With the promise of complete focus in front of him for the next few minutes, he settled his headphones in place and logged into his secure server, from there to his secure VPN, and finally into an anonymizer system to access his messages from the darknet work boards. “Yaass.” He opened an email from one of the operatives he’d tapped to review footage, looking for identifiable individuals. This guy had come through for him in the past, and Owen expected nothing less now.
He skimmed the shared document, hoping to get a sense of scale when it came to the kids. Not that it really mattered. One child on Kuellen’s stash was enough to damn him in Owen’s eyes, and Alace had already found multiple foster kids. At least none of those had been—
Another message flashed into his Inbox from the same guy, with a different attachment. This one came with a narrative: Repeat actors raised suspicions. Found eight frequent fliers. Cataloged by location if available. Thought you’d want this, too.
The garage door opening was audible through his headphones, and he glanced at the clock to find he’d been working for not quite an hour. He flicked a look at the doorway, then back to the computer screen. Saving the second document to one of his servers, he then made a copy of the shared document the guy couldn’t modify and backed out of his systems.
Running footfalls preceded Shiloh by only seconds, and he turned to face the door, arms stretched wide. She rounded the corner at full speed, her arc bringing her directly to Owen, and he wrapped her in a hug, standing and twisting back and forth so her feet and legs swung wildly.
“Dinner’s ready.” Doc was grinning at them from the doorway when Owen looked up, Kelly peering around Doc’s hip. “Bring the little monster with you when you come.”
“She’s not a monster,” he argued, laughing when Shiloh immediately parroted the words, “I not a monster.”
Doc’s arms raised zombielike, and he cackled. “You’re not the monster…” His stiff-legged walk covered ground, and he was on them before he finished with “I am.” Shiloh was sandwiched between them until Doc pretended to try to grip and drag her away from Owen, who dramatically protected and saved the little girl. With Kelly’s laughter ringing around them, Shiloh’s giggles in his ear, and Doc’s amused chuckles, Owen couldn’t help but grin at the rightness of the moment.
After the meal and cleaning up the minimal dishes, he sat on one end of the couch while Doc occupied the other, kids sprawled between them. Kelly’s head was on Owen’s knee and Shiloh slumped against Doc’s side, leaving Owen relaxed, gently threading his fingers through Kelly’s heavy, thick hair. “Time for bed, kiddos.” With no argument from either, they slipped to the floor and headed to their rooms. He looked at Doc. “It isn’t supposed to be that easy, right?”
“They’ll get there. At some point you’ll be silently wishing for the days of easy compliance.” Doc’s gentle gaze followed the kids to the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “I’ll go help them with teeth and jammies. I know you’re dying to get back on that computer.”
“Hey, it’s my work.” He didn’t argue the desire to get back into the reports he’d received. It’d be a lie Doc would pick up on, and he hated the idea of doing anything stupid that might create friction in their friendship.
“No, it’s your calling.” Doc was walking along the back of the couch and touched Owen’s shoulder. “And it’s okay to be passionate about your calling.” He disappeared up the hallway, his words floating behind him. “I am.”
Owen heaved himself off the couch, stretching as he made his way back to the office. Headphones on, he followed the normal log-in protocol, quickly finding his place in the shared report again, noting the last modified time matched his previous access. He glanced at the page count and sighed. Only twenty-two to go. Picking up with the next line of information, he worked his way through the remaining individual segments of the first report, flagging half a dozen for more research. Owen wavered, tempted to call it a night and go back out to see what Doc was doing after putting the kids to bed. The second report appeared to glow in the background, attached to the email, which defined what was likely the sickest of the offenders.
“Fuck it, I have to know what we’re up against.” Resettling his headphones in place, he queued up a favorite work playlist, one that helped him focus because he knew every word, every riff, and every drum solo.
The researcher had included multiple stills from each video, showing the abused child’s face as clearly as possible for identification, then focused on the abuser—many of whom wore masks—and the setting, drilling into the details that could provide clues for the actual site. Electric outlet plugs, lighting styles, knickknacks, even the style of shelves lining the walls were datapoints that would all lead back to a specific location.
As he went through the first several reports, he found the children were all different. Boys and girls, tall and short, thin and chubby. The only constant was they were between five and eleven years old. The abusers ran the same gamut of variance in terms of body type, height and weight, hairy or bald, smooth or bearded. The settings were unique by individual, which meant every scene by the different abusers shared whatever props had been present at one of their previous scenes.
Owen turned the page to the next set of images and froze.
Shiloh’s face stared out at him, tears streaking through the dirt on her cheeks.
Shiloh.
Frozen in his chair, he was locked on the picture, seeing her as if for the first time again. Her features too thin, nose beaky in her malnourished state, the collar around her neck resting heavily against her collarbones. Owen realized he could hear himself breathing, the noise rushing through his nose, filling the room. His headphones were on the floor across the room, ripped from the computer.
The memorized weight of a blade rested in his palm, the balance of tang and handle a living force. A metallic scent of hot blood filled his nostrils, and he fought to keep the memory of taking tiny Shiloh through the door to her brother in the front of his mind.
Owen stood, the chair threatening to topple backwards, salvaged by him reaching out quick as a snake to keep it upright. Storming through the doorway, he made a sharp turn up the hall towards where the kids slept, only to come up short at Shiloh’s room.
Her pink unicorn nightlight cast enough dim illumination to show the empty bed, and panic clawed up his throat to obliterate his ability to take another breath. He whirled and reached for Kelly’s door, always cracked—like Owen’s it was never closed all the way in case Shiloh needed him during the night.
A diminutive foot stuck out from underneath Kelly’s bed.
Tiny, child-sized, and covered in delicate pink socks.
Pink socks.
Clean pink socks.
The hold on his throat loosened enough to let a sip of air seep through.
Tiny because she was small, not because she was starved. Clean because she had a dresser bursting at the seams with new clothing.
He pulled in another breath, this one deeper, the scents fading away until all he could smell was boy. Healthy, sweaty, safe—Kelly was safe.
Shiloh is safe.
Another inhale, ribs expanding more smoothly, shoulders lifting as muscles relaxed.
My kids are both safe.