Page 48 of Concealed

The words are unspoken, but they hang in the air. It’s only a matter of time before Matt figures out where Rebecca is because she can’t stay hidden forever. She’ll need to use her ID when she gets a job and, eventually, when she gets her own place.

She’s already sending out resumes and landed an interview, but it’s not like Matt could hack into every school board’s database to check for her whereabouts.

But when she gets hired and it becomes public record, that’s a different story. Anyone with a keyboard and an internet connection could find that information.

And for a cop, it would be a joke, and we both know it.

The task force has taken over Boardroom A, which we’ve lovingly renamed War Room A. Since Sunnyville is a small town in California and not a Hollywood movie set, the ambiance is more bureaucratic than sexy, but solid police work is getting done within these four walls.

“Are you good, Dean?”

Dean is actually Carmen Dean, a pint-size female cop who is critical to the next step in our “take down the assholes” plan.

Her fingers tap incessantly on the scarred wooden table, and her eyes dart in every direction before landing on Grant.

“Yes, sir. I’ll be ready.”

“We’ll be there to back you up,” he assures her.

The grind of her teeth from across the table sets me on edge. She’s nervous, and it’s making me nervous for her.

“I want to do it,” she insists. “I just… I’ve never been part of something like this before. I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“We’ll have a team of professionals there to help you transform.”

By “transform,” Grant means making Dean look like an underage girl who would appeal to pimps-slash-human-traffickers. Even landing a lower-level arrest could get someone talking and help us connect more pieces to bury Zhang Wei.

Thanks to Chider, we know that Zhang Wei’s minions use Chat Tok to find at least some of their girls. It makes the next steps easy enough: consistently hanging out in that chatroom and baiting the right guy – theoretically easy when we know at least one of his chat handles.

The LA Sex Crimes Division is helping us out, and something will eventually click into place. Being a cop is a lot more about patience and waiting than it is about high-speed car chases and gun fights, regardless of what the movies want the public to believe.

“Great work, everyone,” Grant says. “Things are coming together.” As he heads out of the conference room, I follow and intercept him.

“Can I be at one of the stakeouts?” I ask.

“Sure, you can. I’m not sure how many days it’s going to take, but hopefully, we learn the players quickly and can target the right perps.”

“Slow and steady,” I agree, as we walk down the hallway toward his office.

Grant gives me a half-smile that makes him look a whole lot younger. “You’d rather go knock on Zhang Wei’s door and whoop him, wouldn’t you?”

“Fucking right.”

Grant laughs and slaps me on the back. “We’ll get him the right way, a way that will stick and land him in prison for a long time. Are you heading home?”

I shake my head. “My actual shift starts now.”

He gives me a side-eyed look and rests his hand on the doorknob to his office without going in. “Don’t burn yourself out. You’re a good cop, and I’d like to keep you around for a while.”

Warmth fills my chest, and my spine instantly straightens despite my growing fatigue. “Thanks, sir. That means a lot to me.”

Wallace is waiting in the bullpen with two extra-large coffees and a sympathetic smile. “I’m dragging ass today, too.”

“Would be good if everyone behaves for the next twelve hours, man,” I agree.

“Rookie boy going to drive?”

I could do with a better nickname, but Wallace has a contagious grin, and he doesn’t mean any harm. “Sure thing, old-timer.”

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