Page 56 of Girl, Remembered

She’d scuttled back to her hiding area and waited to see what a silent alarm actually summoned. Not that she’d expected sirens. A silent alarm, by definition, existed to summon something more discreet than a police squadron.

What the alarm actually summoned, forty-five minutes later, was a lone, blue Ford Mustang.

Not a patrol car. Not two patrol cars, which was what she’d have got if the alarm had gotten anywhere near a real police dispatcher. It was a classic muscle car, and a man climbing out of it who she recognized instantly, because she’d watched him climb in and out of that same muscle car most afternoons for the better part of two weeks.

Doyle had retreated to the other side of the pond when he’d been here, and it had taken her a few days to discern his identity. After a quick check of the property records for the building, his identity became apparent, and at that moment, Doyle felt like the universe had simply confirmed what she already suspected about herself. Anyone else would feel like they’d won the lottery, but Doyle knew that it was fate, not chance, that had granted her this gift.

Until that day, she’d previously considered this man to be out of bounds, even for her. Too high profile, and for many it would have been just as damning as assassinating the president himself.

And yet there he’d been, practically offering himself as a sacrifice right there and then.

In a way, it was not even Ella Dark who’d taken what Doyle cared for the most. It was the man who owned this building. As with the butterfly effect, every hurricane had that first breath of wind behind it, and this man was that first breath. Taking him out would almost certainly secure her capture or death, but it was important – for her own sanity – to rip off the butterfly wings that started it all.

And so Lindsey Doyle found a sturdy brick from one of the many piles of rubble nearby.

She was three steps from the window, brick in hand, when her burner cell began to ring.

***

Ella listened to the phone source the network, and then, like waiting for the bang after the lightning strike, braced herself for the ring tone.

It came.

Adrenaline flooded her system. What was she expecting here? For Doyle to just hand over her location? No. But when killers talked, ego bested common sense. Sometimes they talked too much and revealed things they didn’t mean to. Not to mention, if Doyle was on the line for at least two minutes, Ripley’s trace software could narrow down her location to within half a mile.

One ring.

A second ring.

Three rings.

Come on. Pick up.

Vernon and Dever crowded her while Ripley held the laptop firmly. Ella turned the call to loudspeaker.

Four rings turned to five.

And on the sixth ring, it connected.

Ambient noise traveled down the line, perhaps a gust of wind.

Then, ‘Hello, Ella’s work phone.’

Here she was, with that same, unmistakable southern drawl that Ella had heard last night. The one she tried so desperately to hide.

‘Hello, Lindsey. You finally decided to pick up.’

‘Surprised?’

‘Yes I am.’

‘Did you make this call by chance, or did Tracy finally cave?’

‘Maybe she’s not as loyal as you think. The same goes for your other little sycophants.’

Lindsey laughed. ‘Typical. If you want something done properly, you have to do it yourself, right? It seems we’ve finally arrived at the last milestone.’

Dever and Vernon had moved closer to Ella, but she backed them away. If Lindsey knew that this wasn’t a one-on-one conversation, she’d be less likely to give up something useful. Ripley, it seemed, had already figured this out. She caught Ella’s eye and mouthed the words talk slower.