Stolen

The note said: Get out now. While you still can.
Well, that's not what people typically passed under the stall in the lady's room.
"Uh, hello?"
The toilet next to me flushed and I could hear footsteps walking away before the door opened and closed. I grimaced. Well, someone didn't wash their hands.
Placing the odd situation at the back of my mind, I turned back to the task at hand. I placed the needle in the liquid, allowing the correct amount of dosage into the syringe. Pinching the skin between my elbow and shoulder, I injected the insulin into my arm. The needle remained in my arm ten seconds before I brought it out. I placed my medicinal supplies away, carefully, before addressing the minor bleeding on my arm.
I washed my hands but before I could leave the bathroom, my attention was drawn back to the note written on a greasy, brown napkin on the floor. I scanned the words again: Get out now. While you still can.
I scoffed. I knew exactly who wrote this.
* * *
Three years ago, Caroline Wilson's older sister went missing. There's no trace of her, only her yellow scarf with the blood stain.
Her grandfather is police commissioner and her father is the best detective in the state. He won't stop until he finds his daughter.
Even though it may cost him his second.