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J ordan had watched open-mouthed that morning as one of their team had been arrested and frog-marched out of a briefing, accused of vehicular manslaughter. There was no way Grady Steel was guilty, but the furor had yet to die down, and Grady hadn’t returned to the compound.

Kurt had been dead for nine days with still no sign of his body. DNA was being run on all the remains found by the Zimbabwean authorities, but it was a slow process. They’d rejected offers of help from the US.

At least no one had tried to kill him lately, although he was still getting an escort to and from work.

The escort home had involved a strip search and sex on two subsequent occasions —which Ellen had instigated, but he’d been more than happy to oblige.

There had been no repeat of the bugs found in his home, and TacOps hadn’t found any at HRT either.

Did that let Dinah Cohen off the hook? He didn’t quite trust the agent even though she’d told him that Rowena Smith had not caught her scheduled flight home, which FBI analysts had confirmed.

He’d started to run his own deep and thorough background check on Rowena Smith and was finding some interesting details. He uncovered a phone number for the relative she’d supposedly been visiting in Harare and decided to call it.

“Hello?”

“Can I speak to Mr. Gamba Moyo, please?”

“Speaking.”

“My name is Jordan Krychek. I’m with the FBI.”

“The FBI? Oh, Holy Jesus, is this about my niece?”

Krychek wasn’t sure Gamba was legally Rowena’s uncle, but the concern in his voice was genuine.

“I’ve been trying to locate Rowena Smith to ask her a couple of questions. Do you have any idea where your niece is at this moment?”

“No, I thought that was why you were calling. With information, not questions.” He sounded angry now.

“She’s missing?”

“Yes!”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any information at this time. I have some questions about what she was doing in Africa.”

“She was on some fool’s errand. Told me she was revisiting the haunts her mother had visited when she was here nearly thirty years ago, but I know what she was really doing.”

“What was she really doing?”

“Searching for her father.”

“Who was her father?”

“That’s the problem. Her mother didn’t know.

Allie went gallivanting around the country and then suddenly without a word caught a plane home to England.

Didn’t even tell her brother until she was back in the UK.

Next thing I hear, she’s pregnant, and her brother is mighty pissed.

She wasn’t dating anyone he knew about. The baby was born, and they seemed to make up, and then Allie died in a terrible accident.

Peter and my beautiful baby sister rushed over there to take care of Row and Peter’s mother. They decided to stay.”

Jordan knew the aunt and uncle had died in a fire last year. “Did your niece mention how she was going to find her father? ”

“No, but maybe she found a clue in her mother’s belongings.

She brought me some letters I’d sent to Anoona back when we all still wrote letters.

Said she’d found them in the attic. I’m worried about her.

The day she was supposed to join me in South Africa, she simply disappeared, and my car turned up near the border of Mozambique.

I had to pay a tow truck a lot of money to fetch it back here.

There was no sign of her inside, but she had replaced the spare tire. ”

The Mozambique border? Had she made a run for it? Why? “Could you tell me exactly where the car was found?”

“About ten miles north of the Salmon Arms Resort. If you don’t know where she is, why are you calling and asking questions? What does the FBI want with my niece?”

“I’m making some inquiries about a friend of mine who died in the air crash, and I believe they may have crossed paths—Kurt Montana?”

“I’m sorry but I never heard of him.”

“And she wasn’t planning to leave the country?”

“Yes, she was planning to change her flight and come down to South Africa with me and her cousins.” Gamba sounded impatient. “Her bags were all packed and ready to go on her bed, but she simply disappeared. I haven’t heard anything since.”

“Is that unlike her?”

“Son, it is so unlike her. She loves her family. She wouldn’t leave us without word unless she didn’t have any choice.” The man choked up.

“I’m sorry. If I come across anything during my investigation, I will make sure to call you and let you know.”

“I appreciate that. May God grant mercy, and we find her safe.”

“Yes, sir.” Jordan hung up. The uncle sounded worried, and Rowena didn’t sound like some undercover agent or femme fatale . But maybe the uncle wouldn’t know if she was.

He should have asked what date the car was found but he didn’t want to call back. Not right now. He checked the time and decided instead to call the local library she’d listed as her supposed workplace.

“Good afternoon. Madeley Community Library.”

“Hello, can I speak to the manager?”

“I’m the head librarian. How may I help you?”

“My name is Jordan Krychek. I’m with the FBI.”

“Oh my.”

The voice sounded as if its owner was old. Very old. He cleared his throat. “I’m trying to get hold of a woman named Rowena Smith. I believe she might work there.”

“Rowena?” There was a second voice in the background asking who it was.

“He’s looking for Row. She was supposed to come back to work on Monday at nine sharp.

She usually comes in earlier and sets up.

I confess, at first, myself and the other librarian were a little annoyed she didn’t turn up on time as we’d both worked over the holidays so she could go on her little trip.

Alasdair was supposed to take a vacation the next day, but as the day went on with no word, we both grew more worried.

It wasn’t like her at all. Not at all. We went by her house after work, but she wasn’t back. Alasdair canceled his vacation.”

He heard the Scottish accent—Alasdair presumably—telling her it didn’t matter.

“Then I started thinking maybe she was on that flight that crashed? I tried her cell but no reply. Filed a police report, but no one seems to be taking our worries seriously. Say she probably met someone and took another week on a beach somewhere. Row would never leave us in the lurch this way. Never. I’m terrified something bad has happened to her. ”

“So no contact since before Christmas?”

“She sent us photos after that, didn’t she, Alasdair? We share a group chat. But nothing since the eleventh of January, even though we both texted her multiple times.”

“Do you have access to Ms. Smith’s home?”

“Of course. Alasdair waters the plants when she’s away and collects the post. ”

“Have you been inside since she was supposed to be home?”

“Yes. Of course. Just to check on things, you understand. We had a cold spell this week, and we wanted to make sure the pipes hadn’t frozen.

Everything’s fine there. I knew her granny, and she’d love to see her sweet grandbaby living in her old home.

Has something happened to Row? You must tell us. ”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any news.” Jordan didn’t have any reassurances to give the woman, neither did he have any data about what had happened to Rowena Smith.

The fact she disappeared around the time of the crash wasn’t something he could afford to ignore.

Not when Kurt had requested a background check on her the night before he died.

She was connected. He just didn’t know how. “Thanks for the information. This is my cell number. Would you mind letting me know if she contacts you?”

“Of course, young man. And promise me that if you hear anything, anything at all, you’ll let me know.”

“I’ll let you know what I can.” He hung up. There was a knock on his door.

Dinah Cohen slipped inside without waiting for a response. “Can I come in?”

“Sure. What do you have?”

“Our analysts found some anomalies.” She was turning into a very useful source of information.

“What kind of anomalies?”

“Montana’s cell phone signal. As far as we can tell, Kurt Montana didn’t contact anyone after Monday night when he spoke with you. However, our analysts found evidence that his phone may have pinged off a cell tower a few hours after the flight went down.”

“Cell could have carried on working after the crash.”

She shook her head. “Signal was picked up way outside the crash zone. Did he take his personal cell too? We didn’t find any sign of that. ”

“No. His personal cell died on the trip. He said he’d replace it when he got back.” He’d never had the chance.

A headache began to dig into the back of Jordan’s skull. “How do your analysts explain this signal?”

“Ghosts.”

He shivered.

She shrugged. “Or someone might have stolen the phone.”

The idea someone had stolen a cell phone after a tragedy made anger surge inside. “Did your people track the signal?”

“It disappeared after a few hours on the Mutare Road.”

Jordan rubbed the back of his neck. The thought of Montana sending some kind of message from beyond the grave freaked him out.

He believed in ghosts. He had his own. Hope had bloomed inside him for a few precious seconds but was dying again.

“Can you push them to dig deeper until they figure out who has his phone now?”

“I’ll ask them.”

After she left, he pulled out the map of Zimbabwe they’d used on the trip and attached it to the wall.

He put yellow and purple pins in Harare, and Victoria Falls.

He added yellow at the plane crash site and googled the location of the Salmon Arms Resort—gotten to by driving along the Mutare Road. He marked off ten miles north.

He stared at the map. That was the shortest distance from the road to the border with Mozambique, only a mile from the main road. He placed a purple pin there.

Had Rowena Smith somehow gotten hold of Kurt’s cell phone? Was she simply a thief, or something much more threatening? “What were you doing, Miss Smith? Who were you running from—or to?”