Chapter 2

The next day morning, I made the second call.

The second the red light flickered on the dial, I jammed my thumb down.

"Charlotte?" His voice crackled heavily through the speaker.

I didn't waste a single breath. "Listen to me! On the 16th, absolutely do not walk down the 5th Street back alley."

"A lunatic is waiting there to kill you."

Dead air filled my study. I gripped the plastic casing so hard my knuckles turned pale.

"I think you are playing some sick joke on me," he finally said. His breathing was heavy.

"But I must be losing my mind, because I actually skipped the motel yesterday."

"Who exactly are you?"

"I already told you." I cut him off sharply. "If you do not believe me, watch the news tomorrow."

"Wall Street is going to suffer a massive stock crash. You will see it."

"Fine."He let out a low grunt. "I have to get back undercover now."

"Dad, please stay safe."

A sharp click echoed. The static vanished instantly.

I checked my watch. Exactly three minutes. That was the rule.

I looked down at the desk. My blood ran completely cold.

The coroner's report was totally gone. In its place lay an official police document with a bold red stamp.

"Missing Person File."

I snatched the paper up. The date of disappearance now read October 22.

I grabbed my phone and furiously typed his name into the browser. Dozens of missing posters flooded my screen.

The headlines were completely different now. "Disgraced Detective Absconds to Avoid Corruption Charges."

My eyes darted to a related article below it.

"Wife of Fleeing Cop Found Dead. Suicide due to public humiliation."

I dropped the phone.

I ruined everything. By stopping his murder in the alley, I pushed him into a far worse trap.

Now I had zero idea what he would face next.

I shoved the radio into my duffel bag and zipped it shut. I could not sit around waiting.

I needed to see Captain Miller. He was Dad’s mentor and the former head of Internal Affairs.

I turned around. Mark was standing in the doorway, staring right at my bag.

"Charlotte, what are you doing?" His eyes narrowed.

"I need to go out." I slung the strap over my shoulder and walked toward him.

Mark grabbed my arm.

"You are not going anywhere. Your head is a total mess right now," he said, blocking the hallway entirely.

I stared at his gripping hand. My stomach twisted tight.

"I knew you were worried about me, but I am going to a grief support group down town," I lied.

I could never tell him the truth. No one would believe I was talking to my dead father through a rusted radio.

He'd think grief had driven me crazy and lock me in a psych ward.

Mark searched my eyes for a long moment. He finally loosened his grip.

I walked out of the house without looking back.

Miller’s retirement cabin sat deep in the snowy woods. I pounded my fists on his wooden door.

The old captain pulled it open. His white hair was thinning, but his eyes remained sharp.

"Charlotte?"

I pushed past him into the living room. I told him everything about the impossible radio and the changing dates.

Miller just stared at me. He looked at me like I belonged in a straightjacket.

"Charlotte, your father ran fifteen years ago. Let it go."

My body shook violently. I grabbed the edge of his table, practically dropping to my knees.

"Please! Did the department really find absolutely nothing when he vanished?"

Miller stayed silent for a long time. His cold gaze finally softened.

"We never got an official distress signal from him."

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "But Internal Affairs intercepted his last encrypted GPS ping."

"It came from outside a politician's underground private club."

"SWAT raided the place and searched for hours. We never found a single body."

My nails dug deep into my palms, breaking the skin. I opened my mouth to ask who the politician was.

Miller shook his head and walked to the front door. He refused to say another word.

I drove away from the cabin feeling completely hollow.

Memories from childhood choked my throat. He missed every single school play and birthday.

I used to cry and beg Mom to tell me where he was.

She would just stroke my hair. "Your dad is a hero punishing evil people."

Then I remembered the day Mom took me to the precinct holding room.

Dad sat there, completely stripped of his badge. He had a black eye and a split lip.

He covered his bruised face with both hands when he saw me. "Do not look at your old man like this."

Mom dragged me out of the room crying. I hated those dirty cops for doing that to him.

I parked my car off the side of an empty road. The dashboard clock read 3:00 PM.

I pulled the heavy plastic radio from my bag on October 16. I rested my thumb firmly over the transmission button.

It was time to make the third call.