Without A Trace Book Novels & Stories

Something about the girl’s voice echoed in my head. Don’t tell secrets. I went back to my room that night and lay awake far longer than I should have. My contact texted me at midnight. No results. No marriage certificate. No registered custody case. No hospital records linked to a “Stella” in that state. Nothing connects her to the Marwoods. T hat was supposed to ease my curiosity. It didn’t. People leave traces, always, but she hadn’t. Not even a smudge. And that was the most curious thing of all.

“Any news?” Dylan’s expression shifted. That alone told me everything wasn’t fine. “There’s no trace,” he said, pushing himself off the table. “I couldn’t track it.” I stopped moving. “What?” My voice dropped, sharper now. “Why?” “That’s the thing,” he continued, running a hand through his hair like even he didn’t like what he was about to say. “This wolf isn’t ordinary. It’s like… it can just disappear. No scent. No trail. Nothing.”

Cameron had arranged the room through two intermediaries to prevent exactly this kind of exposure, but the trace had to have started somewhere — a booking, a conversation, a record that had been found by someone who was looking for it. The trace went back to Cara Ellison. Tobias laid it out at the table after the other returners had left — most of them departing quickly once the device was found, the instinct toward dispersal stronger than the instinct to stay and understand. He laid it out for Nyla and Cameron and Sophia, who had stayed.

And Sarah herself had almost died in multiple accidents. They’d fought to survive, tooth and nail. But Vivian? She was still out there, free, possibly plotting her next move. Even with all the terrible things Mr. Wilson had done—the people buried beneath that West Ridge factory—he was still getting VIP treatment in the best hospital while in a coma. People knew. Zachary had even exposed everything he could. But they had no concrete evidence. Melvin’s heart ached watching her spiral. He reached out, voice steady, “There’s no such thing as a perfect crime. Every action leaves a trace. And if it leaves a trace… it leaves evidence. We’ll find it.”

A shiver courses down my spine. Trina remains impassive, observing us with an unnerving detachment. "The trail is cold. The man who took her is a ghost. He has no official record." "Then we dig deeper," Aaron retorts, his voice laced with steel. "He can’t just vanish into thin air and you can’t find him. Everyone leaves a trace." He looks at her pointedly like he knows what she’s capable of. How long have they known each other? He turns to me, his gaze softening. "I promise you, Mia. We will get her back."

She absent-mindedly wiped her cheeks and asked, "What were you talking about, again?" "Are you really interested in finding that bracelet? Did you forget the warning last time if we didn't find it on time?" "Y-yeah, sorry." He rolled his eyes and gave her the book. "Here's what we are looking for. Still, there are no other facts about how it works and the consequences of using it."

“Mr Smith, for years we have been trying to hunt you down, find all your mess and hope for digital evidence but you are so good, that you leave no traces at all. How did you kill Susan?” I smiled. “If you know me so well, why do you think I killed Susan? I mean you said it yourself, I leave no traces then how were you able to trace Susan to me.” I looked around. “This room is meant for investigators right, then let me ask you, why do you say I leave no traces, why have you been following both me and my family around? Why have you been saying things I didn’t and why do I feel like you are the main suspect here.”

I’m currently texting Ian when Dre sighs quietly for what seems like the thirteenth time since she started studying. My laptop buzzes with another text from Ian. *The anonymous text is untraceable. It’s a burner number.* My brows pull together, frowning hard at the screen while my fingers fly swiftly over the keyboard. *Burner number, like untraceable?* I steal a glance at Dre, who currently has her elbows pressed against the table, staring hard at an open book in front of her. Ian texts back. *Yes, untraceable, because it’s not linked to anything— no emails or social media, not even bills or purchase trails.*

I should have been preparing for the banquet, freshening up, making sure no one messed with the food—but this rare opportunity was more important. I flipped page after page of dates, locations, and battle strategies. There was nothing that confirmed what really happened that night. My eyes absorbed every word concerning my pack. Nothing. There was nothing about my parents. No names. No mention of their deaths. My jaw clenched. They weren’t even acknowledged as casualties. Frustrated, I ripped the page from the book and folded it, tucking it into the hidden pocket of my pants. He took everything from me and left no trace.

Chapter 16: Traces Mary stared intently at the photograph in her hand. Her expression did not waver, yet her lashes dipped for the briefest moment as if she were weighing something in silence. After a few still seconds, she set the photo down on the table. Her voice was soft, but edged with such chilling sharpness that the entire room seemed to turn colder. “Let them keep searching. As long as every trace connected to Mary Salvaria is erased, they will never be able to imagine the truth.”