“I’llcall the police,” Zander informed them in a tone that didn’t invite discussion. “A woman’s in danger, and I need to do this my way, or she could get hurt. Do you understand me?”
Crystal reached for a necklace that wasn’t there, as if seeking reassurance from it. “Yes, but...”
“You might need to see a doctor,” Pam said. “Your face.” She motioned. “And your hands.”
“I’m fine,” he repeated, irate at the time they were costing him. “I need a phone and a car. Immediately.”
“Whoareyou?” Crystal asked.
“My name is Zander Ford.”
Pam gave a squeak. “I read your book.”
“Mr. Ford,” Crystal said. “You can’t expect us to hand over our phone or car. Come to the office and you can use the landline. We’ll call a taxi—”
“He can borrow my phone and car,” Pam offered.
“Pam!”
Ignoring her boss’s exclamation, Pam walked as quickly as her short legs allowed toward the elevator bank. Zander followed.
“Pam,” Crystal repeated.
“Like I said,” Pam told Crystal, “I read his book. I know he’s an upstanding person—”
“You know nothing of the kind.”
The three of them stepped into the elevator. “It seems like he’s in a desperate situation, and that a woman’s life is on the line,” Pam said to Crystal. Her attention jumped to Zander. “So, yes. I’ll let you borrow my phone and car.”
“Thank you.”
Within minutes, Zander was sitting behind the wheel of Pam’s ten-year-old Mazda. Before starting the car, he ran a search in her smart phone’s app store for the tracking app Britt had used earlier today to track him. He’d gotten the same app back when she’d told him about it, then deleted it before leaving on his trip. He might be able to use it now in reverse, to track Britt.
He downloaded the app, then signed in with his username and password. The app remembered him and showed him the locations of the few people he’d connected. However, it couldn’t pinpoint Britt. Instead, next to her name on his list of contacts, it readCustomer Offline.
The men who’d taken her must have disabled her phone.
He took a jagged breath as he struggled to get ahold of himself. Then he dialed Detective Kurt Shaw as he pulled onto the road in the direction of Merryweather.
Kurt came on the line, and Zander provided a terse explanation of events. He gave a description of the men, their Mercedes, and the license plate, which he pulled up from memory.
“Do you have any idea where they might be taking her?” Kurt asked.
“None. They mentioned that they want to get the painting out of the country. That’s all I know.”
“They could be heading to the Canadian border. Or to an airport.”
“Or to a boat. I think her phone’s out of commission. Even so, can you try to locate its position?”
“I can try. I’ll notify Chief Warner and the sheriff’s department immediately.”
“Don’t forget the FBI. Grab a pen. I’ll give you Agent Delacruz’s number.” He rattled off the digits.
“I’d like for you to meet with us at the station,” Kurt said. “How long will it take you to get here?”
“Thirty minutes.”
They disconnected, and Zander purposely recalled the day he and Britt had visited Emerson. He visualized, in detail, the sticky note Emerson had stuck to the back of his phone. Black numbers on yellow paper.
