the witnesses in La Pointe had reported. From what she remembered of Cook’s interview records, the witnesses were consistent in reporting a boy and a girl. And the descriptions had been similar enough to sound like the same kids had been seen by more than one witness.
“And what have you got Sam looking into?” he asked.
“Sam’s checking out the evidence archives, trying to find any record of Millstone’s DNA that might have been missed when they digitized the old cases. If we can connect that second DNA sample to Millstone as a direct match, then we can link him to the murder and ID who killed Angela DeSalvo.”
“Wait a minute,” Harper interrupted. “Didn’t Chief Cook tell you he’d looked into the Millstone case? Millstone would’ve been a likely candidate for the La Pointe murder. Cook would’ve connected the dots to him if he could. And as a cop, he would’ve had access to the same information that Sam is looking for. Don’t you think he would have noticed if Millstone’s DNA matched anything he’d found at the DeSalvo crime scene? I mean, he’d say something to you, right?”
“Yeah, like I’d believe anything coming out of his mouth? He’s already lied to me about finding more than one DNA sample at the scene.”
“Yeah, but why? That makes no sense.”
“I know. The more I look into this, the more questions I have.”
“Maybe this’ll turn out to be a good thing.”
“Oh? Enlighten me.”
“Cook found you when that DNA sample scored a hit on you as a missing person. Well, barring any fat-finger data entry, if that second DNA sample didn’t come up on the hit parade, I’d prefer to focus on the positive.”
“Yeah, what’s that?” she said.
“That the DNA is from your brother. And that he’s alive and had never been a missing kid. You’ve got a 95 percent probability match to family, Jessie. And if we can rule out Millstone as daddy dearest, then that could mean you have a brother who might’ve had a normal life, whatever that is.”
Harper was right. Thinking positively gave her a warm feeling when she thought about having a brother, especially one who had a better life. But her cynicism didn’t let her enjoy that moment long.
“Even if we don’t match that second sample to Millstone’s DNA, that doesn’t necessarily mean that bastard didn’t kill Angela DeSalvo. It just means we’d be back to square one without any evidence for our theory,” she said. “And like you say, that DNA could belong to a brother I may never find. This could all turn out to be one big dead end. And I may never know how or why I ended up with Millstone in Chicago after being in Wisconsin.”
Pessimism was an acquaintance she’d grown up with. After barely surviving her encounter with Danny Ray Millstone, she’d learned to deal with her peculiar emotional balancing game. On the one hand, she’d been fortunate to have survived him, but she had a hard time reconciling her bad luck in crossing his path in the first place.
“I’ll do some digging into the case,” Seth said. “You’ve given me plenty of food for thought. I’ll let you know what I come up with . . . after I feed my java addiction, and Floyd gets his breakfast, and not in that order.”
“Thanks, Seth.” She smiled. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Jessica Beckett. Don’t ever forget that.”
With Garrett driving a rented SUV, they had taken advantage of the vehicle and gone off road for the first hour. Once they got to a road, they took the long way around Leguna de Chapala and stayed off the main highways until they had ditched the local cops. Garrett kept driving northwest until he saw more traffic, a sign they were nearing Guadalajara.
“They’ve got to be heading for medical attention if Perez is still alive,” Alexa speculated, when they were twenty miles out. “From what I saw of the blood trail we followed, Kinkaid got his licks in.”
“I’ll check on that,” Garrett said as he locked his gaze on hers in the rearview mirror.
Alexa had sat in the backseat with Kinkaid, taking care of his shoulder. She’d managed to stop the bleeding, and the wound looked shallow. Despite the pain he was in, Kinkaid was nodding off from sheer exhaustion and blood loss. The steady rock of the vehicle and the drone of the engine had lulled him to sleep.
The days of torture had finally caught up to him. When he didn’t have to play the tough guy, he’d let his guard down and dared to shut his eyes as long as he was with friends who had his back. Alexa felt tired, too, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the road. She was too wired and hyped on adrenaline.
“I think we’re clear of the local LEOs,” Garrett said into his cell phone after he’d called the handler for the mission. “If you still have that GPS signal, give me the coordinates when they stop. They’re probably looking for a doctor.”
Kinkaid opened an eye to listen, but that didn’t last long. Sleeping was as good as any weapon, and Jackson took advantage of the downtime. Estella was sitting in the front seat next to Garrett. The girl looked carsick. She probably hadn’t eaten either. None of them had.
“Here.” Alexa nudged Estella’s shoulder with one of the bottles of water she had found stashed in the seat pocket behind Garrett. The girl savored each sip before she tried to give the bottle back.
“No, you keep it. That’s yours.” She waved her off, whispering in a low voice while Garrett talked on his cell, “And here’s an energy bar. Even if you don’t feel like it now, eat it.”
The girl did as she was told. Garrett’s backseat gear was a treasure trove. Alexa forced herself to eat and sipped on another bottle of water that she’d found. And she’d saved some for Kinkaid when he woke up and for Garrett once he got off the phone. They all needed to refuel.
Once they got to Guadalajara, they’d drop off Estella wherever she wanted to go before they would start their hunt for Perez. They’d have to play it smart. The Mexican police would be on the alert, looking for them. And when they found Guerrero and his boss, they’d have to hit them fast and hard.
With her mind on the fight to come, she was surprised when Kinkaid laid his head on her shoulder to sleep. She held her breath, not wanting to wake him and spoil the moment, but eventually she cupped her hand to his cheek and nuzzled her chin against him. She was about to close her eyes, when something stopped her.
She saw Garrett staring at her from the rearview mirror. He didn’t say anything, and neither of them looked away. It was as if he was telling her it was okay or that he’d moved on, and so should she. And maybe his basic respect for Kinkaid had something to do with it.
Alexa had had a hard time reading Garrett lately, but she didn’t look away. That wasn’t her style. Of all people, Garrett understood what it meant to live on the edge, not knowing if there would ever be a tomorrow. So Alexa held Kinkaid as he slept, and she shut her eyes, sending Garrett a clear message of her own.
She wasn’t ashamed for having feelings for Kinkaid even if Jackson didn’t feel the same.
Seth spent time digging through his father’s old murder book and case notes, with Floyd’s chin on his thigh. His new roommate didn’t say much, but his company was appreciated, especially today.
When Seth’s father had retired, he’d made copies of the case he would never forget. The pages had yellowed and smelled stale, but there was a familiarity to them that comforted Seth as he looked at his dad’s notes and recognized Max’s handwriting. It was as if he got a glimpse into how his dad’s mind worked. And on more than one occasion, he had imagined Max writing in the margins of the investigative journal.
He thought he’d practically memorized the contents of the files, but each time he looked at them, he saw something new or read his father’s notes differently. Jessie wasn’t the only one who had mixed feelings about rehashing a past they both would have preferred to forget.
His part of that equation wasn’t nearly as bad as what Jessie had been through—and was still going through. But he’d learned long ago that if a wound didn’t heal, ignoring it wasn’t an answer. Jessie’s instincts were solid to deal with the darkness that haunted her, head-on. He admired her strength and courage, respected her tenacity, but he loved her for the vulnerability she had trusted him enough to show.
When he got to the list of Millstone’s victims, the missing and the dead, he scanned every name three times. He didn’t want to make a mistake. Boys’ names didn’t stand out. Only a few had first names that could go either way. After he made a note of them, he compared the gender-neutral names to the photos taken of the children who had survived and the ones who hadn’t.
“Sick bastard.”
