Page 45 of The Wolves Come at Night
“Good. Do it. I don’t want to turn him into a suspect, publicly or privately, unless we have a damn good reason. I think her parents believe what they’re saying, but they weren’t here in town, and without the actual phone to get records that corroborate this text string, this won’t hold up in court. We’ll need the phone itself.”
He sighed. “Get some sleep. We’ll start looking tomorrow.”
She heard a noise in the background that sounded like giggling. It made her smile immediately. “Is that Flynn?”
“Yes. I put him to bed an hour ago, but the silly rascal thinks he can fool me into reading him another story. I better go deal with him.”
The joy and light in Lincoln’s voice made her heart sing. “You do that. Tell him Auntie T loves him. And Lincoln?”
“Yeah?”
“Something is going on here. We need to figure out if Carson Conway and Georgia Wray are connected in any other ways, and we need to do it fast.”
Shit. So much happening, so many balls spinning. Her mind jumped from case to case, issue to issue. Two girls—one dead, one missing, somehow tied together. The mom acting sketchy and dropping off the radar. A possible criminally liable label head. Justin Osborne and the phantom notebook paper. Malware on Carson Conway’s phone. Carson stumbling onto Georgia’s murder. Coincidence?
Coincidence that Taylor had gotten assigned a case that was going supernova?
Yes, Huston had given her the assignment to get back on the street, but what about when all this was over? This was temporary, something to appease her. There wouldn’t be more. Which brought her full circle, back to her dinner with Thierry Florian.
She had almost managed to push away the worries about Thierry’s offer to join Macallan. She wasn’t going to do anything until she and Baldwin had a nice, long, sit-down in-person chat, so there wasn’t pressure building to deal with it, but she couldn’t help but think of the assassin Angelie Delacroix.
Could she work for the same organization that employed the sort of people she was blood sworn to hunt down?
The indecision was killing her slowly. She had to get a handle on this, and fast.
She was two steps into her foyer when her phone rang. Her stomach dropped.
“Linc?” she answered.
“Hey. Good news, for once. New Haven cops swung by Conway’s house. She’s there, unharmed, with the guys who own her husband’s bakery. One of their detectives is going to have a chat with them shortly.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Wish I knew why she bolted.”
“I’m sure we’ll find out. For now, you should get some rest.”
“Talk to you tomorrow, Linc.”
Maybe she would sleep tonight after all, knowing at least Avery Conway was safe.
Twenty-Two
New Haven
After the phone incident, Avery stormed out of the room after Santiago, screaming at him. What if Carson called, and couldn’t get through?
Santi explained, quietly, in no uncertain terms, that Carson would not be calling. That she was being held hostage, and Game would never, ever let her go until his terms were met. He told Avery to be patient, then he huddled with Alan, who soon after drove off, leaving Santiago on the porch and Avery inside, roaming like a caged lion.
She wasn’t afraid of Santiago, though she knew she should be. She was afraid of the woman who called herself Sònia. Angelie. “Ohn-jhee,” Santiago had called her, which sounded like a nickname. She had no idea if that was the woman’s real name, nor did she care. All she wanted was her daughter back. She’d promised she was going to make that happen. Avery had no choice but to believe her. Santiago had gone to Angelie immediately and seemed to think the woman had the power to make Game comply.
How had Avery been so blind? Was she so dislocated from her family that she’d allowed this treachery to happen? Were they lying to her now?
Exhausted, Avery collapsed onto her bed. She still slept on the left side, all these years later, never encroaching on Richard’s space. She was too tired to sleep; worry gnawed at her stomach to the point she rolled onto her side and drew up her legs, hoping to ease the cramps.
This wouldn’t do.
She rolled onto her back. The tray ceiling, with its beautiful crown molding and chandelier, made her feel like she was sleeping in a high-end hotel suite. She’d always loved it. Now, it seemed almost sinister. Mocking. Her home, her life, was a lie.
Could she stay here, knowing what she knew now? Could she live in this house by herself, with her tainted memories? What if they were wrong? What if Carson never came home? Could she go on without her daughter? Her lifeline?
