“You located the phone?” Lauren asked.

“We were able to triangulate the location and, yes, I believe we’ve located it.”

“Where?” Lauren asked, incredulous.

Anchor smiled at her. “Nearby. We should have confirmation soon.”

I wanted to ask questions, but I no longer doubted the decision to call him. He was better than any cop I could’ve called.

Anchor unfolded the other two sheets and laid them out on the table in front of us. “I was also able to obtain these surveillance photos from the airport. I wanted to confirm her presence here in Los Angeles in order to make sure we didn’t need to move our search to another location.” He paused. “I’m fairly certain this is her, but if you’d take a look and confirm, then we’ll know for sure.”

I picked up both sheets from the table and handed one to Lauren. There were six square black and white photos on each sheet. Still shots from security cameras with time and date stamps. On my sheet, I could see Elizabeth exiting the jetway, entering the restroom, leaving the restroom, asleep on a chair, on a pay phone and walking through the concourse. Each photo was taken from an above angle, but I could see that she was wearing leggings, short winter boots, a long sweater and that her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She had Lauren’s hair. The definition in the photos wasn’t good enough to see the expression on her face, but there was no doubt that it was her.

And the one major difference in the six photos I was looking at was that she had a backpack and a purse getting off the plane and entering the restroom, but leaving the restroom, she only had the backpack.

I took a deep breath.

It was her.

She was in Los Angeles.

I handed my sheet to Lauren and she handed me hers.

“How did you get these?” Lauren asked.

“Mr. Codaselli has many different contacts in many different industries,” he said, smiling at her. “Those contacts were more than happy to assist.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head and stared at the sheet I’d traded her.

I looked at mine. Another series of six still shots from the security cameras within the airport. Elizabeth walking through the luggage area. Sitting in a food court. Two more of her walking through the terminal. Another down in the luggage area. And then one of her at the curb outside the airport.

“Have you done anything with these?” I asked.

Anchor shook his head and adjusted his glasses. “Not yet. As I said, I wanted to confirm with you before proceeding in any way.”

I tapped the paper. “This one. Her at the curb.”

I showed it to him.

“Yes,” he said. “She’s outside. Looks like Terminal C. I’m sure we can figure out exactly which camera that was shot from.”

“Not what I’m talking about,” I said. “Look at the cab pulling into the frame. Her hand is up. It’s about to stop in front of her.”

He leaned in tighter and Lauren leaned over, too.

“If we could get some better resolution on this, we can pull the number off the taxi,” I said.

Anchor nodded and stood. “Give me a moment. Excuse me.” He pulled out his phone, put it to his ear and walked away from us.

“That guy scares the shit out of me,” Lauren said quietly.

“That guy is helping us,” I said. “You don’t always get to choose who you work with. You take what you get.”

“Do you know how hard it is to get this stuff?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Like, you need court orders and acts of God to get these. And even then, Homeland Security screens them and doesn’t let you walk away with them.”

I shrugged. “What do you want me to say? Would you rather not have the photos?”

“Of course not,” she said, frowning at me. “But if they can pull this stuff this fast and do it off the grid, I can’t imagine what else they’re capable of.”

“Then don’t imagine,” I said. “Just focus on the pictures and on Elizabeth. And be glad he’s on our side.”

Anchor walked back to us, his phone still in his hand. “We should have it within five minutes. The enlarged and improved photo is being forwarded to my phone.”

“Good,” I said. “We should be able to find out exactly which taxi took her and where they went. They have to record their rides from the airport.”

Anchor nodded in agreement, then looked at his phone. He studied it for a moment. Then he looked at us. “My associate is outside. With your daughter’s belongings. And the person who took them.” He smiled at each of us. “Care to walk outside with me?”

TWENTY-TWO

We followed Anchor outside and around the side of the hotel. I’d put on the same pants and long-sleeve t-shirt I’d been wearing earlier and I pushed the sleeves up, the night air still warm. Lauren pressed close to me as we walked and at some point, I realized that her hand had grabbed onto mine.

A shiny black Escalade idled at the curb. Next to it, a man with coffee-colored skin and a suit similar to Anchor’s stood with his hands in his pockets. Broad shoulders and an athletic frame. Mirrored aviator glasses rested on top of his bald head. He smiled and nodded at us as we approached.

“Mr. and Ms. Tyler,” Anchor said. “This is Ellis Kitting. He is also employed by Mr. Codaselli.”

“Pleasure,” Kitting said, shaking both of our hands and continuing to smile.

Anchor looked at him. “So.”

“I have one male and one female,” Kitting explained. “Located at a home twenty minutes from here. They were in possession of the bag and I did recover the phone and ID.”

“Excellent,” Anchor said.

“They weren’t immediately forthcoming about what occurred and were hesitant to provide details,” Kitting said, looking at me, then glancing at Anchor. “I encouraged them to cooperate.”

Anchor nodded and Kitting opened the rear passenger door to the Escalade.

Inside, I saw a young man and a young woman, both in their early twenties. The girl was in skinny jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt covered in glitter and sparkles. Long black hair pulled back with a glitter-encrusted headband. The guy had on jeans and a gray hoodie and was sporting a left eye that was swollen shut. A small cut decorated the corner of his mouth.

Both looked terrified.

Anchor stared at them for a long moment and they both seemed to shrink under his gaze. “Good evening.”

Neither said anything.

“I’ll make this very clear as it appears you did not understand my associate’s explanation the first time around,” Anchor said. “If you cooperate and are truthful with us, this will be quick and my associate will return you to your home shortly, without any further action. If you don’t wish to cooperate or choose to lie…then this will take as long as necessary to convince you to cooperate. I can make no promises as to where my associate will take you afterward or the condition you’ll be in.” He looked at each of them carefully. “Everyone understand the rules?”

The way he explained it in such simple terms was more chilling than if he’d put a gun to their heads.

The girl was quick to nod and the guy, after a moment’s hesitation and a long stare from Anchor, followed suit.

“Great,” Anchor said, then pointed at the girl. “Please exit the vehicle toward us.”

The girl crawled out over the guy, giving him a quick glance. She hopped out of the car and stood nervously on the sidewalk, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Kitting shut the door behind her.

Anchor nodded at me.

“You took the purse?” I asked.

She wore heavy black eyeliner and it was smudged at the corners, possibly from tears. “Yeah.”

“Tell me how.”

“I already told that scary motherfucker over there.”

I assumed she meant Kitting. “I wasn’t there, so tell me now.”

She started to object again, but Anchor tilted his head thoughtfully and it was enough to stop her cold.

She cleared her throat. “We run it all the time. Me and Mikey. We buy cheap tickets, usually to like Oakland or San Diego, just to get to the gate side. Then we wait and watch. Find someone who we for sure can tell isn’t from here, maybe isn’t paying attention or whatever. Wait for them to go into the bathroom. Then…you know. When we rip a girl, Mikey follows to make sure the girl doesn’t chase or whatever. When it’s a dude, I follow.”