Zack

I pick up my cell and dial Tyler’s number.

“Yes,” he answers on the fourth ring in a sleepy monotone voice.

“Tyler, it’s Zack. I think I have a problem.”

I hear the rustle of covers, maybe clothes. I can tell he’s moving around. In a more awake voice, he says, “What’s wrong?”

“My pen pal, the one I told you about the other day. I think she’s in trouble.”

“Okay, kid, what did she say exactly?”

“A couple of days ago, she referenced that she thought they had found her. A few minutes ago, she admitted that her stepfather was into some illegal shit. She took something from him and ran away.”

I pace the floor, knowing that something bad is about to happen. My nature doesn’t allow me to ignore such a plea for help, even if she didn’t mean to ask for it.

“Where is she?” Tyler’s voice comes out weary and I imagine him sitting on the couch rubbing his forehead.

“I believe she’s in New York City. At least for now.”

“Okay. We have some down time. You want me to go with you?”

“I don’t want to take you away from Sheila, so it’s your call.”

“She’s leaving tomorrow, heading down to her mother’s for two weeks.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’ll get me out of the to-do list she’s made for me.” Silence, and then I hear a yawn. “When do you want to leave?”

“How about now?” I know I should wait, but I have a hunch that this is big, the tip of the iceberg, and Syrah is all alone.

“Fine. I’ll pack and let Sheila know. You call the director, let him know what’s happening and that we’re taking personal time. I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes.”

Sheila, Tyler’s wife of five years, is very supportive and understanding of his job. She never complains when he has to rush off in the name of duty.

“See you in thirty.”

I click off the phone and then dial my boss. “This better be good.” His voice sounds angry, but that’s normal for him.

“Director Hobbs, this is Zack Cummings. Tyler and I are taking personal time, heading to New York.”

“Anything I should know about?” His tone is brusque.

I drag my hand along my jaw as I explain as quickly as possible. “I think a friend of mine may be in trouble and Tyler and I are heading that way shortly to check it out.”

“Any concrete evidence?”

“No, just a hunch.”

“Just keep me informed.” Click. He hangs up while I stand holding the phone to my ear.

After retrieving my suitcase from the closet, I quickly pack and wait for Tyler’s arrival. Thirty minutes later, somewhere around three-thirty, headlights illuminate my living room as a car pulls into the drive. Just as I head out, I spot my laptop on the coffee table. I pick it up and tuck it under my arm. That’s my only connection to Syrah.

With my suitcase in the trunk, I wrench open the passenger door, slide into the seat, and click the seatbelt in place. Tyler and I drive away in his black SUV, the typical FBI vehicle.

Bags sag under his eyes. Tyler looks like he hasn’t slept in days. “You alright?” I ask, as he drags his hand across his face, probably trying to ward off the sleepiness.

“No, I’m not alright. It’s almost four a.m. and I’m driving down the fucking road.”

“You asked me when I wanted to leave,” I remind him.

“Yeah, well, I was already awake, and I knew you were excited to get going. Now I need sleep.” Tyler hits the interstate and heads north. There isn’t much traffic, so he floors it. “Any idea how to find her?”

Tyler glares at me with puckered lips. “Ah shit! You don’t have a clue, do you? We’re chasing a ghost.”

“We’ve had less information before.”

The way he keeps glancing at me from the corner of his eye is making me uncomfortable. When I think about it, it does seem crazy to take off after someone who didn’t ask you to come.

“You’ve fallen for this girl.” He shakes his head.

My fingers thread through my messy blond hair. “Don’t be crazy, I haven’t even met her.” I make a face at him. “Besides, you know I don’t do relationships.”

Tyler stares at me for an uncomfortable second before turning back toward the road. “Uh huh, what about Elena?”

I scoff. Elena was more of a friend-with-benefits relationship. Nothing serious, and nothing lasting.

Syrah is important to me, but not the way he thinks. When I talk to her, she sets off all my protective instincts. It’s a strange feeling to be protective about someone you haven’t met.

“So, tell me about this ‘maybe,’” he finally says.

“Syrah let . . .”

“That’s her online ID, the only thing I know to call her besides the girl on the computer.”

“Syrah. Ok, so how do you plan to find her in a city that over eight million people call home?”

“She mentioned a bar and two names. Matt and Luca—”

“Well, why didn’t you just say so? That should be easy—”

“Don’t be an asshole, Tyler.” I clench my jaw before continuing. We are both stressed and sleep deprived, so I ignore his condescending tone. “As I was saying before you interrupted. She mentioned Matt and Luca. This Luca owns a nightclub in the city, so we find him, then we find the girl.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

It does sound easy. Too easy. And that worries me. A lot.

We drive the next couple of hours in silence, until we stop to eat at a place called Dinah’s Diner, a little mom-and-pop joint that’s seen better days.

Slamming the car door shut, I head inside, the bell ringing when the front door opens.

The middle-aged woman with bottled bright-red hair is standing at the coffeepot pouring a cup. She looks over her shoulder to see who came in. “Sit anywhere, darling, and I’ll be right with you.”

Tyler and I head to the rear and pick out a square corner table and face the dining room.

I grab the plastic menu. Tyler does the same. As I’m looking over the choices, Tyler asks, “So what’s the plan when we get to New York?”

I keep looking at the menu, not willing to admit that I hadn’t thought that far ahead. This is an impulse move based on a gut feeling, intuition, whatever you want to call it. I know she’s in trouble, and I know I’ve stumbled on to something huge.