Page 7 of Girl, Unseen

‘I think...’ Ella paused, organizing her thoughts. Edis hated rambling. ‘I think we've got a respected academic who spent twelve years building a routine, then broke it without warning. No preparations, no goodbyes. Just grabbed his geological tools and disappeared.’

Silence stretched between them. Ella could almost hear Edis weighing the options, running his own cost-benefit analysis. She could feel him coming round to the idea, but she played her last kicker regardless. ‘Besides, sir, remember what the docs said? You said you’d owe me one.’

After Ella’s showdown with the Scarecrow, she’d been sent to the Bureau's medical review board. They’d tallied up all of the injuries she’d endured over the years like a grocery bill; permanent scarring to her legs, lung damage from smoke inhalation, multiple concussions, a malunion in her forearm.

The damage was enough to warrant medical intervention, so the doctors had pushed an SF-50 form across the table – a Personnel Action document that would process her medical retirement with a $500,000 payout.

All she had to do was sign a waiver disqualifying her from field work. Permanently trade her badge for a pension and a desk somewhere. Back to her old life, maybe in Intelligence or Counter-Terrorism.

She’d wrestled with the idea, slept on it for a few nights. Ripley had taught her to get in and get out of this game before a bullet decided for you, and with how many times Ella had come close to death over the years, accepting the offer seemed like the wise choice.

But then Edis had pulled her aside and offered her door number two: stay on active duty, and he'd make sure the Bureau covered every medical bill, every therapy session, every prescription. No questions asked. Because apparently losing Ella would cost the FBI a lot more than half a million dollars.

Ella had torn up the SF-50 form the same day.

‘Low blow, Ella. Using that against me.’

‘I told you I would.’

A long sigh crackled through the line. ‘Fine. Take a look. But you’ve got until tomorrow morning to make something of this, got it?’

‘Of course. If I send you a few details, can you work your magic?’

‘Jesus, Dark. You want me to clean your car too?’

‘No, but you can put a trace on our missing guy’s car if you want. I’ll text you the plate number.’

‘Send it to Surveillance. I’ll email them and tell them to fast-track it.’

‘Thank you, sir. Do I need to prep NYPD that we’re looking into it?’

‘Depends if it’s an active case on their end or not. Send me the contact’s name and I’ll make a quick call.’

‘Appreciated. I’ll keep you updated.’

‘Do, but not tonight. Call me in the morning.’

The line went dead. Ella pocketed her phone and headed back toward Olivia's office. She thought of all the times that Edis’s name had flashed on her cell and brought that sense of crippling dread because she knew that she’d be neck-deep in corpses before the day was out. Now, here she was, ingesting that dread of her own free will, hunting a mystery she had no obligation to.

The closest Ella had come to hard drugs was cleaning up her old roommate’s joints on Sunday mornings, but she imagined this was how it felt – that first hit of uncertainty, that alarm of not knowing what waited around the corner. Some people needed needles or pipes to get their fix. Ella just needed a puzzle that didn't quite fit together.

And Marcus Thornton's disappearance was what Jenna would have called somerighteous bud.

Time to find a missing person.

CHAPTER FOUR

Ella thought that Marcus Thornton's office looked like a history museum had vomited up its rock collection. Rocks lined every available surface; they perched on filing cabinets, lurked in glass cases, dominated entire shelves. Some were polished to a mirror sheen, while others remained rough as sin.

The walls told their own story. Geological maps and cross-sections covered every inch of space, layered like the strata they depicted. A massive periodic table dominated one wall, and beneath it sat a collection of minerals arranged by atomic number. The whole setup screamed of a mind that found beauty in order, even when that order was buried under millions of years of chaos.

‘Olivia wasn't kidding. Guy really loved his rocks. You could say he was a rock star.’

‘Not rocks.’ Luca lifted a chunk of something gray and crystalline. ‘These are specimens.’

‘There's a difference?’

‘According to the twenty labels I just read, yes.’ He set the stone back in its exact spot. ‘Check this out – he's got them organized by age. Precambrian over here, Paleozoic by the window. Even the dust looks cataloged.’

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