“No idea, man. Makes no sense.” Bryant keeps typing. “It’s like he was waiting for a text, and suddenly he got what he needed, but how?” He runs a hand through his hair.
I keep looking out the back windshield. “What does Samson drive?”
“Black, four-door Civic.”
I scan the area, not seeing such a vehicle, praying we are well ahead of him. We have to be. We left within seconds of him, and we were closer to the entrance of the neighborhood.
In our favor is the fact that he has no idea we even exist. As far as we know.
Ghost taps his phone, making a call.
“This is Galloway,” a man responds. He’s the guy we left with the women.
“Stay alert,” Ghost barks out. “We’re on our way back. Samson is headed that way. I think we’re ahead of him.”
“Ten-four.” The call ends.
My entire body is tight as we make our way to the safehouse. It takes almost no time, but it feels like two hours.
Ghost uses a remote for the garage, but as he waits for it to open, Bryant and I jump out of the SUV and race toward the front door. It opens before we reach the porch.
Galloway lets us in, scanning the area. “How the fuck did that asshole make us?” He moves to the main picture window in the living room and lowers one slat of the blinds enough to see out.
“Not a goddamn clue,” Bryant grumbles, still holding his open laptop. He makes quick strides over to the kitchen table on the other side of this open-plan great room.
Autumn rushes into my arms. “What’s wrong?”
I met Addison briefly earlier. She’s standing at the entrance to the hallway, wringing her hands. Her eyes are wide. She’s much younger than I expected. Mid-twenties. Frank is thirty-five. How did he end up married to a much younger woman before he was even deployed? That’s a question for another day.
“Samson has discovered your location.”
Autumn’s face goes white. “How?”
I shake my head. “No idea.”
Ghost enters from the garage.
Bryant looks up from his computer. “Autumn, are you familiar with Goldstein’s Funeral Home?”
Frowning, I move closer toward the table, keeping Autumn pinned to my side.
“Yes.” She looks at me. “Isn’t that where you sent my father’s body?”
My breath hitches. “What are you talking about? I haven’t had your father’s body sent anywhere. It’s still at the morgue.”
If it’s possible, she goes whiter. “But the texts…”
“What texts, sweetheart?” I ask gently.
She pulls out her phone, opens it, taps the screen, and hands it to me.
“The mortuary has texted me several times in the past few days. I kept forgetting and ignoring them. I assumed you were handling it. But then, about a half hour ago, I got a text asking where to send the death certificate. I figured we should probably handle that and the funeral arrangements while we’re here. So I clicked on the link.”
I wince as I hand the phone to Bryant.
He cringes deeper than I do. We both know what happened.
“What?” Autumn’s voice wobbles. “Did I do something wrong?”
