Page 69 of Haunted

“She is not a motherfucking game. She’s my whole life.”

“We know, K, and we’re going to find them.” Lanie got in my face.

“Fuck, yes we are,” Koen agreed.

“Let me go, Duncan.”

“You straight?”

“Not even a little,” I seethed. “But I’m going to fake like I am until we find this bastard so I can gut him with my bare hands.”

He loosened his hold enough to spin me around. Gripping the back of my neck, he drew me in until our foreheads touched. “I’ll help you hide his body if it comes to that.”

“I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t be talking about hiding bodies in front of our RAC,” Noah broke in. “Just know, I’ve got a shovel and five acres I can lend to the cause.”

“Jesus Christ,” Lanie snapped. “We are fucking FBI agents, not vigilantes. This fucker has a record, right? Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been in the system.”

“On it.” Nelson ran out of the room, presumably to access his computer.

“I’ll watch the video again,” Waverly picked up the phone from the table. “Maybe there’s something in the background which can point us to where he’s taken them.”

Methodical precision; it was the way we worked every single case in the past, only this time the stakes were high. Disastrously so. My love for Henley was the only thing keeping me grounded, keeping me from tearing the world apart looking for her. It wouldn’t do any good and would only waste what precious time wehad. Every second of knowing she was in the hands of a serial killer had the blood in my veins boiling like a volcano ready to erupt.

“Holy shit,” Waverly exclaimed. “Her earrings, Keaton. She’s wearing the earrings I gave you.”

“Nelson!” I bellowed. Fast as lightning, he ran back into the room, laptop in hand.

“I’ve got a picture,” he panted, completely out of breath from the short jaunt.

“Fuck the picture. I need you to activate the tracker in Henley’s earrings.”

“Shit. Yeah, I can do that, but you need to take a look at this first.” He shoved the computer into my hands. Looking down at the screen, I saw the booking photo of a man around twenty years of age. There was something familiar about his face, though for the life of me, I couldn’t place him.

“Keaton,” Noah called out. “What was the name of the man who visited your dad in prison?”

“Now’s not the time, Noah.”

“Now’s the perfect damn time. I think I know who we’re looking for.”

His expression morphed into calculated rage when I said, “Creed Schalman.”

“Son of a bitch. It’s an anagram.”

“What’s an anagram, Noah? You aren’t making any sense,” Koen crossed the space between them.

“Creed Schalman. Declan Marches. They have the exact same letters, just rearranged.” He quickly scribbled the names on the whiteboard nailed to the wall.

“Still not following,” Lanie sputtered, plopping down into a nearby chair.

Suddenly, the photo on Nelson’s computer came intofocus. The eyes, the slope of his nose. Noah spoke the name as the image became clear.

“Camden Charles.”

“Motherfucker!” I roared.

“I’ve got a location,” Nelson interrupted. “The tracker is pinging somewhere inside Camp Creek State Park. I can’t get you an exact location this far away.”

“I don’t need one.” Turning, I saw the moment Duncan realized where they were.

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