Page 5 of Trapper Road

I’m not sure I’m ready to take on that kind of case, though. It’s difficult to not get emotionally invested. Then J.B. adds another detail, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. “She’s fifteen.”

My eyes flutter shut. Fifteen. The same age as Connor. A familiar horror opens up inside me at the thought of him going missing. But of course, I already know how that feels in agonizing, exquisite detail. He’d been kidnapped the year before. Armed men took him right in front of me, from out of our house in Stillhouse Lake. Sam had gone after him, trying to save him, and ended up being taken along with him.

The two most important men in my life gone. Just like that. Held by a crazed cult leader.

Thankfully, with the help of my closest friend Kez, her boyfriend Javier, and the FBI, we’d gotten them back. Still, I live with the horror of those few days and the terror it could happen again, especially given the trolls out there still obsessed with our family. It’s worse at night in my dreams, when worst-case scenarios run rampant through my brain and I’m helpless to stop them.

I let out a breath, trying to keep it steady so J.B. won’t hear the tremble. “What happened?” I sound almost normal.

“She went missing about two months ago. She spent the afternoon with her friends and according to them they hung out for a few hours; then she left to meet up with an unknown boy. No one heard from her again. She just vanished.”

It’s not a ton of detail, but my mind is already churning. “No leads on the boy?”

“None. The friends didn’t recognize him. They were able to describe his truck, but that was about it. Sheriff tried tracking the vehicle, but couldn’t find anything that matched.”

“Are the friends credible?”

“Their story is solid. Sheriff’s office was able to track down several witnesses who were able to verify most of what they said. There’s no indication they’re lying about it.”

“Is it possible she might have run away?”

“Her parents say absolutely not. According to them she’s a responsible kid who wouldn’t put them through something like this.”

I click the tip of my pen against the desk, thinking. “Doesn’t seem like much to go on.”

“You’ve gotten results with less information,” J.B. points out.

I appreciate her confidence in my abilities, but I also don’t relish the idea of taking a grieving family’s money unless I think I can truly help them.

“Is the family worried the cops missed something?” It’s possible. Small towns don’t tend to have the budgets and manpower for large missing persons cases.

“The opposite, unfortunately,” J.B. says. “The FBI got involved early on, and from all appearances, worked the case pretty hard. They chased down what they could, but the case has gone cold and they’ve moved on. My honest assessment? The family’s just not ready to let go.”

I can understand. Two months is a long time for a fifteen-year-old with no history of running away to be missing. The usual horror show of possibilities runs through my mind, and I think about the parents and the nightmare they’re shambling through with no end in sight.

I know with absolute certainty that if something happened to either of my children, I would never stop until I found answers. But at the same time, I can’t be the one to give this family false hope.

J.B. senses my hesitation, and her voice softens slightly, which is rare for her. She’s not much of a coddler. “Look, I understand if you’re not ready—”

I cut her off. I’m tired of being treated like a fragile invalid. It reminds me too much of my old self — of Gina Royal. A woman with no agency or strength.

“It’s not that. I just don’t want to take this family’s money if I can’t offer anything in return.”

“Of course,” she says. For her it’s not even a question. It’s one of the things that I appreciate about working for J.B. She may skirt the legal line a little when it comes to some of the methodology she uses, but her moral compass rings true and aligns with mine. “They know the odds. They just want to know that someone out there is still looking.”

Which is something I understand deep in my core. I’m pretty sure my therapist would be adamant that I not take the case. She’d argue I’m not emotionally ready and that I haven’t fully dealt with happened in Salah Point. She’d probably be right.

But as much as I value therapy and the help it’s been in my recovery, I know that not taking the case will weigh on me just as heavily.

The reality is the girl could still be alive. If so, the only way to find her is to keep looking.

I pull up a map program on my computer and calculate the distance between Knoxville, TN and Gardenia, NC. It’s not a short drive by any stretch — definitely not commuting distance.

“I’ll need to talk to Sam before I can commit. He’s flying out later this week, and I need to make sure I can be back by then to look after Lanny and Connor.” A lot of parents wouldn’t hesitate to leave a fifteen and seventeen year old home alone for a couple of days, especially kids as self-sufficient as mine. But most of those parents don’t deal with the kinds of threats we do. Just the thought of leaving them home alone practically gives me hives.

J.B. doesn’t hesitate. “Sure thing. Let me know by end of day tomorrow?”

“Will do,” I say. “Thank you, J.B.”

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