Page 45 of Bones

“And I always will be.”

Elsie didn’t respond. She simply rested her head on my chest and closed her eyes, and it wasn’t long before her body grew limp and her breaths shallow. I was beginning to think she’d drifted off to sleep until I heard her whisper, “Thank you, Wyatt. Thank you for everything.”

Without saying anything more, she drifted off to sleep, and with the sounds of her soft, soothing breaths, it didn’t take long for me to follow after. The next morning, I woke up with Elsie sprawled across my bed, and she looked absolutely beautiful. She was wearing a pair of pink knit shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt, and her lips were full and pouty from sleeping hard.

I wanted nothing more than to kiss her and fuck her long and hard, but she was sleeping so soundly, I hated to wake her. Besides, I had work that needed to be done, so I eased out of bed and got dressed. I left Elsie a note, then made my way to the kitchen for some coffee and a bite to eat. It was still early. The sun was just starting to rise, so I was able to make my coffee and go without the hassle of talking to anyone.

When I got to my desk, I took out the list of names that we’d compiled, and I studied it for several moments, and for reasons I still don’t understand, my eyes fell on the name David Bruton. I passed by it several times, but I kept coming back to it. I don’t know why I became so fixated on it.

Bruton was a name I’d heard many times.

He was a retired history teacher in his late fifties. He was widowed with two sons who both lived in the city, but he busied himself with the town council and church every Sunday. He owned various properties throughout town, along with two large warehouses down at the dock—each with their own motion-censored security camera.

They monitored both the property and the road.

I had no reason not to believe that Bruton was an all-around good guy, but I followed my instincts and started digging into his history. I started with the basics. His address, his phone number, and his social. Everything panned out, so I moved on to his work history. Everything looked legit until the summer of ‘98.

There was nothing before that.

No job. No address. No phone number. Nothing.

The trail had run dry, so I did the only thing I could. I found an old picture of him and ran it through BioID—our facial recognition software. The first scan came up with nothing, so I searched online for a different image. I sent it through, and after a lengthy search, the name Carl Davenport appeared on the screen.

I knew right then that I had found something big—something that made my hours and hours of research worthwhile. I typed his name into the search engine, and within seconds, a long list of Carl Davenports popped up on the screen. I started going through each of them until I spotted a photograph that looked similar to the original image I had for Bruton. A few more clicks, and then, I saw the logo for Interpol.

I froze.

I simply couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Interpol is an international policing agency.

They tracked down the most wanted criminals and have connections all over the world. My original theory was beginning to make sense, and then again, it wasn’t. I couldn’t fathom how David Bruton, the high school history teacher, was actually Carl Davenport, an Interpol investigator. I stared at the screen a moment longer, making sure I had it right, then stood and rushed to the door.

I opened it and stuck my head out into the hall. When I spotted Maverick, I shouted, “Yo, Mav!”

“Yeah?”

“I need you to find Big. Tell him to get his ass down here now!”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“I found him!”

“Found who?”

“Bruton!” He gave me a puzzled look, and I knew he had no idea what I was talking about. I didn’t have time to explain, so I shouted, “Get Big!”

He nodded, then disappeared down the hall.

I went back over to my desk and started looking back over everything I’d found. I had no idea how Bruton would’ve gone from working for an international policing agency to teaching history at our local high school. It seemed farfetched, and I was beginning to think that I had it all wrong—until my personal cell phone chimed with a message.

I took it out of my pocket, and I was shaken to the core when I read:

Unknown Caller:

I was wondering when you’d finally find me.

CHAPTER11

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