Page 325 of Property of Whiskey

He grunts.

Paramedics arrive.

Cal is not among them.

Thank God.

Another deputy takes Pike into the formal custody chain while I stand and wipe fresh blood from my mouth. Whiskey stays close without hovering directly over me, never touching unless I move first.

I hate how much I notice.

Daddy comes back carrying one of Pike’s phones inside a clear evidence bag.

“Still unlocked when we recovered it.”

“Convenient.”

“Very.”

“What’s on it?”

“Last screen was messages.”

He angles the bag carefully.

The visible thread has no contact name, only a number.

The latest message reads:

KEEP DIX QUIET. DO NOT DAMAGE HER UNLESS NECESSARY.

My stomach turns. The message beneath it is worse.

THE CHILD IS LEVERAGE ONLY. NO CONTACT WITHOUT MY ORDER.

Whiskey becomes so quiet beside me I feel it before I look.

Daddy swears.

I whisper, “Wren.”

Whiskey reaches toward the bagged phone, then stops himself before touching it.

Smart man.

“Can you prove that’s Crowley?” he asks.

“Not yet,” Daddy says.

“Trace it.”

“Already happening.”

A deputy jogs over with a printout. “Judge signed the emergency digital warrant.”

Daddy takes it. “Good.”

The second phone is worse. It contains photographs.