Page 109 of Forever Gone

The guard did not move. Neither did the man in front of the gate.

Punching one of them would give Morimer another weapon. Driving through the gate would end Connor’s career before sunrise. Morimer had chosen the location because every response available to Connor was worse than leaving.

He returned to the SUV.

The first guard called after him. “I’ll tell him you stopped by.”

Connor slammed the door and reversed hard enough to scatter wet leaves across the road.

The gate remained closed in the mirror.

He drove downhill with the phone resting beside him. The anger had not eased, but it had changed shape. Morimer would not send the recording without a purpose. A request would follow. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not for weeks.

That uncertainty was part of the pressure.

Connor’s phone rang through the vehicle speakers.

The sheriff’s department appeared on the dashboard.

He answered. “What is it?”

The night dispatcher came through the speakers. “Sheriff, the circuit judge signed the HearthSpace warrant. The company confirmed receipt about twenty minutes ago.”

“Did they send the records?”

“Not yet. Their compliance team says they’re processing the request.”

Connor checked the road ahead.

Sleep would not come while Morimer’s video remained on his phone. Sitting alone in the house would only give the message more space.

“Call me if anything comes through.”

“You got it.”

Connor reached the next junction.

Home lay to the left.

He turned right toward Elmsview.

*

The briefing room was colder at night.

Connor spent the next several hours working through reports while the HearthSpace request remained in processing. He reviewed the barn search, checked outstanding interviews, and read the same sections twice without absorbing them.

At 4:47, the secure system sounded an alert.

HearthSpace had completed the production.

Connor opened the download across two screens. It contained account tables, group directories, exported posts, direct-message indexes, and a stack of legal notices explaining what the company had not retained.

Karen Sloane, Ruth Keller, and Linda Mercer watched from their photographs above the table.

Connor opened another spreadsheet. Part of him knew he should call Selena. Wake her up and let her know what was there. But he wanted to go over it himself. He wanted to do something for the victims. It was his county, and always relying on Selena and the FBI was beginning to call his own sense of being a sheriff into question. Deep down, he knew it was to assuage his guilt over Morimer. If he made the breakthrough, perhaps he would be worthy of wearing the badge again. Worthy of not making rash mistakes.

Thousands of usernames filled the rows.