Page 11 of Once Hidden
“I'll go during the lunch rush,” he heard himself say.
“Wonderful.Keep me updated, won't you?I do so love to hear how things are progressing.”
The call ended, leaving Ethan staring at his phone.He set it down on the table beside his paints, aware of a new feeling taking root inside him—a discomfort that went beyond his usual ambivalence about his work for Aunt Cora.
He had never questioned his role in her organization.From the moment she'd taken him in at ten years old—a scared, grieving boy with no one else in the world—he had accepted her guidance as gospel.She'd given him shelter, education, purpose.She'd nurtured his talents—both the artistic ones and the less savory skills that made him valuable to her network.He owed her everything.
And yet.
And yet something about her instructions regarding April felt different.Wrong, in a way he couldn't articulate even to himself.Not because manipulating April was more wicked than the other cons, he'd run over the years—he'd done far worse—but because for the first time, the person he was deceiving mattered to him.
Ethan looked at his watch.It was only 10:30.The lunch rush at the Beanery wouldn't start for at least another hour and a half.He had time to work on the painting before he needed to leave.
He picked up his brush again and dipped it in the amber paint he'd mixed to match April's eyes.As he added depth to her gaze, he found himself wondering what those eyes would look like when they realized the truth about him.Would there be anger?Disgust?Betrayal?
The thought made his stomach twist.But there was no backing out now.Aunt Cora had given her instructions, and he would follow them, as he always did.Because he owed her everything.Because he didn't know how to be anything other than what she'd made him.
And because, deep down, he was afraid of what would happen if he tried.
The brush moved across the canvas, adding highlights to April's eyes, shadows beneath her cheekbones.With each stroke, her face became more real, more present—a silent witness to his inner turmoil.He worked methodically, losing himself in the familiar rhythm of painting, letting it calm the storm of thoughts in his head.
But even as his hands moved, his mind kept returning to the inevitable moment when he would have to face April.When he would have to pretend that his absence was innocent, that his interest in her was genuine—or at least, more genuine than it truly was.
Because that was the cruelest irony of all.His interest in April had become real.Somewhere between the sketches, the assignment had become something else.Something genuine.And that reality was the most dangerous con of all—one he was running not just on April, but on himself.
Ethan stepped back from the easel, assessing his progress.The painting was coming along well.Another day and it would be finished.But it would never be what he'd originally intended—a simple tool in Aunt Cora's elaborate game.It had become something more, just as his relationship with April had become something more.
He wiped his hands on a rag, leaving streaks of amber and umber on the cloth.He had a role to play, a script to follow.And as much as a part of him wished otherwise, he would play that role to perfection.Because that's what Aunt Cora had taught him to do.Because that's what kept him alive and useful in her world.
But Ethan couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted inside him.A crack in the foundation of certainty that had supported him for most of his life.
He had no idea what might happen if that foundation finally crumbled.
CHAPTER FIVE
As Riley drove through the Virginia countryside, rolling hills and dense forests gradually gave way to scattered farms and the occasional gas station—signposts of civilization to indicate they might be getting closer to Talomaska Crossing.Even so, her mind remained tangled in the odd messages left behind by their unsub, a maddening puzzle piece that refused to fit into any recognizable pattern.
“Could you read me those codes again?”she asked Ann Marie, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them for the past twenty minutes.
“That's the fourth time since we left Quantico,” she replied, but her tone wasn't accusatory—merely observant.“You think you'll hear something different this time?”
Riley shrugged.“Sometimes things click when you least expect them to.”She slowed as they approached a tractor pulling out from a side road, then accelerated past it.“Humor me.”
“Okay,” Ann Marie said, checking the notes on her tablet.“For Cable Morris, the message read: CG, KA-PF-KA-KD, GI, UA-UA-PF-KG.”She pronounced each letter pair carefully.“And for Amanda Lindeen: CG, AF-AI-BI-AH-5, GI, EA-AB-AA-AE.”
Riley listened, letting the bizarre combinations register in her mind again.The codes were purposeful—too structured to be random.This wasn't just some deranged scrawling.It was a message meant to be understood by someone.Was it intended to be a challenge?
“I’ve been texting with the cryptology guys in Quantico,” Ann Marie added.“They’ve got nothing yet.The letters don't form anagrams in English, Spanish, or French.They don't correspond to periodic table elements.They're not ASCII values that convert to text.”She paused.“Unless you count gibberish as a breakthrough.”
Riley frowned.In her two decades with the Bureau, she'd encountered all manner of coded communications—from simple substitution ciphers to elaborate systems requiring specialized knowledge.This one was different.The pattern of it—the repetition of CG and GI at the beginning of distinct sections—suggested something systematic but still unfamiliar.
“The BAU cryptographers will crack it,” Ann Marie offered, as if reading Riley's thoughts.“They’ve got more resources than we do.”
“I know,” Riley said, easing off the accelerator as they approached a reduced speed zone.A weathered sign welcomed them to Talomaska Crossing, population 3,847.“But I don't like waiting for anybody else when people's lives are at stake.”
“You think Amanda Lindeen and Cable Morris are still alive?”
Riley didn't answer immediately.The truth was, she didn't know.But her gut—that indefinable instinct that had served her well over the years—told her they were running out of time, if they hadn't already.
