Page 25 of The Surrogate Omega, Part Two

Unfortunately, though, work brings me to Florida way too often. Most people don’t realize it, but Florida has the third highest trafficking rates in the country, which means I’m here a lot.

I pull up the facial recognition to see what they got. It’s a hit on one of the children from a missing person report filed nearly a year ago in New York. There’s something in the back of my mind when I read the kid’s name, but I can’t figure out what. Of course, I dig further into the case. My fingers freeze on the keys as I scan the police report, my eyes focused on the detective assigned to the case: Logan Taylor—was this one of his cases? What are the chances?

I reread the report, focusing more on the details. The child is Rory McNally, twelve-years-old at the time he was taken, thirteen now. He went missing with his best friend, Anthony Ruiz. Switching to my other monitor, I quickly type in the other boy’s information. Gods, his body was found just two days ago . . . Poor Logan.

I know that I should be concerned about these children, and of course I am. That’s why I’m spending weeks in a rundown shack surrounded by alligators and praying the baby doesn’t somehow contract malaria from the mosquitos instead of being in the comfort of my apartment. These kids deserve a chance. They deserve having someone on their side, and it is worth every bit of discomfort if even just one of these kids is saved. Still, I can’t help but worry about Logan. He doesn’t talk much about his job, but I know it hurts him whenever he loses another kid. With the recent discovery of the other boy’s body, I’m sure Logan is struggling.

I haven’t had a chance to speak to either of them for long. I spoke to Evander for about five minutes yesterday, but Logan was at work. Evander didn’t mention anything, but I doubt he would. Not when he’s also worried about me and probably doesn’t want to distract me. I’m excellent at compartmentalizing, so it wouldn’t be an issue, but despite how quickly things are going, Evander hasn’t known me very long so he might not know how I’d react yet.

I think back to the conversation and desperately wish I could have stayed on longer. It felt so good to hear his voice, and I longed to hear Logan’s too. It’s risky to keep contacting them, but I know deep down I’m going to take the risks. I’ve never struggled this much when I’ve been on location before. I’d miss my family and would try to at least touch base with River and my dad, but I could go weeks before it got to the point that the loneliness and homesickness became overbearing. This time, within days I felt sick with missing Evander and Logan. Sometimes, it’s hard to breathe thinking about not seeing them for at least a month, and it terrifies me. How am I going to survive this trip or any others that are bound to come up?

I force my focus back to my job. I don’t usually get distracted like this, and I hate these new feelings. My mind races as I try to figure out what to do with the information I just received. We aren’t working with local authorities on this. Officially, we aren’t working under anyone’s authority. There is a bigger picture our undercovers are working toward, which means that until we are told otherwise, or things go completely sideways, the team is not trying to rescue any individual children. The hope is that we’ll be able to take down the entire southern division of the ring in one fell swoop and save hundreds, if not thousands of kids, women, and young men all at once. Which means until the teams are ready to move, those people are still being abused.

That is, unfortunately, an awful side effect of missions like this. I learned long ago to stop looking at the individuals and focus on the bigger picture, otherwise I’ll get swallowed up in the guilt. But the longer I stare at the standard school picture of the little boy, Logan’s name a blaring beacon right underneath it, the more I know I’m going to break protocol.

There’s no one else around the safe house besides a handful of agents that act as guards, but none of them enter my makeshift office space. There’s another analyst that’s staying here as well, but they are in the upstairs loft space attempting to get some sleep.

I know I could get fired for this, but I can’t bring myself to care as I quickly make an encrypted copy of the grainy security footage of the boy, along with his police report, and send it along anonymously to Logan’s work email. While anything can be traced with enough effort, I know none of the techs employed by the police department will be capable of tracing it back to me, so I’m not worried.

I’m not even sure what they can do with that. The boy is way out of Logan’s jurisdiction by now, and he’s probably legally obligated to send it to the feds. Still, I don’t regret my decision. I want Logan to know it’s not a hopeless case, that he didn’t lose two little boys to these monsters and that one of them still has a chance. It’s not much, but I know for someone like Logan, a little bit of hope can go a long way. I’m happy to give it to him.

After the file is sent, I turn my focus back to the case. The team in charge of this mission is this close to making the big bust, which is the main reason I’m here. I technically don’t need to be here for this last-minute stuff, but it’s easier to have everyone on location earlier just in case. I’ve done enough of these to know things don’t always go as planned. Gods, I don't think they ever do, and it’s essential to plan for every possible contingency.

I throw all my attention into my work until, before I know it, nearly three hours have passed. My alarm notifying me that it’s about time for me to switch places with the other analyst goes off, and I begin to pack up my stuff. We each have our own setups, much to the chagrin of the higher-ups. Of course, most of them can barely open an email, let alone do this work, so they’ll never understand the need for us to have everything just so. Even though the analyst doesn’t have the same workspace, the makeshift office is small, and we’ve been trying to be considerate of each other by keeping our stations neat.

I’m logging out as a sharp pain in my lower abdomen stops me in my tracks. It’s not the first time I’ve felt some pains or cramps. The doctors have assured me it’s normal as my body adjusts to the foreign intrusion and grows to accommodate the baby. I push the discomfort aside, assuming it’s the same. But I barely make it out of the room before the cramps come back with a vengeance, and I just make it to the bathroom before the pain gets overwhelming. As soon as I close and lock the door behind me, I feel something wet in my briefs.

Panic threatens to overwhelm me, but I manage to pull down my pants and briefs with shaking hands. The blood in my underwear nearly sends me in a spiral. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. There’s not a lot of blood. It’s ok; it’s only spotting. The doctors warned me this could happen too. I need to stay calm. This doesn’t mean anything. Still, it doesn’t stop the fear from gripping me as I dig out my phone to call the agent on duty and request medical aid.

FOURTEEN

Logan

Iscrub my eyes and take a sip of my cold coffee, trying to clear my head enough to focus on the files in front of me. The images I just saw will be forever burned in my mind no matter how long I’m at this job, and I don’t even know where to begin.

It’s not the first time I’ve received evidence sent anonymously. It happens fairly often actually. But this one sends up all kinds of red flags. First, the timing is suspicious. A couple days after Anthony Ruiz’s body is discovered, suddenly footage of Rory McNally appears in my inbox? The discovery isn’t even public knowledge yet, so I have no idea how this person would know, but it seems unlikely to just be a coincidence.

And then there’s the video itself. This is direct, raw footage of this poor kid. The person who sent it is either involved in the trafficking ring or has intimate knowledge of it. The fact that this was sent to me directly? It means that whoever sent it has access to files saying who’s in charge of the case. All of it sets me on edge.

I’m not even sure what I should do with it. According to this, the kid is being held somewhere in the Everglades. A kidnapping that goes over state lines should go to the feds. I know I need to report this to my supervisors, and they’ll have to hand it over to the FBI. That’s what I should do. That’s the right thing to do. But I’m having a harder time than I should actually doing that.

This case has always been a little personal to me. Something about those kids impacted me from the very beginning. Even as I work on other cases, that one is never far from my mind. I’m not sure I can relinquish control on this one. At least not completely.

If this footage is real, then it means that Rory is still alive, but we’re on a tight timeline. A timeline that means I can’t play around, and I need to report this to get the appropriate help we will need.

I consider who I should approach with this. No way am I going to my idiot lieutenant. Just then, like a sign, my sergeant saunters through and right past my station. Sgt. Kellan Ramsey is a good guy and extremely fair. He’s probably my best option.

“Hey, sarge, can I talk to you for a second?”

The sergeant turns back to me with a sharp nod. He sits his long and lanky body on the side of my desk. He’s wearing his uniform today, which always makes him look stiff. The guy is very laid back for a police sergeant and is way more suited for jeans and T-shirts than any formal uniform. “What’cha got for me, Taylor?”

“I got this email today. You know that kid’s body we found the other day? This is the other kid who was taken with him.”

The sergeant turns my monitor and watches the footage with narrow eyes. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. He scrubs his face with his hands, causing his wire-frame glasses to slide up on his face. “I don’t have enough coffee to deal with this, detective.”

I grin at him. “Want me to get one of the rookies to grab you another cup?”

He barks out a laugh. “I think you might have to. Who have you shown this to?”

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