“You’re skeptical. Good.” He nodded, seemingly not even slightly concerned that she was six seconds from reaching for pepper spray. “But you need to understand the ramifications of all these questions.”
She’d heard phrases like that every day in her work life as a researcher for the Jane Doe Network. She searched for the right piece of information to match missing persons to unidentified victims. To bring closure to cold cases and family pain. “I’ve found that people who say that sort of thing to me have no intention of actually helping me.”
“I’m the exception.” The corner of his mouth twitched in what seemed to be his version of a smile. “You’re being careful right now. That’s smart. My only point is that you should continue to do so and heed my advice.”
Every word sounded as if it were chosen for maximum impact. No wasted syllables, not even an extra breath. He sat there, stiff and sure with a brooding affect that acted like a warning shot even as something about him reeled her in, had her leaning forward, waiting to hear what he’d say next.
She forced her body to stay still. No fidgeting or spinning her cup. “Tell me what you think I’ve done that’s wrong or dangerous.”
“You have been asking questions and taking photographs.”
She’d taken exactly two photographs lately. Not for work, for her side project. The one that had haunted her for years and begged for closure. “Both activities, which, if they happened, are legal.”
“Wren.” He said the word and stopped talking.
Not that he needed to spell it out. The name echoed in her head. It was all she could do not to launch across the table and shake this guy. “Are you him?”
“I’m someone who knows you’re searching for Wren.”
Because that wasn’t an odd answer or anything. If Wren sent someone to find her, stop her, this had turned very personal. She’d been hunting in relative secret. She basically knew the name Wren from a scribble on a piece of paper.
So much for thinking she’d been discreet. She’d called in favors and asked friends to dig quietly. She’d made it clear no one should leave a trail or take unnecessary risks. Either someone had messed up or . . . she didn’t even want to think about the “or” part.
She forced her brain to focus. Pushed out the fear and confusion as her mind clicked into gear. This guy had information about Tiffany’s disappearance. Emery didn’t know what, but something.
The chair creaked as the man sat back. “The point is, you need to stop.”
“Yeah, you said a version of that already.” Not that she could forget that voice.
His head tilted to the side as if he were examining her and for a second that harsh fa?ade slipped. “What do you hope to accomplish here?”
She held up her cup and shook it. “I’m drinking coffee.”
“When you search for a recluse who may or may not exist—”
“He does.”
The guy nodded. “Possibly.”
“Okay, fine. We can play that game.” But she knew the truth. People in power shook their heads and whispered the name Wren. She’d seen it when she talked with the senator who once promised a favor for matching her friend’s missing child to a John Doe case four states away. Even the senator backed away at the mention of the guy.
“Do you think if you ask the right question someone is going to hand over Wren’s home address?” His hands stayed folded on his lap as he asked the question.
As much as the conversation had her nerves zapping, she needed to keep him talking. Get him to slip up or at least touch the table or something so she could get her resources to check for fingerprints. A desperate hope, but then she dealt daily with desperate hope. “Do you have it? If so, give it to me. This conversation will go a lot faster and you can get back to doing whatever it is you do, which I somehow doubt is legal or particularly nice.”
His mouth twitched for the second time. “Why do you want to see Wren?”
Apparently they’d entered the never-ending-questions portion of the conversation. As the minutes passed, she became less interested in participating in his game and more in playing her own. “Tell me your name.”
“I’d rather you listen to me.” He leaned forward. “You are wading into danger here. There are some people who prefer anonymity. Denying them that brings trouble.”
The words shot into her, had her back slamming into her chair. “Are you threatening me?”
“I’m trying to keep you from being hurt.” He cleared his throat. “You might awaken a beast you cannot possibly control.”
The conversation, this meeting, it all spun in her head. “What does that even mean?”
“I think you know.” Without warning, the guy stood up.
“You drop that kind of overly dramatic comment, don’t bother telling me who you are or how you know Wren and then storm out?”
“Yes.”
She sputtered, trying to think of something brilliant to say after that, but only babble filled her brain.