Chapter 6: The Camping Box
Carol called back in eleven minutes.
I was sitting on the edge of the hotel bed with Oliver asleep beside me, one hand resting on his back, when my phone lit up.
"I'm inside," she said.
"Garage is fine.
No sign of anyone."
"The camping box.
Back left corner."
I heard her moving.
The scrape of folding chairs.
A zipper.
"Got it." A pause.
"False bottom — yes, I can see the seam.
Hold on."
More sounds.
Something being lifted.
Then silence.
"Carol."
"Sara." Her voice had changed completely.
"There's a phone in here.
A cheap one, one of those prepaid things.
And a manila envelope."
"Open the envelope."
The sound of paper.
"It's photographs," she said.
"Maybe twenty of them.
Printed, not professional.
They look like surveillance shots — taken from a distance." She went quiet for a moment.
"Sara, these are photos of men.
Different men, different locations.
Some of them are in what looks like a warehouse.
Some are at what looks like a port." Another pause.
"There are names written on the back of each one."
"What names?"
"I don't recognize most of them.
But one of them—" She stopped.
"Carol."
"One of them is labeled *Harlen Group — Regional Director.*" Her voice dropped.
"And Sara, there's a face I do recognize.
I've seen this man on the news.
He ran for city council in Portland two years ago.
He lost, but he was everywhere for a while."
My hand tightened on the phone.
"His name is on the back?"
"Yes." She hesitated.
"And there's a note clipped to this one specifically.
Handwritten.
It says: *'If something happens to me, this is why.
Give this to someone you trust outside Portland law enforcement.'*"
Daniel had known.
He had known exactly what might happen, and he had left a trail — not for the police, not for a lawyer, but for me.
Hidden in a camping box under two folding chairs, waiting for the day I was ready to look.
"The prepaid phone," I said.
"Turn it on."
"It's already on." A sharp intake of breath.
"Sara.
There are text messages on it.
Sent and received.
The last one received was—" She paused.
"Four days ago."
Four days ago.
Three days before Oliver and I drove to Seattle.
"What does it say?"
Carol read it slowly.
*"She's moving.
Seattle, Harborview Hotel.
Tell her I'm close.
Tell her it's almost time."*
The sender's name in the phone was saved as one word.
*Daniel.*
I sat very still on the edge of the bed.
Oliver's back rose and fell under my hand.
"He knew we were coming here," I said.
"He's been watching over you," Carol said softly.
"This whole time."
"Or someone has his phone." I couldn't let myself feel it yet.
Not until I was sure.
"Carol, take everything.
The phone, the envelope, all the photographs.
Put them in your bag and leave the house right now."
"Where do I bring them?"
I thought of Raines.
His careful eyes.
The way he'd gone very still when I said Harlen Group.
"Not to me yet.
Not here." I made a decision.
"There's a federal field office in Portland.
Not local police.
Federal.
Walk in and ask for the duty agent.
Tell them you have evidence related to a missing persons case and a crjme organization.
Don't give them anything until they show you credentials."
"Sara, are you sure—"
"Daniel said outside Portland law enforcement.
That means someone local is involved." My voice was steady now.
The fear had settled into something colder and more useful.
"Go now, Carol.
Don't stop anywhere."
"Okay." The sound of her moving fast.
"I love you."
"I love you too.
Call me when you're there."
She hung up.
I looked at Oliver sleeping.
Then my hotel room door knocked.
Three times.
Quiet and deliberate.
I didn't move.
"Mrs.
Calloway." Raines's voice, low, through the door.
May you like
"I need you to come with me right now.
Something has happened."
