“So what’s the fallout online?” Jordan asked.
“Not as bad as it could be,” Amber answered.
Phone pressed to his ear, Jordan sat on his heels and leaned against a wall in a hallway outside the Union Station security office.
“Let’s hear it.”
“Honestly, now that Cara Campbell is in LA, people are super excited and they’re seeing her—well, people who look like her—everywhere. Which means a lot less of the coverage is about you.”
“What about back home?”
“That’s where things are more amusing—to me, anyway. Silverman, along with a small army of internet sleuths andmurderinos, camped out at the Sacramento Greyhound bus depot overnight. When she didn’t show, they fanned out, chasing all kinds of wild rumors. Sydney’s watching TikTok and says the party there seems to be breaking up.”
Jordan was more convinced than ever that someone inside the station was passing information to Silverman. And Silverman couldn’t help blabbing what he knew, the minute he knew it. What even Jordan’s deputies hadn’t known was his last-minute U-turn after a call to Roy Abel convinced Wen he’d been right all along: Campbell had been headed to LA.
“Well, our team came pretty close to joining them.”
“Silverman’s trying to spin it, of course,” continued Amber. “His latest Facebook post is an all-caps rant about how you’re running around LA instead of taking care of business back home. He even said—get this—you really want to be a movie star. In one of the comments, someone said they had inside information that you have a pitch meeting at CNN for one of those in-depth specials.”
Jordan stared at the blank, utilitarian wall and tried to picture himself taking a meeting with Hollywood executives while he was supposed to be tracking a fugitive. He couldn’t.
“Silverman was the one who made Cara Campbell a campaign issue, not me.”
“All the more reason for him to try to pin it on you.”
The certainty that someone was leaking Jordan’s movements bothered him. Who was doing it, and why? Did they have a reason to resent Jordan? Did they, God forbid, actually admire Silverman? Had Silverman promised them a promotion if he won the election?
The most likely leaker Jordan could think of was Symonds, the perpetually disgruntled night dispatcher. The man was a walking complaint. But that seemed far-fetched becauseSymonds didn’t trustanybody. And Jordan’s Achilles’ heel as a lawman was that, in his heart, he was basically a trusting person.
Wait until Silverman caught wind ofthat.
“I should get back. Have you talked to Steve and Joanne?”
“We took them breakfast this morning. No change with Bree. They’re doing better than yesterday, but that’s not saying a lot. I keep looking at Sydney and thinking I never want to let her drive a car again.”
“After this, she’ll be the most cautious teen driver on the road.”
“I’m sure you’re right. Love you.”
“Love you more.”
Jordan ended the call, stood, and knocked for admittance. The Union Station security center was a dimly lit room with a desk ringed by video monitors. Wen hovered over Ellett’s shoulder as she played back recordings from different cameras.
“There,” she said, stopping her. “Freeze it. Which one do we like best?”
Ellett worked the joysticks deftly, bringing up four different images of Campbell passing through the station. In the first one, she was getting off the train while carrying the bag of an older woman. Obviously posing as her daughter—smart. In the second, she strode confidently down a concourse, head held high. In the third, she waited in line at the pretzel stand, looking like she really did plan to order. In the fourth, she emerged at the top of the stairs leading to the bus plaza with her wary face plainly visible. Either her bruised eye was healing fast, or she had covered it with makeup.
“That one,” Jordan said, tapping the screen.
“I’m kind of fond of the picture with granny,” said Ellett.
“Burke’s right,” said Wen. “Use the fourth one. Clean it up and get it out as soon as possible. I want an updated pressrelease to go out, like, ASAP. Location details, our girl’s new hair color, and remind them about the reward.”
“Where do we go now?” asked Crosby from across the room.
“It looked like she wanted to get on the bus to Reseda,” offered Jordan.
“I’m starving,” said Wen. “Anyone know a good restaurant in Reseda?”
