Here's another look into the interesting mind of Victoria Howard! If you haven't already, check out the main project (Tenebrity) that this is part of or my other side project (Gratitude), the love story that Angela and Leah deserve.

Near the end of the next day I finally crossed the Washington State line. I traveled north to Pullman. Surely gossip would flow freely in a college town. I holed up in a cut-rate motel, grateful of the chance to wash the forest out of my hair.

Before the sun came up, I ventured out to pick up a copy of the local newspaper immediately and scanned it, looking for missing persons or unusual deaths. I found a single line in a letter to the editor referencing a cougar attack that had apparently happened recently, but no mention of when or where. That could be him, I thought, desperately hopeful. If he was hunting... he probably wasn't dead. Probably. I'm never letting him leave again without one of those—what do they call them—cell phones. We didn't usually bother with modern technology, but I was starting to see its usefulness.

I needed a way to find him. A story, something to ask people without raising their suspicions. I headed back to my motel room to mull it over for the day—an occasional glance through the window confirmed that, though it was weak, the sun was still present enough for me to be careful.

As soon as darkness had fallen (and it didn't take that long, up here in the cold North) I went to an office store and got them to print me a small box filled with creamy white business cards that read Victoria Howard, Private Investigator. I hated to part with it for even a minute, but I relinquished the only photo I had of James, taken in Greece in 1983 on a Polaroid that had been my pride possession for several years, so that they could scan it.

Then I headed to the closest library and—although they made me sign up for a library card to do it—searched for more information about the cougar attacks. They had taken place not far from the small town of Port Angeles, which was another day's travel. My fingers trembled as I read the date of the attacks; they were more than a week old… what if something had happened to him in the meantime? I had to find out as soon as possible.

I printed a map of the area between Pullman and Port Angeles and waited only long enough to commit the quickest route to memory before I headed out moving as fast as I could without attracting undue attention. As soon as the lights of the college town faded behind me, I began to run in earnest. I covered the four hundred miles in a little under six hours—slower only because I had to limit myself to a jog through Seattle.

My first stop within the town's limits was at a 24/7 convenience store. The clerk was patently disinterested in the story I had come up with during my run—that James was a missing person, possibly in danger.

I tried again at a gas station, but got the same reaction. The sun was rising, but… this was too urgent. I couldn't explain quite how, but I felt driven. Was this how James felt, when he was tracking? Like he couldn't sit down, couldn't take a breath, until he had found his quarry?

My next target was a small diner that was just opening for breakfast. It took a minute to strike up a conversation—an older man, with spidery blue veins that drew my attention.

He glanced at my business card perfunctorily. Peered at the picture of James. Cleared his throat. "Haven't seen him."

"He's a missing person," I explained, trying to keep the edge of panic out of my voice. "Been missing for, oh, about three weeks."

"Running from something?" he asked, then furrowed his brow. "Three weeks ago?" He brightened. "That's about the time that librarian got murdered. You don't think he—"

Finally, someone was paying attention. I hesitated to draw attention to James as a potential criminal, but… if it worked… "He might," I said, trying to sound ominous. "He could be armed and dangerous. Look closer—are you sure you haven't seen him?"

He squinted, the veins in his neck pulsing with the effort. "My memory isn't what it used to be. I wish I could be more helpful."

It wasn't much, but it was something. I would find him. I would.

"I heard you had some cougar attacks around here," I said, trying to get more information while I could. "Does that happen often?"

He chuckled. "First in years," he said. "But I wouldn't say they were around here, you understand. They were out near Forks. Forest country, that is."

"Forks? Is that a town?" What a stupid name.

"Hardly a town." He let out a hacking cough. "Ninety miles down the 101."

That would be my next stop, I decided. "Thank you for your help."

"It's not every day I get to help a girl as pretty as yourself," he said. I felt my face twitch. Too bad I wasn't hungry. I made some hasty excuse and retreated from the diner.

The sun stayed behind the clouds long enough for me to find another cheap motel and check in. My room smelled like cigarette smoke and sex, but it didn't matter. James was in danger—I could feel it. He needed me, and I wouldn't stop until we were together again.