By sunrise, we knew what we were looking for.
We just didn’t know where it was.
The green book.
Maya remembered almost nothing about the title.
It was old.
Hardcover.
Dark green cloth.
Gold writing on the spine.
Elena had purchased it from a library sale months earlier and kept it on the living-room bookshelf.
She never read it.
Julian once asked why she kept such an ugly book.
Elena had laughed and said Maya liked the color.
That was apparently enough for him to stop caring.
Until Thursday.
The book disappeared the same night Elena disappeared.
Detective Moreno considered two possibilities.
Either Julian had found it.
Or Elena had moved it before the argument.
The library opened at nine.
By eight-thirty, two detectives were already waiting outside.
I stayed at the hospital with Maya.
She was cleared to leave shortly before ten, but child protective services informed me that because Elena was missing and Julian was in custody, Maya could temporarily remain with me while the emergency custody order was processed.
When the social worker told her, Maya didn’t cheer.
She simply leaned against me.
“Forever?”
“We’ll figure everything out.”
“I don’t want to go back there.”
“You won’t.”
I signed forms until my hand cramped.
At ten-fifteen, Moreno called.
They had found the book.
It had been returned through the library’s overnight slot Thursday evening.
A librarian remembered Elena coming in shortly before closing.
She looked anxious.
She asked whether a particular donated book could be stored in the staff archive because she planned to use it for a children’s display.
The librarian agreed.
The book sat untouched in a cardboard box for three days.
Until police opened it.
Inside the back cover was a small compartment.
And inside the compartment was a flash drive.
Moreno wouldn’t tell me everything on it.
But he told me enough.
Julian had been using stolen identities to open accounts, obtain loans, and move large amounts of money.
Several victims were elderly.
Two were former clients from a financial consulting job he had held years earlier.
And at least one account had been opened using Elena’s information.
She had discovered it accidentally after receiving a tax document she didn’t recognize.
Then she started investigating.
She gathered bank statements.
Emails.
Screenshots.
Photographs of paperwork.
Audio recordings of conversations.
There was enough evidence to explain why Julian desperately wanted the drive.
But none of it explained where Elena was.
That remained the most terrifying question.
Then traffic-camera footage arrived.
At 12:07 a.m. Friday morning, Julian’s SUV entered a gas station north of town.
The camera captured the passenger side.
Elena was there.
Alive.
She was sitting upright.
Her hand was wrapped in a white towel.
Julian entered the store.
Elena remained inside the vehicle.
For nearly two minutes.
Then the passenger door opened.
Elena stepped out.
She looked around.
And ran.
I watched the footage in Detective Moreno’s office.
She crossed behind the building and disappeared.
Thirty seconds later Julian came out.
He saw the empty passenger seat.
He dropped the water bottle in his hand.
Then ran after her.
The video ended there.
“What’s behind the gas station?”
I asked.
“Trees. Then an access road.”
“Any cameras?”
“No.”
“Did he catch her?”
“We don’t know.”
“Ask him.”
“We have.”
“And?”
“He says he doesn’t know what we’re talking about.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
Police searched the wooded area.
Nothing.
They brought dogs.
Nothing.
A helicopter joined.
Nothing.
By late afternoon, the case had become public.
Elena’s photograph appeared on local television.
VOLUNTEERS NEEDED.
MISSING WOMAN.
LAST SEEN FRIDAY MORNING.
I hated the wording.
Missing.
It sounded passive.
Like she had misplaced herself.
Maya sat beside me on my couch staring at the television.
I turned it off.
“Why?”
“You don’t need to watch.”
“What if they find her?”
“They’ll call.”
“What if they find…”
She stopped.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I knew what she was thinking.
“What if they find her dead?”
I sat beside her.
“Maya.”
She looked at me.
“Your mom was alive when she got out of that SUV.”
“But Julian chased her.”
“Yes.”
“What if he caught her?”
“We don’t know.”
Her eyes filled.
“I should have helped.”
“You were ten years old.”
“I could have called somebody.”
“He took your phone.”
“I could have screamed.”
“Maya.”
“I could have—”
I took her hands.
“Listen to me.”
She went quiet.
“The person responsible for what Julian did is Julian.”
“But Mom—”
“Your mother was trying to protect you.”
“And I didn’t protect her.”
“That was never your job.”
She began crying.
I pulled her into my arms.
For several minutes we sat together.
Then the doorbell rang.
Mrs. Harris stood outside holding a casserole dish.
I nearly laughed.
It was such an ordinary thing in the middle of such an impossible week.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” she said.
“You called the police.”
“Too late.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You helped me find Maya.”
Mrs. Harris looked toward the living room.
“How is she?”
“Scared.”
“May I see her?”
Maya came into the hallway.
Mrs. Harris opened her arms but didn’t move forward.
Maya made the choice.
She walked into them.
Mrs. Harris cried.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
Maya hugged her.
Then Mrs. Harris remembered something.
“I brought this.”
She handed me her phone.
“What?”
“My doorbell camera.”
I stared at her.
“My camera faces part of Elena’s driveway.”
“Yes.”
“I told police.”
“They checked it?”
“They copied everything from Thursday and Friday.”
“So?”
“I remembered something after they left.”
She swiped through several videos.
“Julian came home Friday morning.”
I looked at the timestamp.
2:14 a.m.
His SUV pulled into the driveway.
He got out alone.
No Elena.
That confirmed he returned without her.
Then Mrs. Harris played another clip.
Friday.
6:32 a.m.
Julian walked outside.
He was carrying something.
A backpack.
Maya’s backpack.
He opened the passenger door, searched through it, then threw it onto the driveway.
“Why does this matter?” I asked.
“Watch.”
The video continued.
Julian suddenly looked toward the street.
A vehicle drove past.
A white pickup truck.
It slowed.
Then continued.
Julian stared after it.
His body changed completely.
He looked nervous.
“Who was driving?” I asked.
“Camera can’t see.”
Maya had stepped closer.
She stared at the screen.
Then gasped.
“What?”
“I know that truck.”
My heart jumped.
“Whose?”
“Mr. Collins.”
“Who?”
“The man who fixes Mom’s car.”
Elena used a small independent mechanic named Sam Collins.
I had met him once.
Moreno contacted him immediately.
Thirty minutes later, Sam Collins walked into the police station.
He looked confused.
Then terrified when detectives told him Elena was missing.
“Yes,” he said. “I saw her Friday.”
The room froze.
“Where?”
“Around two in the morning.”
Moreno leaned forward.
“You are absolutely certain?”
“Yeah.”
Sam rubbed his forehead.
“I was driving back from towing a car. I saw someone walking along the access road near Route 17.”
“Elena?”
“I didn’t realize it at first.”
“What happened?”
“She waved.”
“You stopped?”
“Yes.”
“Was anyone with her?”
“No.”
“Was she injured?”
“Her hand.”
“Where did you take her?”
Sam looked increasingly uncomfortable.
“She asked me not to take her home.”
My pulse raced.
“Then where?”
“A motel.”
“Which motel?”
“The Ridgeway Inn.”
Police were moving before he finished the sentence.
I stood.
“I’m coming.”
Moreno shook his head.
“No.”
“She could be there.”
“We don’t know what condition she’s in.”
“She’s my daughter’s mother.”
“I understand.”
“Then let me come.”
He hesitated.
“Stay in your vehicle.”
The Ridgeway Inn sat beside an old highway fifteen miles north.
Police entered room 214.
Empty.
The bed had been slept in.
Blood stained one towel.
But Elena was gone.
The manager checked records.
She had paid cash.
And left around seven Friday morning.
“Why?” I asked.
Moreno was studying security footage.
“Maybe she was scared Julian would find her.”
“Where would she go?”
Then the manager spoke.
“She asked about buses.”
We turned.
“What buses?”
“She asked how to get to Fairview without using the main station.”
Fairview.
My mind raced.
“Elena’s sister lives near Fairview.”
Moreno looked at me.
“Name?”
“Rebecca Lewis.”
Police called.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then Maya said something from the back seat of my truck.
“Aunt Rebecca isn’t in Fairview anymore.”
I turned.
“What?”
“She moved.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
“Where?”
Maya thought.
“I don’t remember.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then breathing.
“Hello?”
A woman whispered my name.
“Daniel?”
I stopped breathing.
“Elena?”
A sob came through the phone.
“Is Maya safe?”
“Yes.”
“Is she with you?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, God.”
“Elena, where are you?”
“I can’t—”
“Julian is in custody.”
Silence.
“What?”
“He’s been arrested.”
She started crying.
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know if it’s safe.”
“It is.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“He has people helping him.”
“What people?”
Before she answered, I heard a noise behind her.
A door opening.
Elena gasped.
The phone dropped.
“Elena!”
Footsteps.
Then the call disconnected.
---