Chapter 8

I almost run to the phone when it starts to ring. It’s cordless, sitting on a small table near the tall window in the kitchen. I quickly answer it. My chest is getting tight again. My mind is filled with ugly, twisted images of Mom.

“Hello? Mom?”

“It’s me.” Michael’s voice is grim, making me think the worst. “I haven’t found your mom yet.” I sigh, unsure if that’s a good or a bad thing. “But I need your help. I have a laptop. It’s in the left drawer of the TV unit. I need you to get it for me.”

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“Just get the—”

“Iam,” I tell him. “Your apartment’s huge. I’m walking, all right? You can tell me what’s happening in the meantime, right?”

I expect him to call mefieryagain. He says, “I’ve got word from an associate in the cartel world that a man called Diego Díaz has got Simone. I need to learn more about him. Have you got the laptop?”

Opening the drawer, I take out the laptop. Or, rather, the small briefcase. It’s one of those military-grade laptops I’ve seen on TV shows before. It doesn’t seem like something a drug kingpin would have, and his friendly dog is throwing me off. I’ll have to ask about that later, not that he’ll tell me anything.

“Yes, booting it up now.” I set it on the coffee table and open it up, relieved I’ve been practicing using computers. We never had any at home, at least before the move. “I need a passcode.”

“Click the audio symbol and put me on loudspeaker.”

“That’s a passcode?” I ask.

“It’s voice-activated.”

“Oh, uh, okay.” My heartbeat suddenly picks up. This is so wrong. This is so sneaky, but he is my kidnapper. Why should I have to play by the rules? “Two seconds. My loudspeaker is annoying on here.”

“Annoying?”

I quickly go to my phone, find the recorder app, and clickrecord. “It’s not on the main call screen. Sorry. I’ve got you now.”

“You can hear me?”

“Yeah.” I swallow. The symbol at the top of my phone blinks, telling me it’s currently recording. I hold the phone toward the laptop. “Okay, ready…”

“Unlock,” Michael says clearly, and the screen flashes blue. There’s nothing on the desktop except one icon. Anybody, it’s called, with a small symbol of a person. “Are you in?”

“Yeah.”

I want to click the bottom left, explore his files, and snoop. If he won’t tell me what’s happening, I’ll learn that way.

“Search Diego Díaz on Anybody—the app at the bottom left.”

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” I say a little testily. I open the app, type in his name, and swallow when I see the advanced search options. Select database: NCA, FBI, CIA…The list goes on. “Which database do I use?”

And who the hell are you?

“All of them,” he grunts. “When it loads, take a photo of each page and send it to me, then video-call me.”

“Video-call you? Why?”

“Just do it, Amelia.”

“Who said it was okay for you to talk to me like your pet?” I snap. “This isn’t exactly fun for me, you know.”

“I need to see you close the laptop.”

Ah, so he doesn’t want me snooping. “What if I don’t?”

“We haven’t got time for this, but if you don’t, I’ll confine you to your room.”

“I didn’t even know Ihada room.” The screen loads, and he’s right. We haven’t got time. A mugshot of Diego Díaz fills one side of the screen. He’s got a thick neck and a shaggy mop of black hair. His face is covered in tattoos—covered. His pupils are small, making the whites of his eyes look huge. “Thisis the guy who has Mom?”

I take a photo, then switch through the pages—assault, kidnapping, armed robbery,murder. My bones are cold.

“You need to tell me who you are,” I whisper. “How can you go up against the cartel? What if he hurts you? How will I get out to look for Mom?”

“This worm won’t hurt me,” he growls. “I’m going to get your mom back. Now be a good g—I mean woman—and video-chat me. I need to get to work.”

I do as he asks. Or maybe orders is a better way to think about it, though he corrected himself on thegirlthing. Putting the phone on selfie mode, I resist the ridiculous urge to smooth my hair. He appears on the screen, his eyes as sharp as ever. “Close it,” he says. “Then put the camera on it so I can see properly.”

“You’ve got trust issues, Michael,” I say, but I can’t summon any sassiness, sarcasm, or anything without knowing what’s happening to Mom. I can’t flirt with this man until she’s safe. No, not even after then.

I close the laptop and then flip the camera.

“Good,” he grunts. “Now I have to work.”

“Be—”Careful, but the jerk hangs up on me.

Fine, then I don’t need to feel guilty about opening the laptop again and finding the recording on my phone. I don’t need to doubt myself when I cycle through until he saysunlock. I bring it to the laptop, and then it opens up.

It’s time to find out exactly who I’m dealing with here. It’s better than sitting around and doing nothing. On some level, I think part of me wants to discover that Michael is a good man. He’s not lying to me. He’s going to help me save Mom.

Then what? We’re going to live happily ever after?

Yeah, right.