Chapter 8 - THE VOICE ON THE PHONE

Detective Vega held one finger to her lips.

I stared at my phone as if I could force Jason through the speaker.

“How do you know she is here?”

“You still think this is happening around you.”

Jason sounded almost amused.

“It has been happening to you for years.”

“Put Sarah back on.”

“No.”

“I need proof she is alive.”

“You just heard her.”

“I heard one word.”

There was a pause.

Then Sarah's voice returned.

“Mark, listen to me.”

Her breathing sounded shallow.

“Do not give him—”

The line crackled.

Jason came back.

“That is enough.”

I closed my eyes for one second.

“Tell me what you want.”

“The USB drive from Box 417.”

“You already know what is on it.”

“I know what Sarah thinks is on it.”

That sentence caught Vega's attention.

She wrote something quickly on a legal pad and turned it toward me.

KEEP HIM TALKING.

I leaned closer to the phone.

“Why do you care about a storage unit?”

Jason laughed.

“Ask your brother.”

“He is dead.”

“I know.”

The casual way he said it made my skin crawl.

“Did you kill Ethan?”

The room went absolutely still.

Jason did not answer immediately.

Then he said, “Your brother was a man who asked questions at bad times.”

My hand began to shake.

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the only one you are getting.”

Vega wrote another message.

LOCATION.

“Where do you want the drive?”

“You will get instructions.”

“When?”

“When I know you are not wasting my time.”

“How?”

“Leave the police station.”

I looked at Vega.

Her expression did not change.

Jason continued.

“Drive home.”

“Go alone.”

“If I see Vega, if I see patrol cars, if I see anyone who looks like they have ever worn a badge, Sarah disappears.”

I swallowed.

“You said you would give instructions.”

“I will.”

“Let me speak to Sarah one more time.”

“No.”

The call ended.

I stared at the dead screen.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then I turned on Vega.

“He knew where I was.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“We sweep the room first.”

Technicians searched my phone, clothing, backpack, and car for tracking devices.

They found nothing.

Then they searched the lab itself.

Nothing.

Vega walked to the hallway and looked both directions.

“We limit who knew Mark was coming here.”

One technician shook his head.

“Six people.”

“Names.”

He listed them.

Vega wrote every one down.

I knew what she was thinking.

Someone inside the investigation was feeding Jason information.

That possibility explained too much.

The sudden fire.

The missing security camera.

The fact that my backpack had been taken without anyone seeing the person responsible.

Jenna arrived thirty minutes later.

When I told her about the call, she immediately said what Vega had refused to say.

“You have a leak.”

Vega's eyes narrowed.

“We have a possibility.”

“You have a kidnapper who knew the exact room Mark was standing in.”

“We do not know that.”

“He said you were beside him.”

“He could have guessed.”

Jenna looked at me.

“Do you believe he guessed?”

“No.”

Vega exhaled through her nose.

“Neither do I.”

That honesty made the room colder.

The plan was simple only on paper.

I would appear to follow Jason's instructions.

The real USB would remain with the lab.

A duplicate would be placed in my pocket.

My car would be monitored from a distance using an unmarked aircraft unit instead of traditional surveillance vehicles.

I would wear no visible wire.

A tiny transmitter was hidden inside the seam of my belt.

“If he searches you, he may find it.”

Vega looked me directly in the eyes.

“If he tells you to remove the belt, do it.”

“Then you lose me.”

“We will still have aerial tracking.”

“What if he takes me underground?”

“Then you do not follow him underground.”

I almost smiled.

“You met me two days ago.”

“Yes.”

“And you think I will refuse if he says Sarah is underground?”

“No.”

Vega's expression stayed flat.

“That is why I am telling you now that your daughter needs at least one parent who is not missing.”

The words hit exactly where she intended.

At four twelve, I drove home alone.

My phone remained silent for nearly an hour.

I sat at the kitchen table and watched the front window.

Every passing car made my shoulders tighten.

At five fourteen, a text arrived from an unknown number.

CHECK THE MAILBOX.

I went outside.

Inside the mailbox was a cheap prepaid phone.

It rang the moment I picked it up.

“Drive east.”

Jason.

“Where?”

“I will tell you.”

I got into the car.

For the next forty minutes, he directed me through residential streets, an industrial district, and two highway exits.

He was checking for surveillance.

Twice he made me circle the same block.

Once he told me to pull into a gas station and sit for eight minutes without leaving the car.

Then he directed me toward an abandoned furniture warehouse near the river.

“Park behind the building.”

I did.

The sun was beginning to set.

The warehouse windows were broken.

Weeds grew through the loading dock.

“Get out.”

I stepped from the car.

“Walk through the side door.”

The door was already open.

Inside, the warehouse smelled like dust, oil, and wet concrete.

My footsteps echoed.

I saw no one.

“Where is Sarah?”

“Walk to the center.”

I followed the instruction.

A folding chair sat beneath a single hanging work light.

Sarah's dark jacket was draped across it.

Her phone rested on the seat.

My stomach dropped.

“Jason.”

The prepaid phone went silent.

Then Sarah's phone lit up.

A video began playing automatically.

It showed Sarah sitting in a small room against a concrete wall.

She looked exhausted but conscious.

A digital clock sat beside her.

The display read 4:58 PM.

Less than thirty minutes earlier.

Then Jason stepped into frame.

He looked directly into the camera.

“If you are watching this, police followed you.”

My chest tightened.

“No.”

Jason continued in the recording.

“I told you not to bring them.”

I turned slowly and scanned the empty warehouse.

There were no sirens.

No officers.

No sound but the video.

Then Jason smiled on the screen.

“The problem is not Mark.”

“The problem is that somebody told me the plan before Mark even left the station.”

The video ended.

Vega's voice came faintly through the hidden transmitter.

“Mark, leave now.”

I did not immediately pick up Sarah's jacket.

The warehouse had been arranged too carefully.

The folding chair sat directly beneath the light.

Her phone was centered on the seat.

The jacket was draped so the inside pocket faced me.

It looked less like something abandoned and more like a display.

I circled the chair once without touching it.

On the concrete floor were fresh tire marks from a hand truck.

They led toward a freight elevator at the far wall.

The elevator did not work when I pressed the button.

A red service light blinked above it.

Vega's voice came through the transmitter.

“Do not enter the elevator shaft.”

“I am not planning to.”

I looked through the narrow gap between the doors.

Cold air moved upward.

The building had a basement level not shown on the exterior.

For one second, I imagined Sarah beneath me.

That was exactly the kind of thought Jason wanted.

I stepped away.

Near the chair, I saw a tiny broken piece of blue plastic.

It looked familiar.

Then I remembered Emily's old phone case.

She had a blue plastic charm shaped like a star.

I crouched without touching it.

“Vega.”

“I see it.”

“Could Emily have been here?”

“Do not assume.”

I hated the answer.

I also knew she was right.

Jason might have planted the piece because he knew I would recognize it.

Everything inside the warehouse was designed to make me choose urgency over thought.

A speaker somewhere near the ceiling clicked once.

I looked up.

For a moment, static hissed through the empty building.

Then a recording of Emily laughing played for less than two seconds.

My body reacted before my mind did.

I stepped toward the sound.

Then it stopped.

Jason was not simply tracking the police operation.

He was testing whether he could still move me with my daughter's voice.

I stood still.

“Not this time.”

I said it quietly to the empty warehouse.

The speaker clicked off.

Eventually the speaker went silent and the warehouse became still again.

I stood beneath the hanging light and forced myself to wait until my breathing slowed.

I picked up Sarah's jacket.

Something fell from the pocket.

A folded piece of paper.

I opened it.

The handwriting was Sarah's.

One sentence.

DO NOT TRUST THE WOMAN WITH THE SILVER CROSS.

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I stared at the words.

Detective Vega always wore a small silver cross around her neck.