Page 6 of Peripheral Vision (Tethered in Darkness Duet #1)

I bend down and pick it up before wandering back to where I left my bag and place the photo back inside.

I check my watch: 00:32. I was only out for a few hours, but knowing myself, I won’t be getting back to sleep tonight.

Instead, I pull out my laptop to see if Nathan has managed to send any information over on our job.

I know he said he would call, but most of the time, especially when he knows that I don’t sleep well, he sends it over to me via an encrypted email anyway.

Sure enough, as soon as I set it down on the kitchen island and make myself comfortable, I have one new message in my inbox.

I open the thread and take inventory of the email and its several attachments that include pictures of the abducted minors, their parents, and the traffickers who took them.

Most jobs aren’t this easy. Most of the time we have to do an in-depth search for the perpetrators, but since this was a more impulsive decision for the alleged debt settlement, they got sloppy.

Although I’m sure they threatened the parents if they went to the feds with anything.

Granted, not much of a life worth living if you ask me, knowing your children are out there in the world being butchered, used, and abused in the worst ways.

Death would almost seem a kindness. But I wouldn’t be employed otherwise—situations like this are my job security.

I lean forward, eyes scanning the photos on the screen, each one a fresh wound on a world already full of them.

I flip through the faces of the kids, trying not to let them stick with me.

Keep it professional, I remind myself. The parents’ faces are harder to ignore.

Desperation is something you can't fake, and in every line of their expressions, I can see the kind of terror that only comes when you know you're at the mercy of something far worse than you could ever imagine.

These were taken after the children were already gone.

I close my eyes for a moment, a heavy sigh escaping before I open them again.

It’s like this every time, but the faces don't ever stop haunting me. I know better than to linger too long on any one photo, but I can't help myself. A girl in the third set of pictures catches my eye. She’s not even sixteen years old, but she has this defiant look on her face like she’s already lost all hope and is just daring the world to crush her more.

That’s the face I can’t shake, the face I’ll be chasing for the rest of the job.

There is a note below the photo—as there is with all of them—that states her name and age, and my stomach clenches in disgust as I realize she’s the oldest of her siblings and their friend.

I sit up straighter, shaking the shiver that crawls up my spine, and focus on the rest of the file Nathan sent me.

His usual method is direct: coordinates, background, connections.

This time is no different. But something’s off. There’s a gap.

A small section of the intel about the location of the traffickers is incomplete.

It’s not much, just a few coordinates in the wrong format.

I don’t need them to be perfect, but I do need them to be right .

Nathan wouldn’t leave something like that out intentionally.

I pause, fingers hovering over the keys.

Maybe he missed it, maybe it’s just an oversight.

But in my world, there’s no room for mistakes.

Not when innocent kids are involved. I shoot off a quick message to Nathan, asking for clarification on the location, and then check my watch again: 00:52.

Time moves too fast when you’re in this kind of headspace, distracted by the details and what’s at stake.

Another hour won’t make much difference, but I’ll need more than just the coordinates to go off of if I want to make this quick.

I stand up and stretch, my legs stiff. My mind is already moving forward, calculating the next steps.

The traffickers are sloppier than usual, but that doesn’t mean we should underestimate them.

They’ve got kids in their possession and that always means they’ll fight harder.

The fact that they haven’t taken more precautions tells me they’re either new to this or they’re overconfident.

Either way, it won’t matter. I’ll be ready for whatever they throw at me.

The faint sound of my phone vibrating on the counter interrupts my thoughts. It’s a text message from Nathan.

Had to send a backup. Something off about the system here. Will be a few more minutes before I get the full file to you.

I swear under my breath and run a hand through my hair.

I was hoping to get a jump on this tonight, but it’s looking like I’ll have to wait.

The more I think about it though, the more I realize I’m already prepared.

Hell, I’ve got everything I need already.

I know the players involved, and I know the layout of their operations.

Just need that one last piece of the puzzle.

While I wait for Nathan’s follow-up, I begin reviewing the rest of the data.

The parents: desperate, broken, willing to do anything to reverse their fucked-up mistake.

The word feels dirty, because who can even call letting your own children be taken, a mistake.

Regardless, the desperation… I know what that feels like.

Not in the same context, of course, but the feeling of losing someone you can’t protect…

It's universal. And those traffickers won’t know what hit them.

The buzz from my phone shakes me out of my thoughts again, and this time it’s the full follow-up from Nathan.

The coordinates are now complete, and the missing piece clicks into place.

I quickly enter the numbers into the system, the map popping up on the screen in front of me.

It’s not far—an hour and a half drive at most, just like he said.

The place is a dilapidated warehouse on the edge of town, the kind of place where no one notices when you drag in a few dozen frightened kids and lock them away.

Blowing out a breath and rubbing a hand down my face, I determine that I won’t be able to go back to sleep with this weighing on my mind. The job isn’t pretty, it never has been, and as heavily as it weighs on me, someone has to do it.

Because who else would?