He imagined her outside, phone gone cold on the bedside table, baby pressed against her chest. Walking to meet a stranger. Or worse—someone she knew, but he didn’t. His mind twisted through names and faces. Every blank space felt like a trap waiting to be sprung.
The detective pushed back his chair. “We’ll circulate her photo and the number. Stay close.” Ethan stood too, hands gripping the table. “No—I’m coming with you.” Because sitting here with unanswered questions was worse than running the streets, it was worse than imagining each possible ending.