58

Loren was in bed, staring at the ceiling. After getting home, she spent some time poking around the internet researching the Ellises to get a sense of who they were, what their business interests were, and what was publicly available on Melissa.

Before embarking on that virtual journey, however, she went into paranoid mode by using a virtual private network to mask her internet connection, then scrubbing her browsing history with software that overwrote the deleted files nearly three dozen times with a Department of Defense algorithm. She wanted to leave behind no record of any connection to the Ellises.

There was very little recent information on them—their social media presence was limited to Facebook postings on infertility and articles having to do with their breakthrough genetic testing company. Their LinkedIn profiles contained more of the same, with the addition of education and work history and job postings they made over the years.

However, an old article in the Mercury News archive mentioned that Melissa was their only child, both sets of their parents were deceased, and Christine’s only sibling, an older sister, had passed away in her thirties from a skiing accident. They had no next of kin.

Loren lay there another hour thinking. Zach was likewise awake. They both needed shuteye—Zach always rose at 6:00 AM when the market opened and Loren … well, she was going to be tired tomorrow. She did not foresee any sleep coming tonight.

Thirty minutes later, she said, “We can’t do this.”

Zach sighed. “Do what?”

Loren brought her eyes up to meet his. “We can’t turn her in. And she can’t turn herself in.”

Zach groaned.

“I know. But what if the best attorney in San Francisco can’t get her off and she goes to prison? Even if it’s only five years. It’d be a death sentence for her.”

Zach turned on his side toward Loren. “We’ve been through this.”

“Who knows what’ll happen to her in prison? One thing’s for sure—she’ll lapse back into depression. She was just starting to come out of it—because of Melissa. It brought Amy back to life again.”

“She was making progress before she met Melissa.”

Loren snorted. “Yeah, she got a job. At a bakery. Kneading dough. You’re right, Zach. She was making progress. But we’re talking about a Harvard educated, Stanford Law attorney.”

“None of this was her fault.”

“The kidnapping sure seemed to be premeditated—”

“Amy’s not a kidnapper,” Zach said. “She’s not a criminal. She was the most honest person I ever knew. And then everything was taken from her.”

Loren fell silent. She did not want to have this debate. This was one of those situations that they had little to no control over and arguing about it was not going to change that fact.

She hoped that when Amy called in the morning Melissa would be doing better and she would be able to leave the hospital. But then what?

The next thing Loren was aware of, Zach’s alarm was dinging. She turned over and found that he was already out of bed.

Loren padded over to his office and saw him sitting at his desk, the computer screen filled with stock charts and real-time quotes.

She walked into the bathroom and started to brush, checking the burner phone to make sure she had not missed a call from Amy.

As she thought about what her sister-in-law’s next moves should be, Loren realized she had made one miscalculation. In her effort to think of everything, she forgot something. Something really important.

Amy might have used her credit card in San Luis Obispo. The Bureau, with an identity attached to their kidnapper, would look for electronic traces of her whereabouts, and that included purchases involving the banking system.

Amy did not have much money left to her name. The medical and rehab expenses, psychiatrist and pharmaceutical costs drained her savings during the years she was unable to work—and state disability was wholly insufficient to keep her afloat. Even if she had planned the abduction ahead of time, it was unlikely she had much cash at her disposal to take with her.

Loren stood there staring at the bathroom mirror, thinking and not seeing. She refocused and spit, then rinsed. That’s why she had no money left. She probably took whatever cash she had at home and when that ran out, drained her checking account. With her ATM card.

That, or she was forced to use her credit card. Either way, the Bureau would soon have access to those records. They would then parse her receipts and charges.

Loren got dressed quickly. She had two changes of clothes in the go-bag in her Bureau car, or BuCar, trunk—along with a couple hundred dollars—but she needed more to give her maximum flexibility.

She walked into their closet and opened the safe, withdrew the envelope where they kept the cash part of their earthquake preparedness backpack, and stuffed it into her purse.

Loren stopped into Zach’s office and kissed the back of his neck. From the sound of his side of the conversation, he was on the phone with a trader.

He swiveled in his seat and glanced up at her. While simultaneously talking about option spreads for Apple, he gave her a nod. She blew him a kiss and mouthed, “Call you later”—then walked out before he could ask any questions.

It was better this way. He would not worry about her—about her doing anything stupid. For all he knew, she would be at work. And if anyone asked him where she went, or spent the day, he would truly have no clue.

Loren grabbed an awl from the tool pegboard, then fired up the Bureau car and headed for San Luis Obispo.