Page 42 of Girl, Sought

Luca snapped pictures of everything in the drawer before the sound of footsteps outside shocked him with a burst of white-hot panic. Options flashed through his mind rapid-fire. Bluff his way out with a story about getting turned around looking for the can? Say he walked back into the wrong office?

In the end, instinct overrode rational thought. He dove for the kneehole of the massive desk and folded his lanky frame into a space meant for legs, not a six-foot-something FBI agent.

A shadow stretched across the threshold, then paused, and Luca was suddenly grateful that he hadn't inherited his father's linebacker build. He held his breath until his lungs burned, acutely aware of how hard it would be to explain why an FBI agent was playing cat burglar in a private office.

Whoever stood out there was taking their sweet time. Probably the receptionist, doing her rounds like a guard dog marking territory. The kind of employee who'd absolutely love to catch a federal agent where he shouldn't be.

Ten Mississippi. Twenty Mississippi. Then the footsteps faded.

Luca waited until the sound died completely before uncurling from his hiding spot. He emerged from cover with his hands steady despite the adrenaline, because that's what the job required - grace under pressure, even when you were technically committing a crime to solve one. He scanned the desk’s surface with new urgency, because he needed to get out of here before Vanessa realized he’d been missing for five minutes.

But the question remained – who did this office belong to?

The desk's surface caught his eye, something he'd missed in his hurry to check the drawers. It was a study in precision - everything aligned at right angles, each item placed with obsessive care. A leather blotter, expensive fountain pens arranged by size, a business card holder positioned exactly parallel to the desk's edge.

Bingo.

The cards were heavy stock, with black ink raised against cream paper like fresh scars.

GABRIEL THORNE.

Senior Acquisitions Specialist.

Curated Value Group.

‘Gabriel Thorne,’ Luca said.

He hadn’t come across the name before, and before he could dwell too much on it, he heard the sound of a door opening somewhere down the hallway.

Shit. The interview was wrapping up. Luca pocketed the business card, took one last look around, and committed details to memory, then he hurried to the exit. He eased it open, peered out, and found the hallway empty in both directions. Luca slipped out and pulled the door shut with the kind of care usually reserved for dismantling bombs, and three long steps later he was back at the bathroom door.

He emerged just as Ella and Vanessa rounded the corner, trying his best to look like a man who'd spent too long dealing with nature's call rather than one who'd just conducted an impromptu B&E.

‘Everything okay?’ Vanessa's smile was all surface tension, like she could smell guilt on him. ‘You were gone a while.’

If Luca had learned anything about the fairer sex during his years, it was that they never wanted to know what you got up to in the bathroom. Luca wiped his brow and said, ‘coffee and slow cooked beans. Not a good combo.’

Ella scrunched her face up, like his lie hadn’t quite landed. Vanessa checked her watch.

‘Slow cooked beans? It’s barely midday.’

‘Hey, I’m from Massachusetts. I’d have Boston baked beans three times a day if I could but… I’d be dead.’ His hand found Ella's arm in a gesture that hopefully looked casual but carried a voltage of urgency she'd recognize. They’d developed a sign language over the past few months. A squeeze meantplay along. A tug meantwe need to talk,and this was definitely a tug situation.

‘Well, I hope you found everything satisfactory.’

‘Sure did. Though you might want to consider some reading material in there. Maybe a Sudoku.’

Ella shot him a look that promised a full interrogation later, but she played along with a small nod. ‘Thank you Vanessa, you’ll be hearing from us shortly.’

Luca dragged her down the corridor, past the receptionist and back outside in record time. Luca's phone burned in his pocket while December wind whipped color into their faces. He practically shoved Ella into the passenger seat, his need to share what he'd found overriding their usual driving arrangements.

‘Complete waste of time,’ Ella started as he slid behind the wheel. ‘Vanessa's not giving up those employee records without-’

‘Ell.’ He cut her off mid-sentence, already pulling out his hot property ‘Forget Vanessa. Look at this.’

He handed her the phone and the business card like pieces of a puzzle she hadn't known they were solving. Watched her eyes widen as she took in the masks, the precisely arranged office, the drawer full of personal treasures that had no business being there.

The name Gabriel Thorne stared up at them from cream-colored cardstock while somewhere in Chesapeake, a collector of collectors was probably selecting his next face to wear.

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