Without A Trace Book Novels & Stories

"You know, you wouldn't be here if you were more like your partner in crime. Unlike you, he didn't slip off once in his plans. There was nothing to trace him with..." "... no scents, no traceable plate numbers, not even one surveillance camera around was able to capture him entering and leaving the hospital." "Even the cars he used, we've found them but not him or Avery." Marcus muttered. "I see you've done your search too..." Benjamin let out a crooked smirk. "...so there's no trace of them anymore?" He asked, that fact made his heart leap with joy. "I see you're gloating. But no worries. They are gone and that leaves me to you, the last piece in my puzzle; the only one dumb enough to waltz

More than anything, she was concerned about her friend. **** This book is sequel to the first book Innocence. You have to read the first book to know the story clearly. The first book "Innocence" is available here on my Goodnovel profile. And then comes the second book "Innocence || book 2". Thanks for reading. Please vote and comment :)

He leaned in further, scanning through the layers. Tracing the origin. Nothing. No external breach. No internal error. It resolved itself before he could dig deeper. Gone. Elliot frowned slightly. That shouldn’t happen. Systems like this didn’t correct themselves without leaving something behind. A trace. A footprint. A whisper of where it came from. This left nothing. His fingers hovered over the keys again. Then moved. Deeper this time. The system responded smoothly, opening pathways, granting access without resistance. Of course it did.

Hazel says as long as my father doesn’t get wind of them, it might be safer for them to live with Liam. I’m sitting in the back room, staring at the wall of books. Hazel’s in the corner of the room reading one of the spell books and Nick’s pacing back and forth across the room. We’ve looked over almost every book in here, and haven’t found a thing. I still have so many questions, I look over at Hazel. “How is it he never left a scent, or a trail to follow?” I ask, thinking back on all the attacks, there was never anything.

Vincent Moretti had been his father's right hand before he became Antonio's, and in thirty years of navigating the kind of business that didn't get discussed in boardrooms, he had never come up empty for this long. "Whoever this is, they're exceptional," Vincent said, his voice carrying the grudging respect of someone who recognized quality work even when it was aimed at him. "Every trail we follow disappears cleanly. No loose ends, no digital footprints that survive more than forty-eight hours, no witnesses who saw anything they can articulate." "Everyone leaves traces." "This one doesn't." Vincent set the tablet on the table. "Or they leave exactly the traces they want us to find, which is

Hacking with practiced ease. Then she stopped. Stared at the screen. "What?" I asked. "His file. It's empty. Like someone scrubbed it clean." "What do you mean empty?" "I mean there's nothing. No pack history. No family connections. No previous schools. No medical records. Nothing. Just his name. Age. Current status." "That's not normal." "That's impossible. Everyone has records. Histories. Paper trails. Unless someone deliberately erased them." "Who would do that?"

Of how he and his friends vanished as if the ground had swallowed them whole. “How is that even possible?” I murmured to the empty room. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes briefly, only to open them again as images flooded my mind, that awful moment before I collapsed. I needed answers to all these thoughts. I reached for my phone. If the file wouldn’t speak clearly, maybe the internet would. I typed keywords into the search bar. "disappearing individuals, untraceable identities, masked informants, cases erased without trace." The results loaded quickly. My brows furrowed as I scrolled.

Whoever was behind that tag wasn’t just smart but they were bold enough to do it right under our nose. I lay there until dawn started creeping in through the blinds of the window. The logs on the laptop were still looping, and the terminal cursor blinking. The trace had run cold. The trail died the moment the firewall cut in and the rest was blank space. I ran the logs again but yet nothing new happened. Whoever had done this had vanished cleanly and I think that was why after stopping them from hacking the account, I can't even track them precisely. As there were no more pings, no more residual traffic but just silence.

“It was inserted during final processing.” “By who?” “I don’t know.” Silence. Tristan’s eyes darkened slightly. “Trace it.” “Yes, sir.” Minutes passed. Then— “Sir…” He didn’t look up. “Say it.” “We can’t.” That got his attention. “What do you mean, you can’t?” “There’s no access log.” That was impossible. Everything had logs. Everything. Unless— It was designed not to. Tristan leaned back slowly. Because now— This wasn’t just control.