I nod. “They need all the help they can get. They need to know they are safe. Tell me something. After those four days when your mother was gone, did she get better? Did she have as many of the phases you were talking about?”
“No.”
“Because she helped someone else. She got that reminder of what she escaped from and the future she had in front of her. Those four days were spent saving another woman’s life,” I tell him. “It must be that.”
“Is there any way to find out what she did or where she went? Records? Anything?” he asks.
“I just found out about this organization,” I remind him. “I didn’t even know it existed, much less that my mother was a part of it. My father arranged to have all of her things moved after she died, and I don’t remember ever seeing anything like files or records.”
My phone alerts me to a new message, and I stand up to get it. It’s Eric.
“Eric got footage from the convenience store down the block from the bus station,” I announce.
I try to temper my excitement, to cool the shock of optimism. I remind myself that it doesn’t mean we actually found anything or have more information than we did, to begin with. We still don’t know who the man is, or if he saw anything useful at the station. All I can hope is that this footage will show more of his face, and we can recognize him.
Pulling up the footage, I sit down between the two men so we can all watch it. The camera angle isn’t perfect. It’s more like a time-lapse, so the video is uneven and jerking, but it’s something. We watch the sidewalk carefully, and sure enough, the man appears on the screen.
“He pulled his hood up,” Sam points out. “We can’t see his face.”
“No, but that’s definitely him. Those are the same boots, the same pants. He’s the same size,” I say.
The man doesn’t seem in a rush or at all concerned as he makes his way toward the building.
“Where is he going?” Dean mutters.
He’s not heading toward the doors or the gas pumps but moving around to the side. I glance at the time clock ticking by on the screen.
“The explosion is going to happen any second,” I note.
My body braces. I know it’s coming, yet there’s still anxiety. There’s no sound, but at the exact moment I know it’s going to come, there’s a flash of light at the upper corner of the screen. People scatter. Some run in the direction of the explosion while others move inside the store as fast as they can. I keep my eyes locked on where the man stepped off-screen. It takes a few seconds, but he steps back out into view.
“He’s completely calm,” Sam notes. “He’s not reacting. Everybody else is doing something. They’re running around or staring. They’re on the phone. Look, they’re all reacting to what just happened, but he’s not. It’s like he has no idea what just happened.”
“Or he knows exactly what happened,” I counter.
“Because he knew it was going to,” Dean agrees.
“He’s going toward the parking area,” Sam points out. “There are only a few minutes until the emergency responders show up. He knows he’s got to get the hell out of there.”
The camera covers most of the parking area, cutting off only the edges of the outermost cars at the edge of the visible row. But that doesn’t make a difference. The man walks out of sight again, disappearing around to the other side of the building.
“You don’t have footage from any cameras there?” Dean asks.
“This is all Eric sent me,” I tell him. “Wait. Look.”
A champagne sedan glides into view and stops at the entrance to the parking lot, waiting calmly for people running by. It’s a still, steady moment, like the car exists in a totally different realm of reality. All around it, people are frantic. Cars speed down the street. Lights of emergency vehicles start flashing at the edges of the screen. But the nondescript compact sits patiently at the entrance, the turn signal ticking, until the way is clear, then moves smoothly and easily onto the road.
“Turn it back, look for a license plate,” Sam says.
We watch the footage again, but it’s too grainy to make out the plate number.
“Damn it,” I growl. “Why bother having cameras that don’t show the details that actually matter?”
“It did,” Sam offers. “It showed him.”
“We just have to figure out who he is.”
The video is far from conclusive. It shows little more than a hooded man responding to an emergency situation with indifference, and then an admittedly common as hell car drive away. But it’s enough to create a link. It’s enough to make me want to know more.
A call coming in breaks up the video, and a number appears across the screen.
“It’s the hospital,” Sam says.
I get to my feet, stepping away from the couch as I answer.
“Hello?”
My heart is in my throat as I wait for the doctor to tell me Greg took a turn for the worse or security was breached again. Both as another human being and as a person I have a history with, I don’t want to think of him suffering anymore. Or losing his life. But it’s more than that. He has information locked inside him. Secrets and details only he can tell. I need to hear them to know what happened.
“Emma?”
The voice on the other end of the line cracks, rising barely above a whisper, but the chill it creates lifts the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck. I reach out for Sam, and he jumps up to take my hand, pulling me close against him.
“Greg?”
Chapter Nineteen
“I told him what happened when he was mumbling. He wanted to be
