Page 47 of Keller

"What else?"

Marcus switches to the other monitor. A photograph appears. It's one of the photos I'd sent him after we spoke, so he knew who specifically to look for.

"I ran facial recognition through available databases. Nothing came back. Either he's not in the system, or the image quality isn't clear enough for a match."

I study the photo again. My mother's hand rests on his shoulder as she leans in too close to a man who isn't her husband. A knot forms, pulling low in my stomach. It's the same dull pressure that followed me for years after she died.

"Keep going," I say. "The hotel logs are the best lead we have. If he stayed there more than once, we'll have a pattern."

Marcus nods. "I'll let you know when I have something solid. I have a few other things I want to try, too."

I straighten and move toward the door. My hand grabs the knob.

"Keller."

I glance back.

"This seems personal. You sure you want to open this can of worms?"

No, but I need to. "Yes."

Morning light filtersacross Audubon Park. The air is soft and warm. Birds call from the trees overhead. I stand near the entrance, hands in my pockets, watching joggers pass by.

Quinn appears at seven exactly.

She moves up the path with strong, efficient strides. Her legs push forward in a rhythm that reads practiced and instinctive. She wears black running shorts and a gray tank top, both clearlymeant for function over appearance. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail that swings slightly as she runs.

I step forward from the entrance.

She spots me and slows to a jog. Then a walk. Her breathing stays controlled, no heaving.

"You're early," she says.

"So are you."

She stops a few feet away. Her eyes flick down to my shoes. I wonder if they’re so shiny she can tell I bought them yesterday afternoon.

"Ready?" she asks.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

We start moving together. She sets the pace, and I match it without comment. The ground is solid under my feet, the air green and earthy. Very uncharacteristic of the city.

Oak trees stretch overhead, branches heavy with Spanish moss.

Quinn doesn't speak for the first few minutes. I don't either. The rhythm builds between us naturally. When I slow slightly to adjust my stride, she mirrors me without breaking pace. When she speeds up, I follow.

A woman passes us walking a golden retriever. The dog pants happily, tongue lolling. Quinn glances at it, and a smile crosses her face before fading back to focus.

"City's waking up," I say.

She nods. "This is my favorite part of the day. Before everything gets loud."

We round a curve in the path, and the river comes into view beyond the trees. Sunlight catches the water in scattered gold patches. A barge moves slowly upstream, dark against the light.

Quinn slows to a walk. I match her again. She breathes deeper now, but is still controlled. Sweat dampens the edges of her hairline.

"How often do you do this?" I ask.