Estrella Messer.”

I push up from my seat and head for my desk, ready to start my search.

“Understood.”

“Ultimate confidentiality.”

“T…” I scoff. “Don’t you know? I’m the master of keeping secrets.”

TWO

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