Cara felt like her body was glued to her chair. It took all of her strength to maintain her cheerful expression. The amount had risen overnight.
“Thanks,” Deb told Willow casually, slipping the phone back into her pocket. “Anyone need coffee while I’m up?”
Hands went up as, down the hall, the bathroom door opened, and Joey emerged.
They’d made breakfast to stall her. Had they already called the police? Was Deb going to bring back zip ties along with the coffee pot? No matter how leaden her legs, Cara had to get out of the house immediately.
“I’ll take some, too, but I need to use the restroom, now that it’s available,” Cara said, trying to keep her voice as bright and cheerful as everyone else’s. “Back in a minute.”
She pushed her chair back, deposited her mug by the coffee maker, and headed down the hallway.
Inside the bathroom, she locked the door and quietly tested the handle to make sure. She really did have to pee, even though now she was so nervous she could barely get it out. After she flushed, she pushed open the squeaky vinyl window. No one would question her desire to air out the room out after Joey’s visit.
She peered outside. A narrow sidewalk linked the front and back yards. It was a short drop, and she could get a foothold on the stucco.
Before she went through, she picked up the damp, slightly grimy bar of soap and drew a single star on the mirror along with a very brief review of her stay.
SIXTY
JORDAN
It’s a real-lifeLost Angelesbut starring a dumb blond influencer convict.
—@filmfanaticfred
Jordan felt like he was in a lame TV show about cops as he crouched in a backyard littered with plastic toys, staring at a cinderblock wall. On the other side of that wall lived someone who had called in a tip to the reward hotline saying Cara Campbell was there right now.
He might have missed out entirely if he hadn’t been returning to the motel from an early morning shopping trip for clean clothes—the only place he’d found to buy them was a Ralph’s grocery store, where he’d picked up socks, underwear, and an LA Rams golf shirt. He was pulling into the lot as Wen and her team came out of their rooms, armed and serious. He rode to the address in Wen’s back seat, sandwiched between Ellett and Hart while Crosby rode up front.
Upon arrival, they gave him a US Marshals windbreaker (“Wouldn’t want to shoot you by accident,” joked Crosby. “I’m aNiners fan.”) and told him to cover the back. When he’d asked the neighboring homeowner for access to her yard, she hardly looked at his six-pointed badge with the bear in its middle.
Maybe she felt like she was in a lame cop show, too.
Jordan stared at the wall, waiting for Cara Campbell to pop her head over the top like a gopher. Hoping she wouldn’t see him crouched behind a peeling chaise longue. Wishing he had a radio so he could follow the movements of Wen’s team.
When he heard shouts of “Clear!” “Clear!” “Clear!” he thought,Screw it.
Pulling a blue-and-yellow kids’ picnic table over to the wall, he stood on it and looked over. Through open sliders, he saw Wen and Crosby and a crowd of bodies inside.
Jordan pulled himself up and over, landing on gravel and cigarette butts. As he headed toward the house, Hart began herding the occupants outside, presumably because the yard offered better crowd control. Jordan counted at least eight scraggly men and women and thought the place looked like a halfway house.
“We totally had her cornered, dude,” insisted a stocky guy with biker tattoos. “Can’t believe she went out that window.”
“I should’ve thought of that,” said a skinny possible junkie with a shake of his head.
“She’s only been gone ten minutes, maybe fifteen,” said a woman in a tie-dye tank top anxiously.
“Everyone shut up!” barked Wen. “Like, one at a fucking time, OK?”
A hard-looking woman who probably needed to get some moles checked stepped forward. “I’ll talk. This is my house.”
Completely ignored and with no role to play in the interrogation, Jordan slipped inside to look around.
Ellett nodded at him from the couch but quickly returned her attention to whatever she was doing on her laptop. Living,dining, and cooking areas all flowed together. Jordan passed a large, round table covered with plates of half-eaten food. As he walked through the kitchen, his boots made ripping sounds on the sticky floor.
Down a short hall, Jordan found sour-smelling rooms jammed with cheap metal bunk beds and particle-board furniture. He guessed they’d find enough misdemeanor violations and outstanding warrants to impound the property and send everyone to jail—if they weren’t chasing America’s most wanted internet personality.
He opened drawers, rifled through duffle bags, and peeked in closets but couldn’t find any trace of Cara. She had changed clothes and discarded belongings often enough by now that he didn’t even really know what to look for.
