Angie pressed her hands to the floor, pushing herself up to standing. Her purse fell down her shoulder, another cheap knock-off bag. ‘Who’s Anthony?’
Will ripped Angie’s purse from her arm.
‘Hey . . .’
He held her back with one hand. He threw the purse at Faith.
Angie reached up for his hand, but Will pulled away as if she’d burned him with acid. He was clearly trying to keep his temper under control. The God’s honest truth was that Sara still didn’t want him to.
‘iPhone. iPad.’ Faith laid out the contents of Angie’s purse across two chairs. ‘Flip phone. Five-shot revolver, fired once. Prescription.’ She tossed the bottle to Sara. ‘Tissue. ChapStick. Change. Business cards. Purse crap.’
Sara looked at the bottle. The script was from a vet clinic off Cascade Road, prescribed to a pet named Mooch McGhee. Keflex, which was fine if you were a dog and couldn’t get MRSA. Sara put the bottle back on the chair. Angie could figure that out on her own.
‘Unlock it.’ Faith held out the iPhone to Angie. ‘Now.’
‘Go fuck yourself.’
Will took the phone. He unlocked it in two tries. He handed it back to Faith, who immediately went to the call log.
She said, ‘Collier’s number is on here. Twice last week. Three calls early Monday morning that match the times on his phone.’
That explained Collier. Yet another man whose life Angie had ruined.
Faith said, ‘She’s got a lot of calls back and forth from a 770 number.’ Faith hit the callback button. She let it ring for a full minute before hanging up. ‘No answer. No voicemail.’ Again she scanned the log. ‘This is all with the 770 number. Incoming at one forty Monday morning. Outgoing thirty-two seconds later. Then outgoing half an hour later. Incoming at four AM, then another incoming at one fifteen yesterday afternoon. Then seventeen outgoing calls over the rest of yesterday and into today.’
Will asked Angie, ‘Who are you trying to get in touch with?’
‘My mother.’
Amanda had her own phone out. ‘I’ll do a reverse trace.’
Faith went to the texts. ‘This was between the flip phone and Angie’s phone, twelve twenty Sunday night. She writes: WHAT DO YOU WANT? The flip phone writes back: IPAD. Then a few seconds later: NIGHTCLUB. NOW.’ She scrolled up and waited for a photo to download.
Faith’s mouth dropped open. She showed them the phone, stunned.
At 12:16 Sunday night, Angie had been sent a picture showing Josephine Figaroa with her back pressed against a car window. A man’s hand gripped her neck. She looked like she was screaming. Beneath it was the word DAUGHTER.
Faith scrolled up again. There was another photo, this one sent at 12:15 Sunday night. It showed a young boy with the blade of a large hunting knife pressed into his throat. The word below read GRANDSON.
Sara put her hand to her own heart. The boy’s terror cut through her like she was holding him in her own arms. ‘Where is he?’
Angie raised an eyebrow, as if this was yet another mystery.
‘Where—’ Sara made herself stop talking. Angie fed off pain.
Faith checked the flip phone, going through the sent messages. ‘The first photo I showed you, the one of Jo Figaroa, was taken with this flip phone. The second photo, of Anthony, was forwarded to the flip phone by the same 770 number that Angie has been trying to call.’
‘The 770 number is from a burner.’ Amanda had obviously heard back on the reverse trace. ‘We’re working with the phone company to find out which tower it’s pinging from.’
Will asked, ‘Who sent that picture of Anthony? Was it Delilah Palmer? Was it Harding?’
Angie ignored him.
Faith picked up the iPad. She pressed the home button.
‘Don’t,’ Angie said, for the first time registering concern. ‘You can’t turn it on.’
‘Why not? This is why your grandson was taken, right? For whatever is on this iPad?’
Angie pressed her lips together. She watched Faith’s finger on the button.
Will said, ‘Turn it on.’
‘No.’ Angie reached out to stop her, but Will pushed her away. She said, ‘If you turn the power on, then the files will be erased.’
‘What files?’
Angie said nothing.
Will said, ‘She’s lying. Turn it on.’
‘Go ahead,’ Angie dared. ‘The files will be gone and we’ll never see Anthony again.’
Faith asked, ‘Should we risk it?’
Amanda sighed. ‘It’s an hour in traffic to get it to the computer lab. We don’t know where the boy is. We don’t know if she’s telling the truth. The files might already be wiped clean. Or we turn it on and we wipe it clean.’
Will said, ‘Schr?dinger’s cat.’
Angie clearly didn’t get the reference, which gave Sara a sense of victory because she did.
‘All you need is a Faraday cage,’ Sara said. ‘It’s a grounded metal screen that blocks electrical fields. That’s why your phone won’t work in an elevator. Go down to the sub-basement, stay inside the elevator and you can turn on the iPad without any signal interference.’
Angie snorted. She asked Will, ‘This is what gets you going?’
‘Yeah,’ he told her. ‘It is.’
Angie rolled her eyes. She still had her hand pressed to her stomach. Blood was seeping between her fingers. ‘What are you looking at?’
Sara couldn’t answer. She was gripped with the same low-level fury that had followed her around since Charlie told them that the Glock was registered to Angie. Every good moment Sara had with Will was always going to have Angie’s shadow lurking over it.
‘Aw.’ Angie pouted her lip. ‘Little Sara’s upset. Are we going to have another Bambi incident?’
Sara slapped the shit out of her.
Angie raised her hand to retaliate, but Faith caught her wrist, twisted her arm behind her back and forced her into the wall. ‘Don’t forget how many people were happy to hear that you were dead.’
‘Don’t forget how many weren’t.’ Angie wrenched her arm away. She rubbed her wrist. ‘Give me my shit back. I’m leaving.’
Will said, ‘You’re not going anywhere. Who has Anthony? I know you don’t have him.’
She shook her head, laughing like he was too stupid to understand.
‘You’ve never called anybody seventeen times in your life. You fucked this up, right? You lost Anthony and now you’re trying to get him back. That’s why you told me it was Jo in the funeral home instead of Delilah. You wanted me to go to Reuben Figaroa’s so that he was forced to put out an Amber Alert.’ He was standing close to her, crowding her space the way he would any suspect. ‘Your plan went sideways and you needed me to figure out that his son was gone.’ He stepped closer. ‘We’re here now. We know Anthony is gone. We know Reuben’s being blackmailed to get him back. Tell me what you know. Let me help make this right.’
‘What the fuck do you care, Will?’ She slammed her palms against his chest, pushing him away. ‘I can handle this, all right? I can take care of myself and my family the same as I’ve been doing all my fucking life with no fucking help from you.’
Will’s jaw jutted out like a shard of glass. ‘Your grandson’s life is at stake.’
‘You’re the one stopping me from doing what I’ve gotta do.’
‘Angie, please. Let me help you. I want to help you.’ He sounded desperate. ‘If that’s my grandson out there, then I deserve a chance to know him.’
‘Nice try.’ She pulled away. ‘Jo isn’t yours. Not unless you got my hand pregnant.’ She gave Sara a pointed look. ‘Which, if that was possible, your girlfriend would have a load of fetuses pouring out of her mouth.’
Sara tensed every muscle in her body so that she wouldn’t lash out again.
Angie asked her, ‘Did you read the note I left for Will?’
‘Yes.’
Angie was clearly thrown that there wasn’t more.
‘Please,’ Will said. ‘Angie, there’s a little boy out there. Your family. Maybe your only family. Tell us how to help him.’
‘Since when do you care about helping family?’ She gave a derisive snort. ‘I’m your family. I’m fucking bleeding and you don’t even care.’
Will took out his handkerchief. He pressed it to Angie’s side.