Unseen (Will Trent / Atlanta Series)

could shove them all into boxes. After a while, there were a lot of boxes. There was nowhere to put them. They floated over his bed at the children’s home. They followed him to school. They chased after him like bullies when he ran down the street.
    As Will got older, storage became an issue. Or maybe the metaphor evolved alongside him. The floating boxes turned into pieces of paper. The papers went into files. The files were put in filing cabinets. The cabinets were locked so that he never had to see them again.
    When Sara came into his life, Will forgot about the file room. He forgot about the endless pieces of paper. The rusted cabinet locks that wouldn’t turn sometimes.
    That was over now.
    Standing in the bathroom, Will put Sara Linton into a file and closed the drawer.
    “Will?” Faith knocked lightly at the door. “Are you okay?”
    He turned on the faucet to let her know he was alive. The water was icy cold. He wanted to splash some onto his face, but the liquid would probably roll right off. Faith had used so much antibiotic ointment that his skin glistened.
    Will opened the door. Faith was standing there with a bottle of water in each hand.
    His voice sounded like an old man’s. “Scared I’d die on the toilet?”
    “That’s not funny.”
    “It can happen,” he croaked. “I read about it in the paper.”
    She handed him the water. “You weren’t sick again?”
    “No.” He regretted the loss of her previous silence, but he wasn’t cruel enough to tell her. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
    “Drink all of that water.” She led him down the hall. “I sent a cruiser for a knock-check on Cayla Martin’s house. Took them forever to find the place. It’s not on MapQuest, Google, anything.”
    Will nodded. He would’ve never found the road without Tony’s help.
    “Anyway, the point is they eventually found it. Martin was home. She said Tony Dell could go to hell for all she cared. And then she asked if there was a reward for helping to find him.”
    Will nodded again. That sounded like Cayla Martin.
    “The cruiser’s gonna swing by a few more times before they go off shift to make sure Dell doesn’t show up. Meanwhile, I caught up Amanda on everything that happened tonight. We’re trying toSkype her into the conference room, but there are some technical difficulties.”
    Will assumed the problems weren’t on this end.
    “Lonnie Gray is here. The Macon chief of police.”
    “Amanda called him?”
    “Denise Branson did. My hat’s off to her for manning up to the boss. They’re outside talking while we try to get the feed up. And by talking, I mean Denise is mostly listening to him screaming. Gray’s so far up her ass he’s probably in her gallbladder by now.”
    Will took a sip of water. “She lose her job?”
    “If she’s lucky, that’s all she’ll lose. Gray had no idea Branson was lying to us. She could be looking at obstruction charges or worse.” Faith glanced over her shoulder. “I haven’t told Gray what Vickery did to you yet.”
    Will shook his head. “Don’t. I’ll settle it with Vickery.”
    “You’ll have to beat Amanda to it. She’s ready to scalp him.”
    Will kept shaking his head. “I wish you hadn’t told her.”
    “Yeah, well, I wish I hadn’t lost my virginity during a midnight screening of
Die Hard
. Get over it.” Faith pushed open the door.
    The conference room was eerily similar to just about every other conference room at every other GBI field office in the state. Fake oak paneling covered the walls. A long table split the center of the room. Worn pleather office chairs were crammed so tight that two large men couldn’t comfortably sit by each other. A small plasma television was on top of a rolling metal cart. Wires hung down to the various electronics on the shelf below. The screen showed what was obviously Amanda’s personal Skype photo. The image had to be from the 1980s. She was dressed for tennis. A wooden racket rested on her shoulder. A Jane Fonda headband poofed out her hair. She was smiling, which was probably the most disconcerting part.
    Amanda’s voice squawked from the speaker on the table. “Can you see me waving my hand?”
    “No, ma’am.” Agent Nick Shelton, head of the field station, didn’t touch the laptop in front of him. Instead, he jammed his fingers into his eyes as he shook his head. “I’m trying everything I can. Are you sure it’s not on your end?”
    “Yes, I’m sure,” Amanda snapped. “I