Mathers stood up from his computer. “Whoa,” he said. “Holy shit.”
Stevens and Windermere hurried over. “What’s up?”
“Richard O’Brien just disappeared from the Liberty system.” Mathers pointed at his computer. “Like, literally just now.”
Windermere peered at the screen. “Peter Cook,” she read. “You’re sure you have the right file?”
“Damn sure,” said Mathers. “Same red Chevy Cruze. Same plates.”
“Same credit card,” said Stevens.
“Exactly. This is the same account. Just somebody switched out O’Brien’s name.”
Windermere looked at Stevens. Stevens shrugged. “Any word from Miami PD?” he said. “Or your guys on the ground? Anybody see anything?”
Windermere shook her head. “It’s noon there,” she said. “O’Brien’s flight home leaves in just over two hours. If he’s going to kill someone, it’s now.”
“Maybe he’s not there to kill anyone,” said Mathers. Then he shook his head. “Nah, that’s bullshit. Maybe he’s done it and nobody’s found the body.”
Stevens nodded. “He’s down there to kill,” he said, feeling frustration rise like a flood tide. “He’s down there to kill, and we’re too late to stop him.”