Page 141 of Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

“Hey, Mom. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back after I left the hospital.”

“What?” Her voice trilled up in alarm. “When were you at the hospital?”

“No, I couldn’t fall asleep.” Andrea could see that Ricky was openly listening to the call. “I forgot to ask. Do you mind calling Mike for me? His number is stored in my stupid phone.”

Ricky made a face at the broken iPhone, as if she was part of the conversation.

“Mike?” Laura demanded. “My Mike? What does Mike have to do with the hospital?”

“Tell him I walked down to the diner to get a drink.” Andrea’s hands were steady as she rolled the shot glass between her fingers. “I got a message at work from our neighbor. He needs Mike’s help. Renfield got out.”

“Okay.” Laura’s voice had turned deadly calm. During her criminal days, she had communicated exclusively through codes and cyphers. “I’m writing this down. I’m supposed to call Mike and tell him you’re at the diner. Correct?”

“Sure.”

“And I don’t know what the other part means, but I’ll tell him verbatim, ‘I got a call from our neighbor. He needs Mike’s help. Renfield got out.’”

“That’s right,” Andrea said. “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

The receiver went back into the cradle. Andrea took a sip of tequila. Her fingers were slick on the glass.

Ricky left the phone on the counter. She kept the knife moving back and forth, but her eyes had never left Andrea. “That was your mom?”

Andrea nodded. “My cat got out. He only comes when my boyfriend calls him.”

“I wish I had time for a pet.” Ricky was smiling, but there was an edge to her tone. “Bit late for a phone call, isn’t it?”

Ricky glanced at Nardo again. Her curiosity had crossed into suspicion.

Andrea knew that Ricky had seen her dial the number. “Mom used to live in Georgia, but she moved to Portland last year.”

“Maine?”

“Oregon.” Andrea resisted the temptation to check on Nardo. She felt like he was staring a hole into her back. “They’re three hours behind. She was watching TV.”

“I love Oregon.” Ricky wasn’t going to let up. “What part?”

“Laurelhurst,” Andrea said. “It’s on the eastern side of Portland. She lives near the park with the Joan of Arc statue. There’s some great live music at the coffee house.”

Ricky relaxed, but only slightly. “Sounds nice.”

“It is.” Andrea finished her tequila. She let herself find Nardo in the mirror.

He had pushed away his plate. He dropped his empty stein onto the table. “Waitress?”

Ricky ignored him, but the blade struck the cutting board with tellingly loud thunks.

“Hey, waitress,” Nardo called. “You got any more of that tequila?”

Ricky forced the knife down on the counter as if she was keeping herself from using it on Nardo. She grabbed the bottle. She slammed a shot glass down on the counter.

Andrea looked at Nardo. He was smirking. Andrea was calculating. Laura would’ve called Mike immediately. Andrea had no doubt that he would pick up the phone. Protectees only called during life and death situations—

Andrea is at the diner. Renfield got out. She needs your help.

At the hospital, Mike had used the name Renfield to describe Nardo. And he sure as hell would know something was wrong if Andrea was asking for help.

Her gaze traveled to the clock on the wall. She watched the second hand tick between the numbers. Two minutes for Laura to relay the message to Mike. Two more minutes for Mike to relay it to Compton. Four minutes for Compton to mobilize teams. The closest Marshals were at the farm, but that fifteen-minute drive would be cut down to ten with lights and sirens.