Page 33 of Girl, Unseen

But then movement caught her eye. Second floor, east window. Just a twitch of curtain, but enough. Someone knew they were here.

‘See that?’

‘Yeah.’ Luca unholstered his weapon and checked the clip. ‘So much for surprise.’

They edged across the yard towards the farmhouse. Farm equipment lay where it had died – a combine harvester missing its teeth, something that might have been a hay baler, various implements Ella couldn't name. The whole scene felt wrong somehow, like one of those pictures where nothing quite lined up. Suddenly, a door slammed somewhere at the rear, but Ella couldn’t be sure of the exact location. Her pulse quickened as adrenaline hit her system.

‘Cops?’ came a gravelly voice. Ella spun. A man stood in the doorway of the nearest barn – sixty-something, built like he bench-pressed hay bales for fun. His overalls had probably been blue once, before sun and work bleached them gray.

Ella held up her badge. ‘Special Agent Dark. This is Special Agent Hawkins. We're looking for Felix Blackwood.’

The man strode closer and rested against his pickup. His face hardened into something carved from old oak. ‘My boy? What's he done now?’

‘He’s your son?’

'Yes, he is. Why?'

‘Just need to ask him some questions.’

‘About what?’ The old man's eyes tracked their badges. His hand never left the pickup's tailgate. Ella had interviewed enough farmers to know there was probably a shotgun mounted in the back window. Legal in these parts, but that wouldn't make the holes any smaller.

Ella shifted her weight. The burns liked to remind her they existed whenever she stood still too long. ‘That’s our business. Is he home, Mr. Blackwood?’

The old man's eyes narrowed. Years of dealing with property taxes and bank loans had taught him that authority never brought good news. He planted his feet like he was getting ready for a long siege. ‘Everything on this farm is my business. Including my son.’

Ella watched the father's hands – thick-knuckled, scarred from decades of manual labor. The kind of hands that could break bones without trying. But there was something else in his stance. A tension that went beyond simple farm-owner protectiveness.

He was afraid.

‘Mr. Blackwood, the sooner we speak with Felix, the sooner-,’

But then she felt a tap on her shoulder. The words died in her throat. Ella glanced at Luca then followed his gaze to the farmhouse. There, barely visible in the shadow of a sagging porch, stood a young man. He was built like a strong wind could knock him over. Black clothes, black hair falling in his eyes, skin that had never seen sunlight.

‘Felix Blackwood?’

His head snapped up at his name. Their eyes met across thirty yards of mud and dead grass. He looked nothing like a killer. But then, they rarely did.

For a few seconds, nobody moved. The wind died. The generator's hum faded to nothing. Time stretched like hot glass, ready to shatter. Felix’s eyes darted between Ella and Luca, taking in their badges, their stance, the whole federal package.

Then something shifted in his expression – that micro-second change that Ella had seen a hundred times before. The moment when flight won out over fight. It set off every alarm she owned.

And then Felix bolted.

‘FBI! Stop!’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Tessa Webster believed three things: life was too short for bad coffee, New York looked better from a thousand feet up, and anyone who said they weren't scared on their first balloon flight was a liar. Twenty years of piloting had taught her that much.

'Second flight of the day.' She took another sip from her travel mug and checked her watch. Two PM. Perfect conditions – the November wind had settled into that sweet spot between too much and not enough. Her morning group had been a family of four from Minnesota. Now, it was just her and one passenger. 'Nothing like an afternoon ascent.'

The girl stood by the basket with fancy phone in hand. She was staring at it like it held the secrets of the universe. Kids these days didn't know how to be present. Always one eye on their screens, like they might miss out on some earth-shattering meme if they looked up for more than five seconds. The girl introduced herself as Hermes, which had made Tessa raise an eyebrow. ‘Like the Greek god?’ she’d asked.

‘Family name.’ The girl – maybe twenty-two, twenty-three – wore expensive hiking gear that had never seen a trail. ‘My parents were… weird.’

Now, Tessa asked, ‘First time flying?’ Tessa made sure her smile was extra reassuring. Nervous passengers were part of the job. Her unofficial title was chief anxiety wrangler.

‘First time in a balloon. I've been on planes before.’ Hermes shuffled her feet, scraping patterns in the dirt with her sneaker. Some unreadable symbol, there and gone. ‘Is it really safe?’

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