Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,1
hours ago, LOST is officially on this case.”
Across the table, Wade Monroe gave a low whistle. That sound drew Victoria’s attention, and she found him gazing at the handouts in the file.
“Five years . . . and not a single lead? No blood, no DNA trace evidence, nothing?” Wade’s dark brows rose as he looked over at Gabe. “Seems like she just vanished from the face of the earth.”
Gabe nodded, and, for a moment, sadness flashed in his bright blue gaze. Victoria knew that the cases were always personal for Gabe—the ex-SEAL had started LOST when his sister vanished. He’d found Amy—too late—and become desperate to try and help others.
You can’t help everyone, though. You can’t save every lost soul.
Sometimes, you couldn’t even save yourself.
Victoria’s heart pounded a bit faster. Lately, she’d started to think that she might be past the point of saving. Joining LOST was a mistake. I should’ve stayed away.
She should have stayed locked away, all safe and sound, in the labs at Stanford. Instead . . .
“Victoria, I want you heading out to Savannah.”
She nearly fell out of her chair when she heard Gabe give that order.
And suddenly everyone’s eyes were on her. Victoria schooled her expression as quickly as she could and her hand lifted as she made a quick show of adjusting her glasses, not that they needed adjusting. They hardly ever did, but the tactic often bought her precious time when she was nervous. “But there’s not a body to study . . .” She almost flinched at her own words. Talk about sounding cold. Jeez, but she always felt like she said or did the wrong thing. “I mean . . .” Victoria cleared her throat. “If there aren’t any remains for me to go over, I’m not sure how helpful I’ll be with this case.”
The dead were her domain. Mostly because she didn’t know how to handle the living. A forensic anthropologist by trade, she’d been behind the safety of an Ivory Tower when Gabe had convinced her to join LOST.
And, lately, it was a decision that she regretted.
“You’ll be plenty helpful,” Gabe murmured, then inclined his head toward Wade. “You and Wade will be teamed up together on this case.”
No, no, oh, please . . . no.
Wade flashed her a wide smile, one that instantly sent a flicker of heat surging through Victoria’s veins.
Wade Monroe was trouble—trouble that she couldn’t quite handle right then. Handsome, dangerous, and more than ready to play dirty on any case—yes, that was Wade, all right. He was a threat to her, she knew it. Wade was an ex-cop, an ex-homicide detective, and while the guy was great at following up on leads and building comradery with local law enforcement personnel . . .
He made her nervous.
We’re friends. We’ve been friends since day one. So why do I suddenly feel so different around him?
Maybe because their last two big cases had sent them both into a life-or-death panic? Maybe because the memories had unlocked in her mind and they just wouldn’t stop?
She felt different around everyone now. It was harder to keep her mask in place, but Wade—handsome, sexy Wade—was the one who made her feel most on edge. She had to constantly watch herself with him.
And, lately, she’d felt him watching her, too much.
Victoria cleared her throat. “I’m not sure I’m the best agent to accompany him.”
Wade’s golden eyes narrowed. Such an unusual color. Beautiful and . . . intense.
“Why not?” It was Gabe who spoke. “Victoria . . .” And his voice softened as he added, “It’s time for you to get back in the field.”
Her gaze shot around the table and desperation gripped her heart. There was sympathy on the faces that stared back at her. Sympathy and, God forbid, pity. She hated the pity.
Dean Bannon sat to her right. An ex–FBI agent, Dean had seen plenty of horrors—up-close and personal. He was tough as nails, and he wouldn’t ever balk at taking a field case.
Neither would Sarah Jacobs. The profiler was to Victoria’s right. Sarah, the woman who could get into any killer’s head without the slightest hesitation—she wouldn’t be running scared.
Just me.
“This is a good case for you,” Gabe assured her. “And Kennedy needs you.”
Kennedy. Right. The woman who was missing. The woman who was probably dead. A woman who wouldn’t be coming home.
I’m supposed to help the dead. I’m supposed to give them their justice. Didn’t Kennedy deserve justice?
Yes . . .
So Victoria balled up her shaking hands and