Page 103 of Taken Off Camera
Before I can respond, a knock on the door interrupts us. We both freeze, eyes darting to the locked door, then back to each other.
“Shit,” I mutter, straightening my clothes and running my fingers through my hair in a futile attempt to look presentable.
Sebastian does the same, tucking in his shirt and straightening his posture, settling once more into the demeanor of the head of Rockford security. Once he’s decent, I cross to the door, the conversation about our future shelved but far from over.
When I pull it open, Gabriel stands in the doorway, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by a subtle tension around his mouth. My stomach drops before he even speaks, some instinct recognizing trouble in the set of his shoulders.
“Have either of you seen Saint?” Gabriel asks without preamble, looking past me to Sebastian, who now stands with military straightness behind the main console.
“Not since the call,” Sebastian answers with an edge not there minutes ago. “Is he not back already? He should have beaten you, based on your last locations.”
Gabriel’s expression shifts to apologetic. “His car’s not in the garage.”
Panic rises in my chest, hot and suffocating. “What do you mean his car’s not here?”
Sebastian’s hand lifts toward me. “Micah?—”
I jerk out of reach. “We were supposed to stay in contact every fifteen minutes. That’s the protocol you set.”
The accusation falls heavy between us, but Gabriel doesn’t flinch. “Wewerein contact. He checked in throughout the operation. The last message came through forty minutes ago. Said he was going to check out a potential lead before heading back. I thought he got distracted once he arrived home.”
“What lead?” Sebastian interjects, already moving to the nearest terminal. His fingers fly across the keyboard, pulling up tracking data that fills the primary screen. “He didn’t mention he was stopping somewhere else on the call earlier.”
Gabriel shakes his head. “He didn’t specify. Just said he might have a lead and would brief us when he returned.”
A map of the city materializes on screen, a pulsing red dot marking Saint’s last location. The industrial district. Warehouses and storage facilities where people disappear without witnesses.
My hands shake as I pull out my phone, muscle memory finding Saint’s contact without conscious thought. His smirking face fills my screen, a photo taken months ago when he wasn’t expecting it, caught mid-laugh with a beer halfway to his mouth.
The phone slips in my sweating palm as I hit the call button.
The first ring echoes in my ear, hollow and distant.
Sebastian and Gabriel exchange a look that sends ice through my veins, as if they don’t expect my call to go through.
Second ring. My free hand clutches the edge of the nearest desk, knuckles whitening under the pressure.
“His tracking device is offline,” Sebastian reports. “Last ping came from sector seven, about forty-three minutes ago.”
Third ring. The sound drills into my skull, escalating my worry.
“Could be a dead battery,” Gabriel offers, though his tone suggests he doesn’t believe it. “Or he’s in a dead zone.”
Fourth ring. My breath catches in my throat, lungs forgetting how to function.
“Saint always keeps his phone charged. Always,” I whisper, the words tumbling out between rings. “Ever since we got separated once at the group home, he’s never let it die.”
Fifth ring. Sebastian moves closer, his hand coming to rest on the small of my back. The warmthshould be comforting, but it only highlights how cold the rest of me has become.
The ringing stops, the connection opens with a soft click, and relief floods through me, so powerful my knees wobble.
“Saint? Where the hell are you?” The words rush out, fear shifting into anger over my best friend scaring me like this.
The silence on the other end stretches for three heartbeats, four, five. No background noise. No traffic. No Saint.
“Hello?” I prompt, grip tightening on my phone. “Saint, are you there?”
“Micah Barnes. Or should I call you Elliot?” Not Saint’s familiar rasp, but a panting, excited voice that freezes my blood mid-flow. “I’m so glad we can finally speak.”
