Then headlights, the outline of a pickup truck, its bed loaded, stopping at the motel under the neon Office sign. Two people got out of the vehicle.

Noble froze.

One had to be Kevin Tatum. And that smaller, grainy, distorted figure had to be Samantha Moore. Noble’s heart beat faster with the realization that he was seeing Sam for the first time.

Alive.

For nearly six months, she had been his obsession—watching, pleading, imploring from the photographs in his office. For nearly six months, she had haunted his dreams.

And now here she was.

Walking, breathing.

Alive.

It not only made it more real for him—it had brought him one step closer to her.

The footage continued, showing them leave the office, park their pickup, unload their bags, and enter their room, Number 6. Minutes later, the door opens, a figure emerges.

It has to be Sam.

Then disappears in the breezeway and out of the frame.

A short time later, headlights flash at the edge of the frame.

Is that a vehicle from the rear parking lot? Is that her abductor?

More time passes. Another figure emerges from Number 6.

Tatum.

Looking, checking their truck, going to the office.

Noble took a breath, let it out slowly, then dragged his hands over his face.

He’d seen Sam. She was right there.

He wanted to reach into the footage and grab her, pull her from time, transfer her to safety.

He needed the experts to analyze this footage—enhance it, improve it, work whatever magic they could.

Because this was something.

Piece by piece, he was getting closer.

At that moment, his phone vibrated with a message from his captain.

“Call me.”

CHAPTER 31

Manhattan, New York City

The Hydra Killer had surfaced.

The DNA evidence submitted to CODIS from the Vermont State Police confirmed it.

McDade’s stomach tensed as she headed down the hall from her office for what would be one of the most crucial meetings in the case.

The alert she’d received from Quantico had triggered a flurry of calls up the command chain, and across several jurisdictions and states. Within 24 hours of McDade’s conversation with Carl Litell at the DNA Database Unit, a major teleconference call had been set up.

McDade would resume her leading role in the Hydra investigation—a responsibility she’d carried home last night after receiving the Quantico call.

The resurrection of the Hydra—with this critical lead out of Vermont—had consumed her to the point that she had not given Alison all of her attention.

McDade had been in the kitchen, folders splayed over the table—thankfully, none containing crime scene photos. She was focused on her laptop, and reading encrypted files, some of them going back years.

We’ve got to catch this monster.

She was making notes when a hand touched her shoulder, startling her.

“Mom?”

“Goodness. Sorry, sweetie. What is it?”

“I said can I go to Morgan’s sleepover this weekend?”