“No problem. One day, over beers, I’ll brag to you about the complexities of it all. Whenever that day comes, ooh and aah a lot for me.”

One day. “Deal. I’ll call you when I can.”

“Get a cell phone when you can.”

“I need cash, that’s my first issue.”

“Don’t have any friends in town?”

I bite on my bottom lip in response. The silence on the line grows, each second another embarrassing weight on my solidarity. I shrug, a motion he never sees. “I’ll call you when I can. If I can.”

“Be safe.”

I smile sadly. “Always.”

Then, before he has a chance to say anything else, I hang up the phone. Glance around and head to the back of the parking lot. See a red Taurus idling beside a Dumpster, and step toward it.

I stop beside the driver’s door and bend over. Look into the face of a woman, one in her midfifties, her white hair styled in the short-haired manner favored by grandmothers everywhere. I blink in surprise. She rolls down her window. “You Jessica?”

Jessica. I smile the friendly smile cams.com’s most popular coed. “Yes.”

“Hop in.”

I open the back door and slide into the middle of the backseat. She locks the doors and shifts into drive. I stare at the lock and run my hand along the handle. “Where to?” she calls back, her eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

“For the moment, please head south.”

She nods and doesn’t comment. I run my hands over the top of my jeans and try to think. I’d kill for some cash right now, no pun intended. I feel naked and unprotected. I turn my head and watch dark houses move past—catching myself seriously considering breaking into one of them. At three in the morning, how do I differentiate between an empty house and a sleeping one? I know of one house that’s empty, its new owner hovering between death and life. But I can’t go there, I can’t step inside the house where, just four days ago, I had so much hope.

“Mulholland Oaks. It’s an apartment complex on Greenvale Street. Please take me there.” Inside my chest, my heartbeat quickens, pushing blood to every vein, my hand trembling against the armrest until I grab it with my other hand and force it still. Forget planning or weapons or cash. I can’t wait any longer, both for logistics purposes and for my own control. The police will come looking for me. And I can’t not find out the truth.

I am unprepared, this is stupid and reckless, but I need it and I need it now. I feel a familiar tightening of my body, my brain, a loss of intelligent control, and I close my eyes, inhale deeply, and let it happen.

Four a.m. Smack-dab in the middle of my witching hour. Inside, a prickle of excitement flares. I am going to Simon for answers; that is what I need to remember. And if his answers are wrong? Well. I push aside that thought for now.

I reach out and tap the back of her seat, two blocks away from my complex. “This is fine. You can let me out here.” The car quiets, rolling to a smooth stop and I step out, she leaves, and I’m alone on the street. I flip up my hoodie and head home, a moving smile in the darkness.

CHAPTER 80

Present

PLEASE WALK ME through how this happened.” Brenda stands in the small office, David taking up valuable real estate next to her.

Before her, the station chief settles into a chair, waving them down. They don’t sit. “The short of it is, the manufacturer of our locks, the ones on the cells, internal and external doors… it’s a Russian company called Kavut. Their system was hacked and it went haywire.”

“Other stations had problems?”

“Nope. Just us.”

David shifts forward. “You talked to Kavut? Find out how many of their clients were affected?”

The man rubs his forehead. “Yes. It looks like it was just us.”

“Us, the TPD or us, this booking station?” Brenda prods.

“Us, this booking station.”

“I’d like to see the security footage.”

The chief props an arm on the armrest of his chair. “So would I. But it’s gone, was wiped out about a half hour after the incident.”

“Kavut glitch also?” David guesses, a pained expression on his face.

“No, our video system is an internal one.”

Brenda waits for the explanation but nothing comes. “So what happened?” She pulls at the front of her shirt. It’s so hot. God, she’s too young for menopause, it can’t be menopause. She stares at the chief and is perversely pleased to see a bead of sweat roll down the side of his face. It’s not just her.

“Tech guys are trying to figure it out. All video from the last thirty days is gone.” He waves a hand in the air. “A thousand hours”—he snaps his fingers—“whoosh.”

“And Deanna Madden is the only detainee missing.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Another two got out into the parking lot, but couldn’t get over the razor wire. Madden took a key from a guard, caught him by surprise in the exit hall, and that got her through the gates.”

“Who was the guard?”

“Ned Millhouse. He’s not an easy guy to overcome.” He taps a finger on his desk with a laugh. “She broke his nose. He heard a noise behind him, turned around and pow!” He pantomimes the jab, then points at them, his face growing serious. “If you see him, give him hell. We’ve all been ribbing him about it.” He coughs, his face sobering. “There’s another issue. She took his service weapon.”

Ouch. Ned Millhouse would have greater hell to pay than just ribbing. David glances at her, and they share a silent moment of communication. The stakes to find Deanna Madden just quadrupled. A gun, a hacked security system, and wiped camera footage with no logical explanation. Twelve hours before she goes to jail and the stars align for her to just waltz out. Beside her, David’s cell phone buzzes and he glances at it, opening the door and stepping out. She glances at the wall clock. Four thirty-five. Hopefully news of some sort. She’d issued an APB for Madden, which, at this time of morning, will go largely unheeded. This is Tulsa. Officers have bigger fish to fry then a missing camgirl, and it doesn’t matter who she had or hadn’t tried to kill. “We’d like to talk to any inmates and officers who’ve had contact with Deanna Madden.”

“No problem. I can make a list and round them up, if you want to…” His sentence dies as David props open the door and sticks his head in.

“Brenda?” He jerks his head toward the parking lot, a smile on his handsome face. “Jeremy Pacer is conscious and talking.”

The best news she’s gotten at four in the morning in a very, very long time. She beams a smile at the chief, who raises his eyebrows. “We’ll be back,” she promises. Then, she grabs the door and escapes into the hall, her boots slapping on the linoleum floor to keep up with David.

CHAPTER 81

Present

ON THE FOURTH floor of Hillcrest Hospital South, there is a moment of quiet, the two nurses working in tandem on the left side of Jeremy’s bed, his sister on the right side, his hand gripped in both of hers. A doctor is coming, is still minutes away, but all will be fine because he is awake and is speaking, even though his face is twisted in pain and his hand is trembling between hers.

“I love you.” She leans forward and lowers her mouth, kisses the top of his hand.