“What the hell!” Caren grabs the phone and brings it closer to her face. After a few seconds of staring at the phone, she hands it back to him. “Who’s the number my husband is texting with?”
Finn shrugs. “I saw this on the Williamses’ iPad. At their house.”
Caren pulls out her own phone. “That’s not Kenya’s number.” She pauses, her mouth puckered as if she’s tasted something bitter. “It’s Shawn’s.” She looks up at him. “What is going on?”
He shrugs. “I think you better ask your husband. Or the Williamses.”
“Oh, believe me, I plan to.”
They sit in silence a moment, a silence so tense it seems to vibrate. Finn can tell Caren is furious, but he doesn’t know what to say. He thinks of his own mom, and what he would say to her if she were this angry.
“Wanna go key someone’s car?”
Caren grins. “I do. I actually do. Shawn’s, maybe. He has this really obnoxious Porsche SUV.” She turns in her seat to face him. “You know what this means, right? That they had the bracelet. The Williamses did. And Shawn dropped it off and Miguel gave it to me, pretending he found it.”
“Possibly. But why bring it to Miguel, to have him pretend to find it?”
“Possibly? No. Definitely. Rachel told me yesterday that Noah, you know—Shawn and Kenya’s son—was involved in the burglaries with Van.” Caren shakes her head and stares out thefront window. “I don’t know. I don’t want to let myself think that Shawn could have been the one who spiked my drink, but if he was after that bracelet…”
“Listen,” Finn says. “Maybe this isn’t the best time to go see Tori Price.”
“This is a great time,” Caren says through gritted teeth. “Let’s freaking go.”
Finn holds his hands up in surrender. He’s not about to argue with Caren right now. Plus, he wants her with him. He doesn’t want to do this alone.
The drive to the apartment complex in Friendship Heights takes less than five minutes. With each passing block, Finn’s heart rate speeds up. He’s closer than ever to uncovering what happened to Autumn. Yet now, on the precipice of discovery, dread pools in his stomach.
They park on Willard Avenue, a few blocks from the building. It’s only once they’re inside the over-air-conditioned main lobby that they realize it’s a mix of apartments and offices. Finn approaches the front desk, where an older man with thick glasses sits hunched over a sudoku puzzle, red pen poised above the page. He barely glances up when Finn tells him he is there to see Tori Price.
“No one by that name lives here,” he says dismissively and turns his attention back to his puzzle, effectively ending the conversation.
Disappointed, Finn rejoins Caren, who is standing in front of a large digital panel on a wall where a list of professional offices scrolls slowly by. He tells her there’s no resident with the name Tori Price. “You sure you have the right address? There’s also no Tori Price who has an office here. Unless she works forone of the companies on this list. If that’s the case, we’ll never find her.”
Feeling more desperate by the minute, Finn returns to the attendant’s desk. “Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you again, but I’m looking for a therapist by the name of Tori Price.”
“There’s a physical therapist on the second floor,” the man says, without looking up from his puzzle.
“No, a mental-health therapist.”
The man looks up, vaguely annoyed. “We got a couple like that. They’re both on the fourth floor.”
In the elevator, Finn fidgets uncontrollably—adjusting his messenger bag, fingering the tarot card in his back pocket, picking at his nails. But nothing can alleviate the feeling that the walls seem to be closing in with each passing floor.
“You’re nervous,” Caren says matter-of-factly, her gaze anchoring him. “We got this.”
The elevator door opens with a soft ding, and they walk slowly down the carpeted hall, searching each nameplate for Tori Price. The hallway seems endless, each wrong door ramping up Finn’s anxiety.
At the end of the hallway they come to a glass door etched with the wordsNEW HORIZONS MENTAL WELLNESS. The office inside is empty and sterile—blond wood chairs with beige cushions and a glass coffee table upon which sit four business card holders. Finn’s hands shake slightly as he picks up one from each of them. They are all psychotherapists, but none are named Tori Price. His stomach drops. “Could she have changed her name?” he asks.
A woman in a navy suit with a tight bun enters the room, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. “Can I help you?” she asks, her voice as cold and smooth as glass.
“We’re looking for Tori Price,” Caren says, stepping forward slightly as if to shield Finn. “The security guard sent us here, but I think we have the wrong office.”
“Oh yes.” A small smile plays at the edges of her lips. “That happens. You want the Cohen Group, all the way down the other end of the hall.”
The dark hallway seems to stretch forever as they retrace their steps. Above them, fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows, making the corridor feel like something from a nightmare. He prays that Ellis’s friend did not give them bad info.
Finally, at the last door, below a tarnished plaque that readsCOHEN GROUP, they find a nameplate withTORI PRICE, LPCengraved on it.
