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He couldn't stand the thought of her being hurt, and in the photo she appeared to be unconscious. He prayed she was still breathing.
"There's something about the pattern of light falling across Callie's face," his dad muttered. "I can't see the window above her, but I'd venture a guess that it's stained glass, patterned in some way."
He stared at his dad in amazement. "You think she's in a church?"
"No, I don't. See that by mark by her foot? It's the frame of a painting." His father handed him back his phone.
He hadn't even noticed the tiny black square at the bottom of the picture. "How can you tell it's a frame?"
"Because I'm good at details, especially when I'm looking at a room."
"Casing a house, you mean."
His father shrugged. "We all get our skills somewhere. The floor is stone, but it's also stained. The splotch of blue by her head looks like old paint to me. The wall is aged." His dad paused, his expression thoughtful.
"I don't have time for this. I need to go to my office, get my team."
"Wait a second, Flynn. I know where she is. There's a warehouse in downtown LA. It was originally a stained-glass artists' co-op, but it was converted into a warehouse about ten years ago. The space is now used by museums, galleries, and dealers to store art being transported through the Los Angeles area. It's not expensive art. Most of it is worth nothing, although occasionally there are pieces of interest."
He stared at his father in suspicion. "It's amazing that you can tell me exactly where Callie is based on some light pattern and a dark square. Maybe you wanted to be here when I got the text so you could send me in the wrong direction. This could be a setup."
His father gave him a disappointed look. "You're very cynical. I guess that's my fault."
"You guess?" He shook his head. "I'm done with this conversation and I'm done with you. I need to find Callie."
"Then you're not done with me. I once broke into this warehouse. I know all the doors, all the windows, all the inside specs. As I mentioned, the security system is minimal. I doubt Victoria will have more than a few people with her. All the previous murders were done with a very small footprint. I can help you get Callie back, Flynn."
"I have a team I can call in."
"You don't need a team. You just need me."
"I don't need you," he said automatically, even though at this moment, he probably did need him.
"You can hate me later. Let's go."
"Fine. But you better keep up, because I'm not slowing down for you."
He jogged down the pier to his car, his father right on his heels.
As he started the engine, he couldn't help thinking that the last time they'd driven together had been when he was sixteen and practicing for his driver's test. A hell of a lot had happened since then.
Could he really trust the information his father was giving him?
He didn't think he had a choice. If he didn't act on it, Callie could die. If he did act on it, and it was wrong, she could die, too. He had to rescue her before the swap, catch her kidnapper unaware. It was his best chance to get her back alive.
His gut churned at the thought of losing her. He couldn't let that happen. She had a whole life to live. She had so many things to do, so many dreams, and he wanted to share in each and every one of them. They'd only just found each other. This couldn't be the end. It just couldn't be.
"We'll get your girl back," his dad said.
"You better be right about this." As he got onto the freeway, he texted the kidnapper back, agreeing to turn over the painting.
Then he punched in Savannah's number and filled her in on the details of the meet, asking her to get a team in position at the installation on Mulholland. While she wanted to send backup to the warehouse he was headed to, he didn't have time to wait for anyone. They'd be at least twenty minutes behind him, and every minute counted. If Callie wasn't in the warehouse, then he could still get to Mulholland in time for the swap.
"Good idea," his dad said as he hung up. "Make it look like you're going ahead with the meet."
"I don't need your approval, nor do I want it."
"Got it. But can I just say—"