Free Michael (The Curse) (The Airel Saga, Book 3: Part 5-6) by Aaron Patterson, Chris White

are. End of story.” She climbed in and slammed the door.
    “Michael,” I began.
    “I just think she’s really scared,” he said.
    “Uhm . . .” was all I could manage.
    “No big,” he said, grabbing my hands. “I should know better than to try to control Kim, but it was worth a shot.” He opened the passenger side door and helped me up and in. “I’ve got you now.”
    Massive waves of déjà vu swept over me and I couldn’t help but be transported back to our first date, that night, how he looked at me, how we had made such innocent plans, and how they had been so cleanly blasted away. Perhaps this was the perfect opportunity to start over, forget the past, move forward? He had compared me to Audrey Hepburn. A smile crept into my heart and spread across my face as I came back from that moment. “Well, Mister, are we going or not?”
    He smiled and nodded. Mr. Smooth was here. As he closed my door and walked around to the driver’s seat, I couldn’t help but imagine all kinds of delicious and fantastic things that were destined to happen between us. But maybe that was just the irrational little girl speaking.

CHAPTER XII
    Boise, Idaho—Present Day
    “REID HERE,” GRETCHEN SAID as she picked up the phone. The voice on the other end belonged to an overworked Boise P.D. detective, and it didn’t take much to be able to tell. Gretchen Reid had been around the block long enough. She listened as the fatigued voice told her about a case he was handing off to her; BPD was basically asking the FBI field office for help. “This is a first,” she said.
    And it was a first. They usually saw her as a threat; they didn’t like to share, much less volunteer brand-new cases. She told herself they hated her because she was young, feminine, and attractive, that she headed up the local FBI field office. Part of her just loved rattling the local authorities any chance she got. Jurisdictional pissing contests, nine times out of ten, were won by the FBI.
    “Okay, secure fax me the docs and I’ll have a look. Meanwhile, I’m going to need the case file number at least, via email, so I can start my own file.” Gretchen nudged her new assistant and kept talking. “Okay, thanks, Detective Vukovic. Good day.” She hung up. Turning, she said, “All right, Harry, BPD is faxing us a new one.”
    “What is it?”
    “Missing persons.”
    “Cold case?”
    “No way. This one hasn’t even had time to get lukewarm.”
    “Really?”
    “Yep,” she said, bustling through the empty office toward the mailroom. She wore a gray pantsuit and short heels that hit the floor in little staccato cluck-clocks that struck terror into the hearts of every admin drone ever to have the misfortune to do a tour in the Boise Field Office, Special Agent Gretchen Reid’s domain and undisputed kingdom.
    “Must be important,” Harry said, tailing her like a pet. He was the new guy, just learning the ropes.
    She didn’t respond. “Okay, Harry, when this is done coming in, you make copies for yourself and get the originals straight to my desk. Understand?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Good, Harry. You’ll do well here. Just keep doing as you’re told.” She looked at him. “It’s not too late for you, is it? You didn’t have plans for tonight, did you?”
    “No, ma’am.”
    “Good, because I can replace you—it’s just inconvenient for me right now. I don’t want to have to wake up agent-next-in-line and wait for him to drag himself back to the office.”
    “It’s fine, ma’am.”
    “Good, Harry. I like the way you think—not bad for a rookie. I want to get on this ASAP, like right now.” Gretchen moved to take her leave, noting that it was after midnight but deducing that the parents of the missing girl would probably be up fretting anyway, so no worries.
    “After that—”
    “Get to work on whatever they’re giving us via email. Compile. Collate. Fix their screw-ups. Research. And call me if you find any leads.” She