Seven.
It looked so familiar. Not because he’d seen the drawing before. Someplace else. Some— The Putnam scene. The chaos of foodstuffs on the floor—mayo, pickles, peanut butter, jelly, milk and eggs. Ketchup at the center, exploded. Crude but similar enough to have tweaked his memory.
He read the note: I know where they are. I have to help them. Please don’t be mad.
“What do you make of it?”
“It sounds like Angel.”
He reached down but didn’t touch the paper. Just in case Angel hadn’t written this. Hadn’t left of her own volition.
He hovered his hand over it. Her energy clung to it. Emanating up, hand tingling, wrist, forearm. He closed his eyes. Angel’s emotions panicked. Excited. Determined.
Save the girls.
Girls, plural.
Not Mick. Miller and Putnam.
Angel had somehow figured out where they were.
Zach turned the page. His knees went weak. A drawing. Of Mick. Horrible, howling in pain. A darkness around her, overcoming her.
The reason Angel had called him.
He laid his hand on it. Angel, sitting up in bed. Terrified. For Micki’s safety. Her decision to call him.
Nothing new.
Beside him Jacqui made a sound of distress. “Oh my God, is that Micki?”
He turned the page back to the note, not wanting to upset the woman more. “That’s why Angel called me earlier. She dreamed Micki was in danger.”
“Is she?”
“I just left her, she’s fine.” He wished he felt as confident of that as he sounded. “She has plenty of backup.”
Jacqui rubbed her arms as if to chase away a chill. “That drawing . . . it’s so horrible. Why would she dream that?”
Zach didn’t answer, instead, he turned the conversation back to Angel. “I need you to focus. The coeds who went missing, I think Angel figured out where they’re being kept.”
“But how could . . . I don’t understand—”
“Let me worry about that, okay? Let’s talk about Angel. When did you last see her?”
“Seven-thirty, eight o’clock, something like that. Her side was hurting.”
Her tattoo. His gaze shifted to the image. “Go on.”
“I was worried, but she said it did that sometimes.”
“Where was she?”
“On the couch. She and Zander. He was asleep and she was watching TV. I was here, in the kitchen.”
“What was she watching?”
“A PBS show. On Katrina.”
He frowned. “Hurricane Katrina?”
“Yes.” She nervously chewed her bottom lip. “Places that flooded in the storm but are still abandoned.”
Abandoned places. Of course. What better location to stash two women the entire city was looking for. “What places?”
“I don’t know, I was in here and—”
“Deep breath,” he said softly, meeting her eyes. “You’ve got this.”
She did as he suggested, breathing deeply, in and out, then nodded. “I don’t know about the entire show, but she and I talked about one of the places. An abandoned church and school.”
“Where?”
“Lower ninth.”
“Name of the church?”
“I don’t remember!”
“Think, Jacqui. It’s important.”
“It was Catholic because I remember saying the archdiocese probably still owned the property.”
Her tattoo. A heart with a flame burning in it.
“Sacred Heart,” he said.
“Yes! That’s it. How did you—”
“I think that’s where she’s gone. Do you have a computer?”
“Yes. Right here.”
She retrieved the laptop from her computer bag, opened it and made a sound of surprise. “The church, it’s right here. She must have looked it up.”
Zach turned the device his way. Angel’s energy was all over it. “This is definitely where she went. I’m going after her.”
“What should I do?”
“Just wait here. If Mick calls, fill her in.”
“Maybe I should call her?”
He laid his hands on her shoulders, looked her in the eyes. “Answering could compromise her. This may be nothing. It probably is nothing.”
“You’re right,” Jacqui agreed. “Angel got an idea in her head and acted on it.”
“Good.” He dropped his hands. “Stay calm. I’ll call you the moment we’re on our way back. Until then, you and Zander get some sleep.”
“I don’t think there’s much of a chance of that for either of—” She stopped, looked around. “Zander, where’d he go?”
“He was right here,” Zach said. “Just a moment ago.”
“Zander, where are you? Mommy needs you to answer.”
Nothing. Total quiet. Zach frowned. “He could have curled up somewhere and gone to sleep. Kids do that, right?”
“Alexander!” she called again, voice rising as she hurried into the other room. “Answer me right now!”
He didn’t answer and they looked under beds and in closets, anywhere the three-year-old could hide.
Jacqui was growing hysterical. “It’s the middle of the night. We were standing right here!”
“Exactly,” Zach said. “He couldn’t have left without our—”