SLEEP WAS APPARENTLY OUT OF THE QUESTION THAT NIGHT. WITH BREE off working another graveyard shift, the bed seemed way too big and I was left alone with my thoughts. Including thoughts about poor Ava.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ethan and Zoe’s dirty, emaciated faces. And every time I opened them, I thought about what Ned Mahoney had said to me after my encounter with Glass. Or rather, everything he hadn’t said. I could feel the idea of it taking shape like a heavy ball in my chest—half dread, half adrenaline.
If I’d understood Ned correctly, we were talking about something I’d resisted ever since I became a cop, a line I’d never crossed. But then again, maybe that was only because I’d never had to.
What if this was the one night—the hour, the minute—that might make a difference for Ethan and Zoe? Could I live with that? And what if it was my own kids out there, I thought, or Ava, for that matter? Would I even be lying here wondering what to do?
Of course not. In a strange way, my fight with Nana only drove that point home. I would do almost anything to save those kids.
Finally, just after midnight, I couldn’t stare at the ceiling anymore. I sat up fast. In the dark, there are two things I always know how to find—my phone and my Glock. I reached for the phone. Dialed Sampson’s number.
“Hullo?” he answered in a thick voice. “Alex?”
“Sorry to wake you,” I said. “I need to talk, John. Actually, I need your help on something.”
“No prob, sugar.”
“Put on a pot of coffee. I’m coming over.”
“See you in a few.”
I threw on some clothes, splashed water on my face, and left the house.
On the way to Sampson’s, I called Ned Mahoney, too.
He answered on the first ring. “I thought you might call,” he said.