He fumbled for the automatic window button, then the glass hummed down. Pacini had dark circles under his eyes and a look of concern.
“My guys have captured a signal on Abby’s phone. Does she know anyone who lives on Lexington Place? It’s not too far from here.”
“I don’t know,” Sean said.
Emily’s disembodied voice said, “I think that’s where Malik lives.”
“Are you sure?” Sean said.
“I picked her up there once. I could’ve sworn it was on Lexington.”
“Who’s Malik?” Pacini asked.
Emily’s voice: “A boy she’s seeing.”
Pacini’s face seemed to relax. His stare narrowed. “You hadn’t already checked with her boyfriend before calling me?”
“He’s not really her boyfriend,” Sean said, realizing how this must look to Pacini, who’d been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night.
“The signal doesn’t give us an exact address, just a location on the street,” Pacini said. “A lot of the places on the Hill are connected row houses, so it may be hard to pinpoint the exact location of the phone. Do you know this kid’s address?”
Sean shook his head and Emily was quiet. Pacini pulled out his phone, but was interrupted.
Emily’s voice again: “Turn on the navigation system,” she said. “There’s a button that lists all the locations entered in the system. When I picked up Abby from Malik’s place, I think I put in his address. Maybe it’s still in there.”
Sean powered-on the navigation system. The screen on the dashboard showed a list of addresses and he scrolled down. There it was: 833 LEXINGTON PLACE, NE.
“What are you doing?” Pacini asked as the SUV’s engine roared on.
“I’m going to find my daughter.”
Pacini looked at him, then over to Abby’s apartment. Agents were standing on the stoop talking to the residents who lived in the town house above Abby’s basement apartment. “Let me come with you, at least.”
Sean clicked the unlock button, and Pacini climbed into the SUV. Before he’d buckled his seatbelt, Sean was speeding down the narrow streets of Capitol Hill.
“Slow down a little,” Pacini said as the wheels screeched around Stanton Park. A blue line on the navigation screen pointed around the park and left on Sixth Street. Sean took a fast left, then a right, and jerked to a stop in front of a row house on Lexington. A woman’s monotone voice from the navigation system said, “You. Have. Reached. Your. Destination.”
Sean jumped out of the SUV and ran to the front door. He rang the bell several times and then started pounding. The curtains on a side window opened a slit, closed, then he heard the click of locks.
“Can I help you?” The man at the door was black, in his late twenties. He wore a white tank and workout shorts. He looked at Sean, then Pacini, then Sean again.
“Mr. Serrat?… Is everything okay?”
“Abby’s missing,” Sean said. “Malik, is she here?”
“Missing?” Malik Montgomery said. A bewildered look. “She’s not here.”
Sean peered over Malik’s shoulder into the row house. Noticing, Malik said, “You’re welcome to come in.”
Sean pushed inside, Pacini right behind him. The row house, with rich hardwood, high ceilings, and expensive-looking furniture, didn’t fit with the salary of a young judicial clerk. Sean recalled Emily saying that Malik was from money.
“Mr. Serrat, you’re more than welcome to look around,” Malik said, trailing behind. “But she’s not here.”
Sean turned to Malik. He stared deep into the young man’s eyes. “Then why’s her phone here?”
“Her phone?” Malik said. “What do you mean? Her phone’s not here.”
Sean didn’t respond and instead pulled out his own mobile and dialed Abby’s number. He put the phone to his ear, confirmed ringing, then pulled it away. He treaded down the hallway, tilting his head slightly, listening. Malik started to speak, and Sean held up his hand, shushing him.
A faint reverberation, music. Sean stepped toward the sound. He opened the door to a bedroom.
“Is this your room?” he asked Malik.
“No. It’s the guest bedroom.”
Sean crouched, ear toward the floor. More tinny music, muffled. The bed. He looked under it. There was no phone, but the music grew louder. Another sinking feeling. He put both hands under the mattress and flipped it off of the box springs.
And there it was. An iPhone in a shiny black case, ringtone blaring.
“Who Knew” by Pink.
CHAPTER 12
Sean launched himself at Malik Montgomery, grabbing him by the shirt and pinning him against the wall. A picture crashed to the floor, its frame cracking and glass shattering across the hardwood.
“Where’s Abby?” His voice was guttural, desperate.
“I don’t know, I swear, Mr. Serrat.” Malik was breathing heavily, his eyes wide.
Pacini put his hand on Sean’s forearm, but Sean yanked it free. The room grew hot and Pacini’s voice seemed far away.
“Sean, you need to calm down,” Pacini said. “This isn’t helping.”
Sean just stood there with Malik pinned. Malik didn’t resist.