“She probably doesn’t know what happened.”
“Interesting,” Reynolds replied.
“I didn’t say she remembered anything.”
Andrew’s jaw tightened.
He stepped farther into the room and saw the photographs spread across the desk: the life insurance policy, the forged power of attorney, the condo listings, and the messages from the unsaved number.
Everything is ready.
The girl needs to disappear.
Tomorrow?
It’s done.
He recovered quickly.
“Those messages aren’t what they look like.”
“What do they look like?” Reynolds asked.
“Business.
A private business matter.”
“Which business requires a ten-year-old girl to disappear?”
Andrew turned toward me.
“She went through my phone?”
The accusation in his voice was so familiar that, for one disorienting second, I almost felt guilty.
Then I remembered Katie lying beneath a hospital blanket with an IV taped to her arm.
