Tim Watson had learned to trust his instincts. Fifteen years in law enforcement had taught him that sometimes the smallest things, the flicker of an eye, the stiffening of a shoulder, the way someone hesitated before answering a simple question, could mean the difference between saving a life and missing a crucial clue. And today, that feeling struck him harder than it had in years.
It started the moment a man boarded his bus at the downtown stop, tugging a little girl along behind him. She was small, no older than six, and barely visible beneath the oversized hoodie she wore. The fabric swallowed her tiny frame, the sleeves covering her hands entirely, as if she were trying to disappear inside it.
Her hair was a tangled mess, blonde but dull, lacking the shine of a well-cared-for child. She moved slowly, hesitantly, as though afraid to lift her feet too high off the ground. The man holding her wrist, because it wasn’t a fatherly grip, not the gentle way a parent would hold their child’s hand, was jittery.
His eyes darted around the bus before he quickly pulled his hood up. Even though the California heat made the air thick and heavy, He had a thin, wiry frame and an angular face with stubble darkening his jawline. His free hand clenched and unclenched at his side, his knee bouncing in agitation as he guided the girl toward the very back of the bus.
Tim, sitting in the driver’s seat, barely turned his head, but followed their every movement in the wide rearview mirror. He’d seen this kind of thing before. Parents traveling with children didn’t act like this.
Fathers didn’t pull their daughters through a crowded bus like they were dragging luggage. And little girls didn’t shrink into themselves like ghosts. Tim felt the first stirrings of something dark, something deeply unsettling curl in his stomach.
He kept his hand steady on the wheel as the bus doors closed behind them. Next stop, Market Street, he announced, his voice calm and even. The man and the girl didn’t respond.
As Tim pulled the bus back onto the road, he flicked a quick glance at the mirror again. The man had forced the girl into the last row, positioning himself protectively at the edge of the seat as if shielding her from view. His arm stretched out along the backrest.
But it wasn’t a casual gesture. It was a barricade. Tim’s pulse quickened.
The little girl barely moved. She stared down at her lap, her fingers curled into small fists. Then the man leaned toward her.
His lips moved, whispering something that Tim couldn’t hear. The girl flinched, not a big movement, just a small involuntary jerk of her shoulders like she was bracing for something. And that’s when Tim knew this wasn’t right.
The city hummed outside the windows, the late morning sun casting long shadows across the sidewalks. Traffic was light and the bus rumbled smoothly down the familiar streets. To everyone else, it was just another normal day.
But to Tim, every nerve in his body was screaming. Then his earpiece crackled. Amber Alert issued.
Six-year-old girl reported missing. Last seen wearing an oversized green hoodie. Possible abduction.
Suspect is an adult male. Late 30s. Last seen in the downtown area.
Tim’s blood ran cold. He swallowed, forcing his expression to remain neutral as his grip on the wheel tightened just slightly. Oversized green hoodie.