“I tried pulling images from the venue in San Francisco.” Matthew frowned at the screen. “But I didn’t have any luck. I think this is as good as it gets.”
Andi forced herself to look again—to slow down, the way she’d learned to do when instincts wanted to leap ahead.
Fake Pam’s hair was pulled back. Her shoulders were tight, her posture rigid. Controlled. Intentional.
Nothing about her suggested someone lost or confused—or desperate enough to lie her way into help.
Who exactly was this woman?
Not missing a beat, Andi pulled out her phone, thumb hovering over the screen for half a second before she opened her messages. “I need to see if Emily recognizes her.”
She typed quickly.
This may be nothing, but do you recognize this woman?
Duke sent her a still frame of the woman, and Andi attached the image.
The gang stood in the lobby a moment longer, the quiet hum of the hotel wrapping around them. A bellhop rolled a cart past. Someone laughed near the bar.
They waited, hoping for a quick answer—hoping for some type of answer. Though they’d only been looking into this for a couple of days, this investigation wasn’t going anywhere yet. They needed a break in this case.
Then Andi’s phone buzzed.
Her breath caught when she saw the name there. “It’s Emily!”
She opened the message.
No, I’m sorry. I’ve never seen that woman before.
A pause. Then bubbles appeared on the bottom of the screen.
She was typing something else.
Another message followed.
That’s not Pam. And it’s definitely not anyone I know. I wish I could tell you more. I haven’t met all of Gina’s friends yet . . .
Andi exhaled slowly and read the message aloud to everyone.
Duke rubbed a hand along his jaw. “Whoever this woman is, I’m guessing she’s not part of Gina’s life.”
“And yet she knew enough to pose as her sister,” Andi said. “She knew how to find us. Knew exactly what to say to make us listen.”
Ranger shook his head. “This woman wants something.”
“Attention?” Mariella offered.
“Or control,” Duke said.
“Maybe both,” Simmy added.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Duke stayed where he was,his attention sharp as the lobby settled back into its usual rhythm. The event crowd had thinned, security had relaxed its perimeter, and the space felt momentarily neutral again—not exactly safer but quieter at least.
Rupert reappeared at Duke’s side, breathless and overcaffeinated. “I just want to say that this”—he tapped the black band on his wrist with exaggerated emphasis—“is why we partnered with SafeStride in the first place. I’m using itright now. Heart rate monitoring. Geo-tracking. Panic alert.”
