Page 59 of Tracked
Only a single name. She must’ve been from one of the singles groups.
The contents of the file appeared to be the same as the previous one I’d examined. Maybe Calder was making two piles for singles and couples.
I picked up the next one.
Lindsay James and Brent Underwood.
Not a singles pile after all.
Calder added another folder to the taller pile and grabbed one more.
He flipped it open as I asked again, “What’s the small pile for?”
Calder stilled, but not because of my question. He looked at me and angled the folder in my direction.
My hands tingled with a burst of adrenaline, the papers almost falling from my hands as I bent forward to look.
Rachel Crane.
She was here. She was at the retreat. Or had been.This was our proof.
I went to take my sister’s folder, but he set it down, open, on the desk. Drawing the flashlight from his mouth, he muttered, “This.” He pointed to a marking in the upper right-hand corner of the first page. Something I hadn’t noticed before.
EC.The initials were circled.EC. Was it a person? A diagnosis?
Calder took the folder from my hands, laid it on top of Rachel’s, and pointed to the name notation in the corner:EC.
“What’s EC?” I asked like he had any more of an answer than I did.
“Only some of them have the marking.”
Was it some kind of progress marker? Something special offered to them? Maybe it was something. Maybe it was nothing.
Calder reached for the untouched stack of folders while I picked Rachel’s up off the table, feeling the first flag of guilt. To look inside ... it was more than her protected medical record. It was personal. It was all the things she’d chosen not to share with me.Her sister.But if there was another clue to her whereabouts, I didn’t have a choice.
I flipped open the cover.
Assessment: ADD, low self-esteem
I skipped a page or two into the report, my eye catching onPast Influences.
Patient reports relationship spirals began during college. The wordsinciting triggerwere in all capitals and underlined.
Calder.
His name wasn’t there, but I saw it all the same.
What kind of sister was I that the man I’d asked to help rescue her was also the one responsible for being herinciting trigger?
What kind of sister was I for desiring Calder on top of it? For admiring every inch of him? For warming to his slightest touch? For holding my breath whenever he came close?For almost kissing him?
“Lara.” Calder put his hand on top of the file, drawing me back to the moment and blocking me from reading more. “Hold this.”
He handed me the flashlight.
Then, like he’d done in the locker room, Calder slid out the heel of his left boot and pulled the smallest cell phone known to man from the hollowed-out slot.
He took photos of the names on every chart in the EC stack.
