Page 72 of Girl Lost
“I’d rather us fly under the radar. For now we’ll use the release form. They might not hand over everything, but if we can at least snag Trinity’s blood type, Dr. Santos can cross-reference with our victims. See if any match up as potential donors.”
Luna nodded. “After that, we scope out Chiron. Keep our eyes peeled for anything out of place.” Like a group of professional kidnappers dragging victims inside.
“Solid plan.” Corbin glanced at his watch. “We should get going.”
A long shot, sure. But maybe the BioInnovation Center held answers. The key to finding Stryker. Finding Trinity.
Not her daughter. Another girl, though. One in danger. This time, Luna wouldn’t stand idle. She had backup now. A team. People she trusted. And Corbin.
She was right where she needed to be. Not running. For once.
25
THE COMMISSIONERwould have his badge if he knewCorbin had formed an unofficial interagency task force. His job was hanging by a thread as it was. Pursuing this could snap that thread entirely. Trinity was out there somewhere,her heart possibly the key to unraveling this wholeorgan harvesting ring.
Risk his badge or risk more lives? Some choices made themselves.
After everything they’d been through, he could trust his friends. And Luna. Working with her lit something inside him he thought long dead. It felt ... right. Like he was finally where he was supposed to be.
Commissioner Tinch didn’t need to worry about how they caught his daughter’s murderer so long as Corbin did it.
Even if it meant losing his job.
Corbin pulled into the doctor’s office parking lot and cut the engine. “Did you bring the release form?”
“Right here.” Luna handed him the folded paper.
“Let’s hope this is good enough,” he said, scanning the document. His eyes caught on a detail that made his heart stutter. “Wow,” he murmured.
Luna tilted her head. “What is it?”
“Trinity’s birthday.” His throat tightened a fraction. “It’s the same as...” He swallowed. “The same day our daughter was born.” The baby girl they’d given up all those years ago.
“I think you’re mistaken. It says Trinity was born on May 3. Our daughter was March 5.”
Corbin shook his head, pointing to the date on the paper. “No, look. It says right here—3/5. That’s March 5th.”
Luna snatched the paper back, her eyes widening as she stared at the numbers. A long moment passed before she spoke. “Oh. I ... I read the date wrong.” Her voice seemed quiet. Small. “I guess between the military, the Agency, and living overseas for so long, I’m used to putting the day before the month.”
Something shifted. A shadow crossed her face.
“Luna? What’s wrong?”
She folded the paper quickly, tucking it away. “Nothing. We should hurry.”
She was shutting him out. Again. Bolting, but in a different way. He wanted to press further, but Luna was already opening her door, stepping out into the parking lot.
He got out of the car. Headed for the doctor’s office.
March 5th. The day he’d held their baby girl for the first and last time. The nurse had written it neatly on a card for the bassinet, her hand steady while his world had fallen apart. Luna had been silent then, tears streaming down her face. He hadn’t known what to say. What could he say? They hadn’t talked in months and now the weight of their choices felt too heavy for words.
She must be thinking about it too. That date. That moment.
This time, he would talk to her about it. But bringing it up now wouldn’t help either of them. Later, when they were trapped in a car for hours on a stakeout with nothing to distract them and no way to escape the conversation.
The glass doors of the South Beach Pediatric Center slid open, and a rush of cool air washed over him. The place reeked of antisepticand anxiety. Corbin hated doctors’ offices. And hospitals. The smell always brought back memories he’d rather forget.
The waiting area was packed. A married couple leaned forward, watching their daughter color outside the lines of a unicorn picture. A kid, maybe five, coughed into his Spiderman mask as his mother rubbed his back with a weary hand. A thin woman in a business suit bounced her legs and thumbed her phone screen, occasionally glancing at the sleeping infant nestled in one of those car seat and stroller combos.
