He held up the phone. “Good news and bad news. The phone is powered up and working, but you have a passcode.”
“Let me have it.” Libby snapped her fingers and opened her palm.
He placed the phone in her hand and hovered over her shoulder.
She hesitated for a split second, and then her thumb darted over the keypad and the screen woke up. Cranking her head over her shoulder, she said, “I remembered, or my fingers remembered.”
“Bring up your texts.”
Luna half rose from her chair. “Should I leave you?”
“Stay, please, Luna.” Libby flicked her fingers at the older woman. “I may need your help.”
Rob poked at the screen. “There’s your conversation with Troy.”
“But I don’t see anything that adds to that story.” She tapped through the messages. “Wait.”
Rob leaned forward, squinting at the lit display. “What do you see?”
“Text messages to and from a Charlie.” She drummed her fingers against her chin. “Charlie.”
Her phone dinged. “Hey, look. It’s a text from Troy asking if I retrieved my phone.”
Rob said, “You don’t need to answer him now.”
“Too late. I just responded Yes.”
“Check your photos, Libby. You told Troy you’d have something to show him. You left your phone here to protect it when you knew someone was following you. It has to contain the info you were going to show Troy.”
She tapped the photo icon. Gasping, she drew back from the phone. “I-it’s Charlie. This is Charlie, Rob. The dead man. I took a picture of him before I left.”
Rob’s heart rate picked up as he made a grab for Libby’s phone. Cupping it in his hand, he focused on the silver-haired man sprawled on the grass, blood soaking his shirt. “Charlie? This is the man you knew as Charlie?”
“Yes. He was my mother’s friend or boyfriend. I went to see the man Troy suspected of being April’s father about a purchase from the gallery and found Charlie dead on the lawn. That’s when I ran.”
“Libby, April’s father isn’t El Gringo Viejo.”
“How do you know that? How can you be so sure?”
Rob tapped the photo on the phone. “Because your Charlie is C. J. Hart, and he’s April’s father.”
Chapter Seventeen
“What?” Libby whipped her head around. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve seen pictures of C. J. Hart. He’s still a wanted man. Even though his son may have confessed to murdering his mother, C.J. is still a fugitive. I know what C. J. Hart looks like, and this man is C.J.”
“Oh, my God.” Libby’s hand dropped to her stomach, her fingers clutching the material of April’s T-shirt. “I don’t know what’s worse, telling April her father is El Gringo Viejo and very much alive or telling her that he’s Charlie Harper and very much dead.”
“The latter—definitely the latter. So, he was living life as Charlie Harper.”
Luna stretched her hands to the fire, wiggling her fingers. “Are you telling me Tandy was involved with a man, a wanted fugitive, who was involved with a drug dealer?”
“It seems so, Luna.” Libby’s lips trembled. “And he’s probably the one who convinced her to go into that tunnel.”
Rob slipped the phone back into Libby’s hand. “Maybe not. He obviously helped you get onto the compound. He had to know what that would mean.”
“It cost him his life. EGV must’ve found out what he’d done.”
“Maybe he wanted his own revenge against him for Tandy’s death.” Rob placed a hand on top of Libby’s head, her silky hair warm from the fire.
“But where’s our proof?” She swept her fingertip from one picture on her phone to the next. “Was I just going to show Troy the picture of a dead Charlie? Was it to prove C.J. wasn’t EGV? I don’t think I ever heard of C. J. Hart.”
“Why would EGV send his goons after you if that’s all it was?” Rob sank to the RV steps. “Unless he knew the rumor about C. J. Hart being El Gringo Viejo. He may have even encouraged that rumor to keep the heat off of himself.”
“There has to be something here, Rob. A picture of him. I must be able to ID him, and that’s why he’s so worried. That’s why he’s after me.”
“Do you really think that man would allow you to take his picture? After all these years of staying under the radar? But you have seen him. You can identify him, and worse for him?” Rob extended his hands and flexed his fingers. “You’re an artist. You don’t need a photo of him. Once you remember everything about him, you can draw him.”
“That notepad at the house—maybe I’ve already drawn him, just as I sketched my mother. I drew her as a beautiful fairy, how I wanted to remember her before disappointment and drugs stole her looks.”
“I found that notebook.” Rob shook his head. “You didn’t draw any men, except for me and some faceless devil. Believe me, I looked...for other reasons. Our best move now is to somehow convince EGV that you’ve regained your memory—all of it. And you’ve ID’d him to the authorities. They’d have no reason to want to see you dead once you turn that information over to the cops.”
“Except revenge.” Luna spread her hands. “I’m sorry, but that’s the way those guys are.”
“The sketch must be somewhere. I probably had it with me in the car on my way to meeting Troy.” Libby’s heart flip-flopped in her chest. “Rob, I think I know where it is.”
“A drawing of El Gringo Viejo?”
“Stupid, stupid me.” She banged her fists against the arms of the chair. “It survived the car fire, and I just threw it away.”
“What are you talking about? You had a drawing at the crash site?”
She balled up her fists against her eyes. “While I was sitting out there behind the tree waiting for...you, a piece of paper skittered past me. I snatched it up and smoothed it out. It was a drawing of a man—longish hair, glasses... I don’t know. I thought it was trash. I never
