Ellie’s face goes white as she pulls her phone out of her bag.
“What is it?” I’m already out of my chair and around the desk.
“Somebody has Caroline’s phone,” she whispers.
I shake my head. “Wilson has it.”
“Not that one. We use burners to keep some of our conversations off of her work phone. I didn’t look to grab hers to bring with us when we came here last night.” She gives me a wide-eyed look. “It may already have been taken at that point, but why? And not that the person would know this, but this phone number, my burner, is the only one that has any history with hers. Literally, we swap them out regularly. But somebody has it, and they’re pretending to be her. Look.”
She shows me the screen. The text message on the screen is from a phone number, not assigned to a contact in the phone.
555-451-1765: If you want to see Caroline alive again, be prepared to transfer five hundred thousand dollars to a numbered bank account tomorrow morning.
It’s a ransom demand. My stomach lurches, and I grab my phone, dialing Deacon.
He answers right away. “What’s up?”
“You still with her?”
“Sure am. We’re playing Scrabble.”
“Can we talk to her for a second?”
There’s a fumble, and then Ellie’s friend comes on the line. I put her on speaker. “This is she,” Caroline says.
Ellie lets out a rough breath. “Hey. Good. Just needed to be sure. Love you.”
Caroline sighs. “Same, boo. Stay safe.”
“Same.” She taps the end call button the screen, then paces across the room. “Okay, what’s our next step?”
“Let’s go interrupt Wilson’s dinner and see if we can triangulate a text message source if we engage. Otherwise, we ignore for now.”
“But—” She swallows the protest. “For now?”
“For a hot second. We need to figure out the endgame here. A fake ransom demand is the same game plan as a fake blackmail image. Why?” I leave that question hanging in the air as we hurry to Wilson’s office. I text Cole and Tag and tell them to come in, too. “I hope to God everyone is rested. It’s going to be a long night.”
Ellie gives me a sidelong, skeptical glance. “Did you get any sleep?”
I’ll sleep when this is over. “I’m fine.”
Wilson’s happy to set his food aside. “What fucking nonsense is someone playing at?”
“And why would they send it to this phone?” I shake my head. “It doesn’t make any sense. We can’t track the location from a single text, right?”
Wilson shakes his head. “To start to triangulate a location, I would need to send some silent data requests along with responses. I’d want at least three replies in short succession. The chances of getting that aren’t great. But if we can get them to send an image…”
Ellie’s hands are shaking. She clenches them together in front of her body. “Do we ask them for a request for proof of life?”
I make a doubting face. “One that they don’t have?”
“Maybe they’ll doctor it?” She gestures at Jeff Mayfair’s dossier, still open on Wilson’s screen. “Look at how easy it is in the right hands.”
“A good fake takes time. If we ask for proof of life, they’ll have to come up with something quickly.”
We’re still arguing over how to respond when Cole and Tag arrive. We brief them, then Wilson throws his hands in the air. “I dunno. Six of one, half-a-dozen of the other. Who’s in favor of asking for proof of life?”
Ellie throws her hand in the air. Cole joins her, and Wilson shrugs, then shoves his hand up, too.
“Three to two,” Ellie says triumphantly.
Tag does a slow blink. “I was still thinking.”
I huff a sigh. “Fine, we’re all in agreement. Reluctantly. I want them to engage back and forth a bit, first.”
“Deal.” Ellie grabs Wilson’s note pad and scratches out a couple of responses. We tweak them to make them as response-prompty as possible, then Wilson types back to the pretend kidnappers, using an app on his computer that clones the phone and ghosts a data ping request beneath the text message.
555-788-2119: I don’t have that kind of money available. I can get it, but it will take time.
We all wait. It takes longer than I like for them to reply.
555-451-1765: No stalling. We know what you are capable of. We know who you really are.
Ellie rolls her eyes. “That’s more bluster.”
“Who knows that you are Caroline’s best friend? You, as in, Melinda Gray.”
“Nobody,” she says immediately and without hesitation. “There is nothing that ties her to me as a reporter.”
“Then who else might they think would be at the other end of this text message exchange, if not an infamous journalist?” On Ellie’s burner phone, this exchange is the start of the texting history. “How often does she clear her history? What might they see on her phone?”
Ellie chews on her bottom lip. “Our texts are…friendly. No, I guess it’s more intimate than that. We’re vague about locations and never share anything identifying. Not intimate intimate, get your mind out of the gutter, Cole.”
He waves his hands in the air. “Whoa. Yeah, no, I don’t care what you do with your friends.”
I care an absolute fuck ton, but also, not actually my fucking business. I grind my teeth. “So they might mistake you for her lover.”
Ellie thinks about it. “Yes. Sure, that’s just as likely.”
“Do you know who her lover is? Five hundred thousand is a curious ransom amount. It feels specific. Like it’s a known amount that might actually be feasible for their target.”
Her face pales. “No clue. I wish I did. As far as I know, she’s been single for months.”
“Any secret affairs? A married partner?”
“Not Caroline’s style.” She hesitates. “Should we ask her?”
I shake my head. “The less contact we have with Deacon the better. I called him for an immediate proof that this is bullshit. Now, we’re on our own.”
“Okay, then let’s tell them… if you know who I am…”
As Ellie dictates, Wilson types.
555-788-2119: If you know who I am, you know it’ll take me time to get the money, but I’ll do anything to save her. Please, I’m begging.
The response is immediate.
555-451-1765: You have until noon. Bank details to follow.
“Anything on the data ping?”
“Nothing.” Wilson shrugs. “It was worth a shot.”
“Then we have nothing to lose. Might as well ask for proof of life, right?” Ellie looks around the room. “Right?”
I nod. “Go for it.”
555-788-2119: How do I know you really have her?
No response. We all stand there, holding our breath, but the phone’s screen turns off after a minute.
“It’ll take them a while,” Wilson says. “Let’s talk about next steps either way. If they don’t reply, and if they do.”
“At some point, we’ll need to get the FBI involved. I’ll let the U.S. Marshals dictate that timeline, based on the security of their protectee, but we don’t want to do anything now that will foul up an investigation. My guess is that by morning, we’ll want to have Ellie back in her apartment with this phone so they can set up a command center there.”
“Oh, no,” she objects. “No no. That will draw way too much attention to me and my apartment.”
“We’ll find you a new place to live after this.”
“I like the place I already have!” She shakes her head. “Not that it matters. As soon as this is over, I’m getting on a plane back to California. D.C. is bad for my blood pressure.”
The reminder that her return to my life is intensely temporary hits me in the chest like a sledgehammer. Depending on what the Feds want to do with her and Caroline, tonight could be the last time I see her.
And I wouldn’t put it past Ellie to disappear again, this time for good.
“I’m going to put on some coffee,” I say abruptly.
Ellie tries to catch my stony gaze as I stalk out of Wilson’s office, but I ignore the effort. I need a minute to myself.