Page 2 of Carter
“Then let’s get to work,” I said.
And just like that, Idaho felt like another lifetime.
4
Carter
They didn’t ease me in.
Faron briefed me on the move—three girls missing from the same two-mile radius. Same lure, different day: promises of cash for promo work, a ride to “an audition,” nothing that sounded scary until it was. One of them had slipped free last night and staggered into the ER with zip ties torn to floss and a story sliced into half-sentences.
We were rolling ten minutes later—Faron driving, Gideon in the back scrolling through street cameras, me riding rifle and learning San Diego County by instinct. Freeway hiss, palm shadows, salt air. Idaho felt a thousand years away.
Scripps Encinitas sat close enough to the ocean that the air in the parking lot tasted like it. The wind tugged at the flags out front, bright against an unbothered blue sky. It made me think of how the world kept turning while your life tipped over.
Inside felt colder. Hospitals always do.
“Victim’s name is Lindsey,” Faron said, flashing a badge at security. “She’s seventeen. Detective Keane is on his way, butwe’re not waiting.” He cut me a look. “Keep your head up. If this crew thinks she talked…”
“They’ll come looking,” I finished. “Got it.”
We found her in a curtained bay—small, pale, bruises like constellations across her arms. A nurse stood between her and the rest of the world, chart in one hand, the other resting lightly on Lindsey’s wrist like she was anchoring her here. Dark hair braided over one shoulder. Green eyes that didn’t miss a thing.
“Family?” the nurse asked, and then clocked us—posture, boots, the way Faron’s gaze kept mapping exits. Her guard softened, just a degree. “You’re not family.”
“No,” Faron said. “We’re the ones who want to keep her alive.”
Her attention slid to me, pinning me like a thumbtack. “And you are?”
“Carter.” I kept my voice even. “New guy.”
One corner of her mouth tugged—there and gone. “Welcome to the deep end.” She angled her clipboard. “Harper Vale. Trauma stepdown. She was dehydrated, hypothermic, and terrified. Two men, black SUV, no plates. One wore a wedding band on a chain. Weird detail, but she noticed.”
“Victims notice everything they think might save them,” Gideon said quietly from behind me. The nurse—Harper—gave him a look of quick, sharp respect.
“Lindsey,” Harper said gently, shifting so we could see the girl’s face without her feeling boxed in. “These are… good people. They’re here to help.”
Lindsey flinched at our boots, at the radio clip on Faron’s vest. Harper’s hand never left her wrist. The girl’s voice came out as a whisper dragged over gravel. “They said if I talked, they’d come back for my sister.”
“What’s your sister’s name?” I asked, softer than I felt. “Just the name.”
“Ellie.” Lindsey blinked hard. “She’s fourteen.”
“Okay.” I kept my breath slow. “Ellie’s our problem now, not yours.”
Harper’s eyes met mine for a second, heat flashing there—approval, warning, I couldn’t tell. Either way, it roped a steady line around something inside me that had been drifting.
We worked out the details like we were defusing a bomb. Five blocks of memory around the pickup spot; a smell like motor oil and cologne; a tattoo—red rose—on the inside of one guy’s wrist. Gideon typed, cross-referencing prior arrests. Faron called River with the update. I logged times, routes, and threw up quick geofences in my head the way I used to map avalanche risk on the mountain.
It was neat, clean, almost clinical—until Harper’s phone vibrated on the counter and her face changed.
“What is it?” Gideon asked.
Harper turned the screen toward us. A single text from an unknown number, sent to the hospital’s main line and forwarded to the unit:Discharge the girl. Now.
Faron’s hand went to his radio. “We’re locking this down.”
Before he could press the button, the overhead speakers hiccuped, then droned: “Security to ER. Security to ER.”
