“I know it’s a big favor, and I wouldn’t be asking if it weren’t really, really important,” says Jane to the person she called.
My hands are sweaty waiting for an answer.
“Thank you,” she says and hangs up. I am about to implode.
“There is nonewcase open in the FBI’s database. I have a friend in the Art Crime Unit, and she checked the database.”
So she hasn’t filed anything. Which means?—
“Fuck,” I breathe out as I snap.
I run to my laptop, open the hidden partition, open the emulator, and enter my credentials.
It rings.
“It’s me,” I say. “I need you to find someone. I take everything. Last known log, tower data, last calls, whatever you get related to this number,” and I dictate him El’s number.
I hear typing on the other end as I stare at the screen.
“Last log with tower was downtown Manhattan at 7:33 this morning,” says my contact. “Number is registered with the Whitney-Morgan Foundation. The last contact was a number registered to the private airline VistaJet.”
“Search for an Elise Whitney-Morgan.”
“No itineraries found.”
“Fuck,” I whisper and rub my hand over my face.
“CCTV gives a black Range Rover registered to the same foundation.”
“Can you retrace where it went in the past hours? I’ll pay whatever.”
“Park Avenue, corner to 64th, got it this morning at 8:01. Since then, no view.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She left the Porsche.
Meaning she went with Alex.
What if Alex got wind of it?
I gave Alex the keys?—
Everything falls in me.
What if Alex bugged the studio?
What if Alex took her to her father?
“Are there any addresses registered to Elise Whitney-Morgan in New York?”
“No,” he says after a moment. “But a total of…1410 registered to the Whitney-Morgan Foundation.”
Okay, think,I tell myself. The only connection is finding Alex.
“I need a trace on this number,” I say, and read Alex’s number aloud from my mind, the one time I saw it on El’s screen.
“111 West 57th,” he says.
