Most of the other photos on the site are of the candidate himself. One is a close-up of Ronald Cregg, a slightly overweight man in his sixties. He’s down on one knee, smiling at two small children holding up one of his campaign signs.
“Do you think the senator knows his son is a killer?”
Taylor cocks her head to the side. “Meh. No way to tell. And from a practical standpoint, does it matter? He’d have to cover it up anyway. Ever heard of a president with a mass murderer for a son?”
When I look up, Aaron is at the foot of the stairs. His hair is standing up on one side and he appears a little worn out. “You made coffee.”
And then he smiles . . . the same smile that made Molly all weak at the knees. It’s having a very similar effect on me right now.
“It’s almost finished brewing,” I say, wishing I could control the blood rushing to my face.
There’s a mischievous glint in Taylor’s eye, as though she’s thinking something snarky. But she decides to keep it to herself. “I e-mailed you what I have so far on Deo’s location,” she tells Aaron as she grabs a box of something out of the pantry. “I don’t think you’ll have any luck with it. I’m seeing a really old building . . . more like ruins, in fact. Near the water, but that could be almost anyplace around here. I need to get back to it . . . Anna can fill you in on the rest.”
Then she’s gone, leaving us alone. And alone feels very different today than it did yesterday. It’s charged with a subtle energy when he passes me on the way to the coffeepot, probably because I can still remember the heat of his arm beneath me when I woke up.
Aaron pours two mugs of coffee and hands me one. “Fill me in on what?”
I show him the website with the picture of Cregg, with Dacia and the bodyguard guy in the background. Then I relay Taylor’s theory on why they’re keeping me on hold.
“If so, that’s at least a bit of good news, right? I mean, the less time he’s been with Deo . . .” He trails off, uncomfortable that he’s pulled my mind to all of the things that could have been happening over the past thirty-six hours.
“Yes. Better than the alternative.”
He opens the e-mail from Taylor and we examine her drawing. The building is intact, but there’s a fire escape on one side that’s barely attached. Four columns are sketched onto a small porch-like area in the front. It’s four stories, with odd scalloped dormer windows that you might see on a castle or a fort, and rustic-looking stonework around the first floor.
“Beaux Arts,” I say absently, pulling the reference from a file in my tenant archives.
“What?”
“The architectural style. Probably built around the turn of the last century. And since that was a really common style for large buildings back then, it’s probably a useless bit of information.”
“Well, it’s more than I had. All I could say was that there’s ivy growing on it . . . and I wouldn’t even have recognized that if Taylor hadn’t used a green pencil.”
He takes the tablet back and his hand brushes against mine. I jump—and feel bad for jumping.
Relax, Anna! It’s not Molly. It’s me. But I’m thinking it in her voice and beginning to feel more than a little unhinged.
“Are you okay?”
Aaron touches my shoulder and I pull in a ragged breath. I need to get away for a few minutes. Get my head together.
“I’m fine. Do you have my phone?”
He hands it to me, and it’s still warm from being in his pocket. “No messages. I meant what I said. I would have woken you up.”
“I know.” My eye lands on the red scratch that runs from just below his ear to the hollow at the base of his neck. “I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s nothing. You were rougher on yourself than you were on me. I tried holding your hands down to keep you from hurting yourself, but that only made you more frantic. You were dreaming about when he was . . . controlling Molly, weren’t you?”
I nod. “Listen, I’m . . . I need to go upstairs. Check in with Kelsey. Get a shower.”
“Sure.” There’s a note of uncertainty in his voice.
I hear Taylor’s warning again—don’t hurt him—and I can’t get out of the room fast enough.
I’m combing the tangles out of my damp hair when my phone rings. I try not to get my hopes up. It’s probably just Kelsey calling back. Beating me to the punch, actually, since I was about to call her back and apologize for hanging up on her. The entire conversation before I got into the shower was strained, to say the least. Kelsey is worried and feeling responsible since she loaned me the car. She kept saying she should have come with us, but I’m not sure what difference that would have made. They’d almost certainly still have Deo, and it’s possible they’d have Kelsey, too.