He closed the file and then the folder, his finger poised to the delete the whole thing. But he couldn’t. Instead, he launched a browser and typed the beginning of a website address for one of his favorite chat rooms. The full name showed up in the results box below. Obviously, he’d visited there a lot.
Of course, he needed to avoid chat rooms right now. He should be lying low and staying off the Internet. At least for a while. One of those articles had even mentioned that the girl had been in contact with “men” online. Men? Not just him? His hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms.
No, he wouldn’t visit the chats while the police were sniffing around. Anyway, time always slipped away from him when he played online, and he’d promised Mom he would keep his job this time. That was the deal he’d made so she would agree to keep paying his rent. He’d given someone else his word that he would stay out of trouble, and he’d already broken that promise.
He moved his mouse in a circular pattern on the mouse pad and then let the arrow hover over the link. His decision came with a click.
And he was there again, that wonderful place where multiple conversations moved at a rapid clip. Introductions were made, connections formed, and screen names vanished with the lure of private chats.
Cory wiped his sweaty upper lip with the back of his hand as he scrolled through comments. There were so many lonely girls, just waiting to be his special friends. Still, he needed to be patient to find the perfect one.
He’d be more careful this time. Courting was a delicate process, after all. But with such sweetness ahead, how could he not continue the search for a princess with whom to share his castle home?
He clicked on the dialogue box. Then he typed the line that could be the beginning of something wonderful: Hi!
A knock on the outside of his cubicle brought Tony’s head around with a jerk that made his neck ache. His vision was already blurry from hours of fruitless searches through some of the more popular Dark Web sites. He’d buried himself in his work to get that earlier conversation with Kelly out of his thoughts, and he’d almost succeeded. Until now.
The woman he’d been trying not to think about stepped into the doorway, her hands shoved into her uniform pockets.
“May I help you?”
He was proud of himself that he’d sounded almost civil, especially when he’d hoped not to have to face her again for the rest of the day.
“Sorry to interrupt you, but—”
“But you’re finished reading about all the other cases that aren’t the one we’re investigating?” So much for being nice.
She frowned. “I have finished that, but Special Agent Dawson wants me to observe you putting out regular text communication in the chat rooms.”
“Why? Haven’t you ever done a chat before?”
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”
His next brusque comment died on his lips. Why couldn’t he stop baiting her? She was doing her job, just as he was trying to do.
“Fine.”
He gestured toward his guest chair though the last thing he needed was to be close to her again. He’d been trying to get the scent of her shampoo—light, flowery and carefree—out of his head all afternoon.
“How about instead of observing, we give you a chance to practice? I’ll make my comments verbally, and you can type your responses on my keyboard.”
“Sounds okay.”
He stood and slid by her to grab the seat she’d used earlier. She took his place in front of a blank word-processing document.
“Would your friends say you’re pretty?” he asked.
She blinked several times. He had to hold back a smile. Of course, they would. Not to say so would have made them liars.
Finally, she started typing.
I don’t know. I guess so. They probably would say I have a cute face.
“Are you trying to say you’re a bigger person? Would anyone say that about you?” he asked.
I’m bigger than some of my friends, I guess.
He had to remind himself that she was creating a fictional character since the woman sitting next to him looked perfect to him. Too perfect.
“You’re probably just curvier. They’re jealous,” he managed to say.
How can you say that? You haven’t even seen me.
“We could fix that. You could send me a picture. I’m already sure you’re real pretty.”
But I hate my braces.
At the second reminder that their conversation had been only role playing, he sat taller in his seat. He’d given her easy questions, and he couldn’t explain why. Was it because of that compassion in her eyes after he’d explained the photos on his board? Did he believe she was too tender-hearted for this work and felt compelled to shield her? What business did he have trying to protect anyone from this world when he hadn’t been able to shelter himself?
Instead of continuing the mock conversation, he reached for the keyboard and slowly pulled it to him.
“Why are you doing that?”
“You’ll do fine. You’re a natural. At least for the easy stuff.”
“I really was a thirteen-year-old girl once. An awkward, misunderstood and, yes, larger teenager. I was in the public speaking club. Not the cheerleading squad.”
She’d surprised him. People rarely did that anymore. Kelly Roberts wasn’t who he’d expected her to be, from her biography or from her knockout good looks. He knew better than to prejudge people, anyway. That was how the wolves fit in among the unsuspecting sheep in their investigations.
“Some things happened, and I ate for comfort and gained some weight,” she added when he didn’t respond right away.
“Looks like you figured things out.” Immediately, he wanted to take that back. It sounded as if he’d been watching her, and he had. Now they both knew it.
She cleared her throat and pointed to the screen again. “If the conversations online are like that, they sound so benign.”
Relieved that she’d redirected the conversation back to their work, where it belonged, Tony went with it.
“They start that way, but they can escalate quickly. A chat where a guy tells his victim that he understands why she’s mad at her parents over her curfew quickly turns to demands for intimate photos.”
“That’s awful.”
“That doesn’t begin to cover how bad it gets. How are you going to be able to handle—”
“I meant for you.”
He came to his feet as if something had pushed him out of the chair, and he moved to the doorway of his own cubicle. Just like earlier, her compassion for him unsettled him. Why was she being so kind when he’d been rude to her? Worse than that, he was beginning to like her. He wasn’t there to make friends. He had to finish the case so he could be transferred. He needed to remember that.
“I mean you have to read and listen to this stuff every day,” she continued, as if she realized she’d struck a nerve. “How do you bear it? Do you turn it off when you get home?”
“It’s my job.”
He would’ve