After a prolonged silence in the office, Lonnie finally said, âSir, could it be that Mrs.
Payne stopped because she recognized the person?â
Nathan knew Lucinda well enough to understand her cautious nature.
Even in a crisis where strangers needed help, she might stop to call the police or emergency services, but she wouldnât rashly let them into her car, unless she knew them personally.
Breathing heavily, Nathan scrutinized the surveillance images.
The person in the back seat seemed to be intentionally avoiding being captured by street cameras.
Only a partial glimpse of a shoulder was visible, and the figure seemed robust.
At first glance, it looked like a manâs silhouette.
But who was this person?
With the recent unrest in Stastle, the National Security Bureau had been overwhelmed, working overtime to handle a myriad of complex issues.
âThere were no signs of struggle in the car, no weapons left behind.
It might really be someone Lucinda knew.
â
Turning to Lonnie, Nathan instructed, âCheck if any shops near the bridge have outdoor surveillance cameras.
Perhaps they caught something useful.
â
This could be a crucial lead in their investigation.
âOkay, Iâll contact them right away.
â
Lonnie was about to exit through the door, hand poised to turn the doorknob when he paused and turned back to caution Nathan.
âSir, I know youâre anxious, but please look after your health.
Itâs cold and rainy, and youâre still wet from being outside.
Donât catch a cold before we find Mrs.
Payne.
â
His words earned him a sharp, stern look from Nathan, prompting him to quickly close his mouth.
âAlright, Iâm off now.
â
With a shrug, Lonnie quietly shut the office door behind him.
Nathan, fresh from the valley, was still damp; his hair was wet, and his clothes were dripping.
Ignoring his discomfort, he opened a drawer and pulled out a packet of cigarettes.
He hadnât smoked since Lucinda had their children, several years ago.
Tonight, he wouldnât be seeing the kids, so he wasnât concerned about the smoke lingering on him.
Lighting a cigarette, he inhaled deeply, the action seemingly an attempt to dispel his stress.
The harsh taste of the smoke filled his mouth and lungs, provoking a bout of coughing.
Tears welled in his reddened eyes as he gazed at the cigarette between his fingers, murmuring softly, âHoney, Iâve broken my promise by smoking, can you see? Come and scold me.
Let me find you quickly.
â
His voice was choked with emotion.
Having suppressed his anguish over his wifeâs disappearance for a few hours, he now released it all, alone in his office.
The normally stoic manâs shoulders shook as his emotions plunged into deep despair.