Olivia Dunham-Bishop stood up from where she had been sitting at her desk and put her coat on, preparing for the brisk weather of Boston's brutal February. She turned the lights of her office off and closed the door, heading outside of the law firm as her husband Peter Bishop pulled up in their red Mercedes. She couldn't help but smile, and she waved when he was close enough to see and then got into the car when he had come to a complete stop.
"Hey, PB," she said, smiling while closing the car door. She leaned in and kissed him.
"Hey, Livvy," he replied, smiling himself. "You hungry?"
"You betcha," Olivia responded enthusiastically.
Peter nodded. "I figured you would be," he said. "Pizza?"
"You stole the word right out of my mouth."
Peter drove away from the law firm, and within five minutes, they were walking into the front door of Joey's Pizza, their favorite pizza joint in the city.
After finding a seat and having their orders taken, Peter asked Olivia, "So, how was work?"
"Oh, you know," she said, shrugging, "the usual. Still prosecuting the psychopath who killed all those women, the one who calls himself the Artist."
"Ah, yes," Peter said, nodding, "the one that thought that he was enhancing their appearance. How wonderful. You still haven't figured out what that drug is?"
Olivia shook her head. "Unfortunately, no," she said, sighing. "What about you?"
She used her hands to brush her chestnut-colored hair behind her back.
"Well," Peter explained, happy that Olivia was interested, "a young woman tried to get her son out of bed for school this morning, and he wasn't in his bed. Needless to say, it is more than likely a kidnapping that we're looking at. Those are always fun. The woman was hysterical. She kept telling me to bring him back to her."
"What did you say?" Olivia asked, genuinely concerned and heartbroken.
"I said all I could say," Peter said, feeling the same way. "I promised her that I would. I just hope that I can keep that promise. An AMBER Alert was issued, so all we can do now is keep looking for her, hope for a lead."
Olivia nodded. "I know you," she reassured him, "and I know what you're capable of. I've never met anyone who can do the things that you do. If anyone can find that boy, you can."
Peter lit up, and as he and Olivia exchanged suggestive glances, Olivia's feed rang from the breast pocket of her powder-blue shirt. She set the small circular device down on the table and then gently pressed its center button as a small hologram of a young woman with shoulder-length curly dark hair appeared from the center.
"Astrid," Olivia greeted her. "We'll be back within an hour or so. How is Ella?"
"That's actually why I'm calling," Astrid replied, and Olivia could now see that the expression on her friend's face was one composed entirely of worry and fear. "She went to bed about an hour ago, but now, she's gone."
"What do you mean she's gone?" Olivia asked, and Peter averted his eyes to the table.
"She isn't in her bedroom," Astrid replied, stumbling over her words as she panicked. "She isn't anywhere. I can't find her."
Olivia and Peter glared at each other with fresh, panicked intensity, and as soon as Olivia turned her feed off and placed it back in her pocket, the two of them had their coats on and were out the door in a flash.