“He’ll be okay if I make it okay. He’s a young man, in college. He doesn’t know the darkness of evil. He’s not prepared for that kind of malevolence.”
“He grew up with a mother who’s a cop. Who’s a profiler. Give him more credit than that.”
“I’ve done my best to shield him from that stuff.”
“He watches TV. He plays video games. He’s got an idea.”
And he had an abusive father. Thomas is right. He’s been exposed to more than I’d like to admit.
As Vail screeched around a corner, she thought about that. Again, she asked herself, was that enough? Against a prolific, unfeeling serial killer? An attractive, intelligent, manipulative female serial killer who had no problems getting close to her male and female victims?
“Call Robby. My fiancé. He’s DEA, he’s in town.”
He handed the Samsung back to her. As she read off the number, Underwood began tapping the digits into his iPhone—then nearly dropped the handset as she swerved around a curve. He pushed his right hand against the dashboard to steady himself. “If we get killed in a car accident, we’re not going to be able to help Jonathan.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“Is this Robby? … This is a colleague of Karen’s, Thomas Underwood.”
“Put it on speaker,” Vail said.
Underwood pressed the button and held up the cell.
“Robby. I think Jasmine’s taken Jonathan.”
“Taken—why would she do that?”
“Because I fucked up. And because Jasmine’s the Blood Lines killer.”
There was silence.
“I need you to head toward GW. I don’t know where Jonathan’s class is. Can you look it up? He’s not answering his phone.”
“I’m on it. I’ll text it to you and head over there. I’m on my way but I’m out by Silver Hill. Just hold it together, Karen. We’ll find him.”
More hollow assurances.
Vail’s phone vibrated. “Gotta go. Let me know what you find out.” She looked at her Samsung and tried to read the text.
“How ’bout I drive?” Underwood said, his gaze fixed on the streets ahead of them.
“Under the seat, I’ve got an auxiliary light.”
He scooted forward against the shoulder restraint, reached for—and found—the device. He rolled down the window and a blast of cold air wrapped around Vail’s exposed neck.
She heard the magnetic clunk as it attached to the roof.
“Done. Now please, drive carefully.”
“Curtis has the app and he’s got a location,” she said, dropping the cell onto the seat between her thighs. “Whole task force is en route.” No. Too easy. She grabbed up the Samsung again, called Uzi.
“Karen, got your text, sent the link to Curt—”
“I need you to help me find Jonathan. He’s not answering his phone and I think he’s in danger.”
“What kind of phone does he use?”
Vail accelerated around a Hyundai waiting to make a turn. “iPhone.”
“You can track him using the Find my iPhone app, but you’ll need his Apple ID. And it’s not pinpoint accurate.”
“Don’t have his ID. What about Stingray? The Bureau’s got that equipment, right?”
“Even better,” Uzi said. “You’re working with the Marshals Service. They’ve got mobile Stingrays, vans outfitted with the devices that can—”
“Got it. Call you back if I hit a roadblock.” She hit “end” and struggled to bring up Hurdle’s number on her handset. He answered on the third ring.
“Kinda busy,” he said. “I’m on my—”
“You got a mobile Stingray deployed in the area? Anywhere near Foggy Bottom?”
“We do. Why, you think Jasmine Marcks is using her phone?”
“My son. I think Jasmine’s taken him—or she’s gonna take him.”
“Give me his number, I’ll try to get a location.”
After Vail read it off to Hurdle, she swerved around a slow-moving pickup and nearly sideswiped a parked car.
“What’s Stingray?” Underwood asked, gripping the door handle with white-knuckled intensity.
“A mobile device that mimics a cell phone tower. It sends out a stronger signal than nearby towers to force a specific phone to connect to it instead of the real tower. It then triangulates the signal strength of that cell signal and uses software to give you a location. It can do a lot more than that, but if it can find Jonathan—”
“That’s all we need,” Underwood said.
“No, that’s not all we need. We’ll be blocks from the White House in a matter of minutes. Law enforcement all over the place. Let’s call in the troops.”
“And say what? I think a prolific serial killer’s on the loose somewhere in Foggy Bottom, but I’m running on pure speculation without an ounce of proof? Once they hear she may have your son they’re gonna write you off as a hysterical mother trying desperately to save her boy.”
Vail looked at him.
“Keep your eyes on the road. And tell me I’m wrong.”
“Fine, right now I’m a hysterical mother trying desperately to save her son. But I don’t know what else to do. And I do know Jasmine, and I’m pretty damn sure she’s going after Jonathan.”