PREDATOR: AN ANDREW HALE SERIES

WALKING THE PATHS

Morning found me walking through the quiet streets of Cedar City, Tommy trotting alongside me, tail high and ears twitching. The sun was barely above the horizon, painting the town in pale gold, but the air had that crisp bite only early fall could bring. The streets were silent, except for the occasional rumble of a car or the distant crow of a rooster. Cedar City was charming in a small-town, postcard kind of way—but quiet towns had secrets, and I had a feeling this one was full of them.

I had told Sally to go into town and have a chat with the people and see if there's something worth our attention while I head over to the victims house.

I adjusted the strap of my satchel, in which I carried the photos, witness statements, and other files from Sheriff Riker’s office. Tommy sniffed at a lamppost, then looked up at me, impatient as if to say, Let’s get this over with, boss. I smirked. “Patience, Tommy. You’ll get your sniffing reward soon enough.”

The walk to the Graysons’ home was longer than it looked on the map. The houses were neatly lined, front lawns freshly mown, and gardens filled with chrysanthemums and marigolds. Kids’ bicycles leaned against fences, stray leaves drifting across the sidewalks. Normal. Too normal. That’s exactly the problem. Monsters preferred blending in.

I let Tommy lead me down a narrow side street, sniffing the air and occasionally stopping to investigate a bush or a lamppost. His nose twitched; he wasn’t dumb. Dogs could pick up tension humans missed. And in a town like this, where the kidnapper had been patient, methodical, and careful, we needed every advantage.

At last, we reached the Grayson residence. A tidy, two-story home with white siding and green shutters. The twins’ mother was already outside, watering flowers in the front yard, and she froze when she saw me and Tommy approaching. She was a small woman with eyes so wary, tired, and just a little desperate. That hit me harder than any file ever could.

“Mrs. Grayson?” I asked gently, keeping my voice calm but firm. Tommy sat obediently at my side.

“Yes… yes, you must be Agent Hale,” she replied. Her voice trembled slightly. Behind her, Mr. Grayson appeared at the door, arms crossed, expression wary but polite. “We… we’ve been expecting you. Sheriff Riker said you’d be coming.”

I nodded, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Thank you for having me. I know mornings like this aren’t easy. I just need to ask a few questions about Lisa and Laura—your twins. It’s important we understand their routines, friends, and anything you noticed recently.”

Mr. Grayson’s jaw tightened. “We’ve told the sheriff everything. What more can you ask?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m not the sheriff. I don’t know everything yet, and I like to double-check my sources. Consider it… a federal second opinion.” I let a hint of sarcasm slip in. Mr. Grayson blinked, just the faintest twitch of amusement crossing his face.

Mrs. Grayson swallowed and nodded. “Of course,of course Anything to help, please come in.”

I gestured to Tommy, who padded toward the porch with a wag of his tail. “Tommy says he’s ready too, but he’s more of a good cop, bad cop type. Mostly good cop.” I let them laugh softly, breaking some of the tension.

We settled on the porch. I pulled out my notebook. “First, the basics. School schedule, church, activities. Anything unusual, even minor, in the past few weeks?”

Mrs. Grayson wrung her hands. “Nothing really unusual. They’ve been normal kids… more focused than most, actually. Excellent grades, curious, always asking questions. It was… it was shocking when they didn’t come home.”

“You see the church was planning a concert and my girls were in the choir,every Tuesday afternoon after school, they'd rush off to practice.”

“I've pondered and turned over and replayed every incidents leading to that day in my head and there was nothing strange, nothing out of the ordinary, just our normal lives”

I felt my chest tighten as tears began to slip down her eyes.

“It's okay ma'am if you want to take a break” I said.

She didn't even answer. She continued.

“You know my girls are the best, always responsible in everything they do, they do not have enemies, and they are exceptionally bright,so so intelligent. So every blessed day, for the past three months, I ask myself,who would want to hurt my angels?”

“Intelligent, you say?” I asked, scribbling notes. “Like, next-level prodigy or just very… observant?”

She smiled faintly. “Observant, yes. They notice things others don’t. They’ve always been careful, thoughtful. Careful about crossing streets, careful about strangers and also very intelligent, always, always at the top of their class. It’s what makes this… all of this… unbelievable.”

I nodded, letting that sit. “And the night of their disappearance?”

Mr. Grayson spoke this time. “We were inside, preparing dinner. Waiting for them to return home from church. They always have the practice from 5pm to 7pm and so we always expect them at the latest 7:20pm. We waited till 7:40pm thinking they were just having fun with their friends and forgot about time but it got to 8pm and they weren't home. So we went back to the church but saw it closed that when we began panicking. We went to their friend's house who's also in the choir with them and she said they all left church at exactly 7pm and they all departed at the corner and that was it.”

“No one heard anything or saw anything?”I asked.

 “Their friends all said the same thing,they bade them goodnight at the corner of the street and they all went to their separate houses”, Mr Grayson replied.

I jotted down the details. 

“Please,help find my babies, please “, Mrs. Grayson said, voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded. “Did they attend church regularly?”

“Yes, every Sunday. Cedar Community Church,” Mrs. Grayson said. “They love it there. Very safe place, we thought.”

I gave a small nod, closing my notebook. “Thank you. One more thing…” I glanced at Tommy, who looked up at me expectantly. “Do the girls have any routines that you know of, anything about their habits, likes, or dislikes? Even the smallest detail can help. Dogs are excellent at picking up human patterns… mine, especially.” Tommy’s ears twitched.

Mrs. Grayson frowned thoughtfully. “They always read after dinner. Lisa likes puzzles; Laura prefers science books. They’re… different, but very smart. Careful, like you said.”

I smiled faintly. “Good. Patterns matter. Thanks.” I stood, Tommy padding beside me, tail wagging. “I’ll need to come back for follow-ups, but this is helpful.”

The Graysons nodded, expressions tense but cooperative. I could tell they were scared—scared their children might be gone, scared I might not find answers—but also relieved someone was taking the lead.

“Please, Agent Hale, you're our only option left,the sheriff has been so lackadaisical about the whole issue,he didn't even show any interest when Janet Thompson's mother committed suicide when she didn't get any news about her daughter's whereabout” Mr Grayson said.

Wait, what, did I hear correctly?

“Excuse me? there is another child missing?”

“Yes, Janet Thompson, the pub owner's daughter. She got missing a week after ours, turns out her mother became a nervous wreck after the incident and committed suicide", continued Mr Grayson.

Hmmm,it was beginning to look fishy to me, why was this case not in the folder given to me?

Why was it hidden?

What the hell is going on?

What has the sheriff got to do with this because it obviously looked like he was hiding something,if not he wouldn't hide this.

I became more confused all together.

Leaving their home, I walked through Cedar City streets again, Tommy at my side. Small towns had rhythm—housewives walking to the bakery, kids biking to school, mail carriers delivering letters. It all seemed ordinary… but patterns jumped out to me. Locations of the disappearances, streets with limited visibility, areas with minimal surveillance.

Next, I visited the other parents. Abby Collins’ mother, a petite woman with sharp eyes, welcomed me cautiously. “Agent Hale… we didn’t know who else to turn to. We’ve been at the sheriff’s office so many times I can’t even count.”

“I get it. And you’ve done the right thing,” I said, letting Tommy sniff around the porch briefly. “Tell me about Abby. Anything unusual recently?”

“She’s brilliant,” her mother said. “Top of her class, always curious, volunteers at the library. Independent, careful, smart. We never worried—until now.”

I nodded. “Church?”

“Yes. Same one as the Graysons. Cedar Community Church,” she said.

I scribbled notes. Patterns forming quietly in my head. School, church, intelligence, independence—all factors that made these girls not just targets, but targets the kidnapper likely considered specifically.

Finally, I spoke to Miranda’s parents, who lived a few streets over. “Miranda’s very bright, always asking questions, involved in science clubs and debate team,” her father said. “She goes to the same church as Abby and the twins. Nothing else unusual.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So we have three locations, multiple families… all girls, all very intelligent, all attend the same church. Coincidence? Maybe. But coincidences don’t usually end in kidnapping.”

Tommy let out a low whine, nudging my leg. I glanced down at him. “Yeah, buddy. You think we’re onto something too, huh?”

Walking back to my motel later, I reflected on the patterns. This kidnapper wasn’t sloppy; they were calculating. They selected targets with specific traits: intelligence, independence, routine, and church attendance. Likely planned months in advance. The thought made my stomach tighten.

But there were other details I couldn’t ignore: the timing—late afternoons, early evenings, near main roads leading out of town; lack of vehicle identification; the methodical nature. Whoever did this had patience, knowledge of the town, and the ability to blend in. This wasn’t just random.

And then the ones who's missing wasn't made known to me.

There were about twelve in total, spanning from last year.

But why wasn't this included in the file?

I allowed myself a bit of sarcasm to lighten the tension. “Well, Tommy, looks like our perp prefers brainy girls who go to church. Not exactly the most subtle résumé, huh?” Tommy gave a soft bark, like he agreed, as if saying, Yeah, boss. Smart ones leave tracks.

Later, I reviewed my notes again in the motel. The girls’ intelligence and patterns suggested the kidnapper was selecting targets carefully, almost academically. Perhaps someone who relished control, who studied their victims like puzzles.

I also considered other factors—family routines, school activities, extracurriculars. The girls’ independence might have made them confident and capable, but also visible enough to be observed. And the church attendance… the kidnapper might be familiar with their weekly schedules.

Tommy settled at my feet, head resting on paws, eyes alert. We were ready. Tomorrow, we would begin tracing routines, interviewing more locals, checking paths, and watching. I would go to the church and try to pick the reverend's brain. He had to be concerned right? Those were his members missing. And I had a feeling—this wasn’t going to be easy.

But if anyone could notice the details everyone else missed, it was me. And if anyone could sense when someone was watching, it was Tommy.

Together, we’d start unraveling the kidnapper’s careful little puzzle, one clue at a time.

But first, sheriff Jeremiah Riker had some questions to answer.