THE POLICE HAD left. Jane clearly wasn’t there, and Laurel shivered at the thought of the cops actually inside her house. She texted Cal on the cheap orange phone he’d given her, which she kept locked in a drawer in her office; she was to use it only to contact him and he would give her a new phone every month. He got them in bulk somewhere, he’d told her. The phone was so ugly no one would steal it, he said.
The police were here! Looking for J. I have men looking for her. What do I do? She pressed Send and thought, This isn’t going to make for a good chapter in my book.
The text came back: Come to where the car crashed.
She stared at the words. Why? She texted back.
That’s where your daughter is.
She’s with you?
Yes. She remembers.
Laurel’s chest tightened. Don’t hurt her, please. Laurel’s hands were shaking. She needs help. No one will believe anything she says.
You know it’s not up to me. Get here. Wait for me if I’m not here.
Don’t hurt her, she texted again. But there was no answer.
Laurel ran for her car. She was scared that there would be a police car waiting, watching for Jane to return, but there wasn’t. She nearly dialed the two hired muscles who were now over at St. Michael’s, looking for Jane along her old haunts at the school and along South Congress; she might try to blend in with her old crowd. They had already determined she hadn’t headed to Trevor Blinn’s or Adam Kessler’s house. But if she called them to where Cal had Jane…she would have to explain why her daughter was with this man. It was too many questions for private security.
Laurel opened her safe and found the gun. It wasn’t where she usually put it. She loaded it, put it in her purse, and headed out the door.