Caitlyn shifted in the hard, wooden chair in the back of the library as she accessed the building’s Wi-Fi on the computer Quinton had given them, then felt her heart stop as she clicked onto Channel 13 news. The featured story showed a photo of Josh handcuffed in front of the house where Quinton had been murdered.
HOUSTON COP ARRESTED FOR THE MURDER OF HIS WIFE AND FELLOW DETECTIVE. JUDGE DENIES BAIL.
She quickly scanned the article that included statements from the assistant DA, who had been involved in Olivia’s case, with strong wording that justice would be carried out. There was no mention of her involvement, but this . . . this had to be wrong. She glanced back at the photo. If Josh had been arrested at the house, he hadn’t planned to run. He’d planned to take the fall.
The realization brought with it a wave of nausea. Turning himself in was a death sentence. He’d said it himself. And he’d done it all in an attempt to save her. Which meant she had to do everything in her power to put an end to this. And that had to start with a plan. Not taking any chances, she’d ditched the burn phone she had and bought another one where she’d transferred some of the numbers. Two bus rides and a taxi had brought her to a community library on the other side of Houston, ready to implement the rest of her plan.
She sat back in her chair. Josh had wanted her to leave Houston, but this article only confirmed her decision to stay. He was being set up and she needed to find a way to help him.
Her head pounded as she tried to remember everything they had talked about when they discussed running. No credit cards. No cell phones. No communication with friends. They were going to expect her to contact people in her circle of friends. Her friends on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.
Somehow it had turned into a game of cat and mouse. She had no idea what the rules were, let alone how to win. Where was she supposed to run? She’d hesitated going too far on her own, which was why she was still in the city. And now she was glad. In the end, she had no doubt that they would find her. She planned to have solid evidence to back up her story when they did.
I really need your help, God.
Shoving aside the mounting fear, she ran through her options for help. Quinton was dead. He’d been the one person Josh had completely trusted. Which left her where? She couldn’t go to anyone she knew. It wasn’t worth the risk of putting their lives in danger. She wanted to call her pastor or Amber, her best friend, but she couldn’t do that. It would only be a matter of time before the authorities went to them and started asking questions. Communicating with them would be too risky. If they didn’t know where she was, they wouldn’t have to worry about lying.
Eddie was her best option. Josh trusted him. He already knew about the situation and might have an idea of how she could help Josh.
Decision made, she pulled out her phone, then looked around the room. She didn’t want to call attention to herself, but there were only a couple people in her section of the library, and they both had earbuds in their ears.
A dozen rings later and no answer, she hung up the call.
Biting back the frustration, she sent a text message, leaving her name and praying he’d get back to her.
We need to talk. Urgent.
She started to log out of the internet, then hesitated again at the news article. Eddie had mentioned a connection between assistant district attorney Nigel Hayward and Shawn Stover. That had to be significant. Scrolling back to the top, she found the name of the journalist who’d written the headline. Ben Northridge. She typed his name into a google search and waited for the results to pop up—his Twitter account, LinkedIn, and lists of articles he’d written, including dozens of human-interest reports and humanitarian stories.
She hesitated, knowing she should reject the idea beginning to form in the back of her mind. But if she could talk to him and find a way to get him to at least listen to her, he had to have connections. The only problem was that he’d more than likely turn her in if he knew who she was.
But what if she could get him to help her without giving up her identity? What if she could motivate him with the promise of a bigger story? If he could get her some of the information she needed, and she gave him exclusive rights to the story once everything was all over, it would be a win/win situation.
She opened up Google again and read through his bio and Twitter feed. A bit more searching and she found a Facebook profile. Five minutes later, she’d set up a new email address. Now she just needed to throw out the bait with her first message to the email address she’d found for him.
Mr. Northridge. I have information proving Joshua Solomon’s innocence. Please contact me ASAP.
Next, she needed a secure place where they could talk online if he responded. An encrypted chatroom where she didn’t have to register, that would keep their conversation private, and that would give her a place where she could send a file with evidence if it came to that. As soon as she’d finished setting up the chatroom account, she clicked back to her email account to see if there had been a response.
Nothing.
And nothing yet from Eddie.
The clock on the wall ticked behind her. A public place probably wasn’t the best location even if it did provide her a space to figure out her next move and provide her with free Wi-Fi. More than likely, her face was going to be plastered on the local news channels before long as a person of interest at the very least. Which meant this had probably been a foolish move. The reporter wasn’t going to answer a message from a stranger. She opened up another window and started looking through the local news reports to see if there were any updates on Josh’s arrest. Nothing yet, but it was still early.
She glanced at the files she’d been going through. Maybe the smarter thing to do was find another cheap motel and keep going through the files.
A message popped up on her opened email account.
Who is this?
She felt her heart pound as she typed in her response.
Don’t feel safe giving out personal information at this point, but I’ve set up a secure chatroom where we can talk online.
She gave him the connection information, then went back to the chatroom and waited for him to show up. Three minutes later, there he was.
User2308: I’m here, but I need to know who you are.
Cyberborg5528: Sorry, but can’t give any personal information right now. Too much at stake. Need to talk about the story you recently broke. There are things I know that will make this a huge breaking news story once the truth comes out.
User2308: Like Solomon’s innocence? That’s a big promise. Why should I believe you? Right now, the latest news is that Josh Solomon has been arrested for not only the murder of his wife, but his partner as well. I was there at the scene of his arrest. Evidence is solid.
Cyberborg5528: I’m putting together evidence that proves Solomon is being framed.
User2308: Most of the people in prison claim the same thing.
Cyberborg5528: Look into connections between convicted felon Shawn Stover, aka Jigsaw, and ADA Nigel Hayward, who’s been assigned to this case.
User2308: I need to know who you are.
Cyberborg5528: Just look into it, then get back to me. Don’t have a lot of time.
User2308: Not good enough.
Cyberborg5528: Look into what I told you, then get back to me as soon as you can.
Caitlyn logged out, not waiting for a response.
Her fingers shook as she erased the browser history in case she ended up getting caught.
She had no idea if she’d made the right decision in contacting the reporter, but there wasn’t time now to second-guess what she’d done. Her next move was finding a cheap motel.
You can’t lose it now, Caitlyn. They don’t know where you are, and there’s no way they could have followed you here.
On top of that, stressing was only going to make things worse. But trying to convince herself she was safe wasn’t working.
She grabbed her bag and headed toward the front of the library. Two police officers walked into the lobby and started talking to the librarian at the front desk. Caitlyn felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Surely it wasn’t possible for them to have tracked her down here. She slipped down the nearest aisle between two bookcases, trying to stop the panic, as she grabbed a book off the shelf and pretended to skim through it.
“You’re interested in Italy?”
“Italy.” Caitlyn glanced at the older woman who’d appeared next to her then looked at the cover of the book she was holding. “A Traveler’s Guide to Italy . . . well . . . it is a fascinating place.”
The woman’s smile broadened. “We have a group that meets here once a month and discusses different travel destinations. You’d be welcome to join us.”
She looked back at the front desk to confirm that the officers were still there. “Really? I . . . I appreciate the invitation.”
“The information is on the board near the front desk.”
“Wonderful.” She set the book back on the shelf. “Listen . . . I noticed a couple of policemen just came in. Do you know what’s going on?”
“I overheard them say something about a drug bust.”
“Really?” That wasn’t the answer she was expecting. Unless they were using a drug bust as an excuse to search the library for her.
No. She was being paranoid.
“It happens every once in a while, the police coming in here. Drugs, or sometimes they get called in for people sleeping.”
“Wow. That’s sad.”
“It is.”
The officers headed toward the other side of the building, but that didn’t mean they weren’t looking for her.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go.”
With the front exit clear for the moment, she rushed out of the building. There was a bus stop a couple blocks away. All she had to do was get there. Then catch the bus and ride to a motel on the other side of the city. Josh’s money would hold her over for at least a few nights while she laid low and went through the files. It was no different than coming up with a plan to process the raw data she collected at work. She was used to planning experiments, then collecting the research. There were always protocols and maintaining a database to track the projects. This was nothing different. She needed to stay organized if she was going to figure this out.
Two buses and an hour later, she slipped the key into the lock and stepped inside her motel room. The decor was out of date and the furniture worn, but she tried to convince herself it could be worse. She took a quick shower, careful to clean the wound on her arm before struggling to put on a fresh bandage.
Next, she flipped on the television while she opened up her computer, praying she wouldn’t see her picture on the evening news. There was still no message from Eddie on her phone and no message from the reporter.
She turned up the sound, then sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Detective Josh Solomon was arrested today for the murder of his wife, Olivia Solomon, a year ago, as well as a fellow police detective who has now been identified as Quinton Lambert.”
There was still no mention of her, but they must have already informed Quinton’s wife that her husband was dead. Another family changed forever because of her questions.
She muted the sound, then pulled the Gideon Bible out of the drawer next to the bed. Growing up, she’d struggled to understand what a relationship with Christ truly meant, but over the past few years, she’d worked to make her faith a priority. Today, though, all she could hear was silence. What was she supposed to do when she couldn’t hear God’s voice? When she had no idea what to do next?
Part of her wanted to hop on the next bus out of town and get as far away as possible, like Josh had told her to. But something stopped her. She missed Josh, and not just because he made her feel safer. He’d made her laugh and smile and stirred something inside her completely unexpected. And then there was the kiss that she had no idea how to interpret. But the bottom line was that she didn’t know how to do this on her own. And until she found out the truth about who was behind this, she couldn’t help him.
She started reading Psalm 138.
Though I walk in the midst of trouble, You will revive me; You will stretch out Your hand against the wrath of my enemies, and Your right hand will save me.
The words of the psalmist worked like a salve on her spirit, calming her mind and helping her see things clearly again. There would be troubles, but she wasn’t alone.
He will protect me from my enemies.
His hand will save.
Her phone buzzed beside her and she picked it up. It was a message from Eddie.
Are you okay?
Safe for now.
Out of town overnight. Meet me @ ice rink, Galleria, 2 tomorrow. Be careful.