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“Can we focus?” I glared at my husband before returning my attention to Costa. “You’re saying we have no idea who’s sending these letters?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” He shrugged, not seeming surprised.

“It’s not unbelievable to imagine whoever is doing this is also paying a random stranger or homeless person to run inside the building to do their bidding.

Doesn’t take a genius to know we’d trace the packages and get a hold of the footage. ”

I cursed and resumed pacing. Of course, the solution wouldn’t be so simple.

Aslan jumped in while I stewed and wore out the carpeting. “Before we dissect the unexpected arrival of paternity results, how about Jordyn tells us how it went with Jude and Clementine?”

My partner tracked my endless steps as she explained.

“Like I told Quaid on the phone. I didn’t get much.

Jude gave me the same spiel. Every nuance of his story checks with what he told us before.

No deviation. Clementine… Let’s just say I can believe there was no affair.

Her story matched Nixon’s, and her shame at the suggestion seemed authentic.

In their meeting Tuesday evening, he tried convincing her to return and help his wife.

Offered her more money. She refused. She got cagey when I confronted her about why she was dismissed in the first place. ”

I frowned. “She seemed cagey with me, too. Kept saying she didn’t know. ”

Jordyn continued. “I asked if there was a problem or hostility between her and Imogen or if they didn’t get along for some reason, and she only shrugged, stating Imogen didn’t like her.

I asked why and earned another shrug. I asked if the Davises had a lot of visitors or family at the house while she was there, and she said Imogen’s mother showed up daily.

When I pushed to find out if other family members had ever visited while she was working, I got more shrugging.

I couldn’t tell if her obnoxious behavior was due to her young age or purposeful because she was hiding something. ”

“Great. Perfect.” I scrubbed a hand over my face.

“Someone help me make sense of this nonsense. We’ve got a missing kid and a taunting unsub who we can now assume is the child’s father.

We’ve got a mother who knows more than she’s letting on, who took off without telling us where she was going.

We’ve got a grandparent paying exorbitant sums to a daughter-in-law he doesn’t seem to like.

A recently fired nanny who’s acting shady.

A business bleeding money, and although we don’t have proof, I suspect it might be related to the money Imogen is receiving.

On top of that, we have a snooping business partner who is being blamed for the missing money and is the only person we can confirm was at the Soccerplex the night Crowley vanished.

Am I missing anything? I mean, besides the entire fucking picture. ”

My question was met with silence.

“Great. Where do we go from here?”

“The father has the child,” Costa said.

“Yes. Presumably. That’s what this is about.” I shook the paper with the DNA results. I’d put it in an evidence bag the instant we left the Davises’, but I was not hopeful that we’d get prints considering the last two deliveries had given us nothing .

Aslan pulled himself more upright in the chair, clapped his hands, and rubbed them together. “Simple solution. We need to determine who the father is.”

I wasn’t the only one to stare skeptically at Aslan. “Are you suggesting we ask everyone to submit to a paternity test?”

“Yep. Including Nixon.”

It was Jordyn who responded. “Why Nixon? I would think that”—she motioned to our recent delivery—“exonerates him.”

“Not necessarily. You’re thinking like an MPU detective.”

“I am an MPU detective.”

“And I’m thinking like a homicide detective.” He held up a hand before Jordyn jumped all over him. “Stop. I’m not suggesting Crowley is deceased, but I am suggesting you’re dealing with a sociopath.”

I stopped pacing and faced my husband, curious about where he was going with this train of thought.

“We can all agree this doesn’t fit within the parameters of your usual familial abduction.

” He raised his hands when Jordyn moved to object.

“Don’t get me wrong. We know that our perpetrator is someone either close to the family or part of the family, but the way this is unfolding is atypical, right? Ransom notes? Head games?”

No one responded, so I nodded and waved for him to go on.

He ticked off his reasoning on his fingers.

“This person is manipulative.” He snagged the paternity test from my hand and held it up.

“Case in point. They’re attempting to control the situation using threats and aggression.

” Another shake of the paper. “They certainly have us running around in circles, don’t they?

They lack impulse control. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t have taken Crowley.

Quaid has pointed this out already. They are a pathological liar.

I don’t think that needs explaining. They crave excitement and seek outside stimulus to avoid boredom, hence the ransom notes that are nothing more than a game to them, a strategic tactic to assert their grandiose sense of superiority. A bit of fun.”

To Jordyn, Aslan said. “I’m not saying Nixon is your perp, but I wouldn’t absolve him until you know for sure. Sociopaths can play a flawless role, and that role might be the grieving father. If you ask me, there’s been a shift in this case. That is what we should be concerned about.”

I stared at my husband, trying to follow. “What do you mean?”

“Your kidnapper is practically outing themself. It’s brave, it’s bold, but it’s also stupid and catastrophic for our missing child.

Think back to your first note. You had a demand for the truth.

You had a threat of mutual ruin if they didn’t get it.

Your second note claimed they found the truth on their own. ”

He motioned to the paternity test he’d set down on the desk. “They asked why the child should be returned. This is no longer about discovering the truth. They have what they sought. The question is, whose life gets ruined by the discovery of Crow’s parentage? Nixon’s? Imogen’s?”

“Benedict’s?” Costa suggested.

We all fell silent until Aslan spoke again.

“Your perp discovered the truth and made a choice to share it. They’ve caused ruin to others while subjecting themselves to their own.

They know full well they can’t return the child now.

Not only will we know who they are, but whoever they’re threatening has their own dirt they haven’t shared.

This goes deeper than a child’s paternity. ”

Jordyn blew her bangs out of her face. “I’m lost. I’m seriously not following.”

I stared at my partner. “Mutual ruin, remember? ‘If you ruin me, I’ll ruin you.’ They’ve done their ruining. They know full well they’re fucked.”

Aslan nodded, his expression grim. “They aren’t returning that child, and maybe this case wasn’t a race against the clock before, but I guarantee it is now. Your sociopath has a mess on their hands.”

The room was so quiet Travolta’s steady typing on his computer reached us. “What do we know about sociopaths?” I asked randomly. “Who fits the bill?”

“We know they’re good at not appearing like sociopaths,” Costa said.

“Not helpful.” I snapped my fingers. “Come on. List things.”

“Money issues,” Aslan said. “They’re impulsive spenders. They tend to struggle with financial responsibility. They steal. Often have a history of criminal behavior.”

“Jude,” Jordyn and I both said at the same time.

“They’re compulsive liars,” Aslan added, “and they will often want to be in the center of any chaos they cause.”

Silence descended on us again.

We spent the following two hours discussing how to proceed.

Unless we had a warrant or consent, we couldn’t exactly go around collecting everyone’s DNA.

Considering the tempers we’d witnessed at the Davises’, Jordyn and I agreed that writing up warrants was the path of least resistance.

Unfortunately, warrants required firm reasoning, and of the six men we’d met while working the case, we could roughly justify three of our demands.

Nixon was obvious. Jude was the only person on camera at the Soccerplex, so he was explainable.

For some reason, Benedict was paying Imogen an exorbitant amount of money, and it wasn’t hard to believe it was hush money.

It gave me goose bumps when I considered that he may have had an affair with his daughter-in-law. It could explain Diane’s hostility and the way she protected her daughter. Maybe she knew the truth. I made a mental note to bring this up when we spoke with her .

Flynn and Robert were family—a strong argument on its own considering the circumstances—but apart from that, we had no outside reason to request warrants for DNA. We did it anyway, not wanting to leave any stone unturned. I put my faith in Aslan and sent him off to deal with Judge Madison.

Before he snuck away, I dragged him around the corner and planted a bruising kiss on his mouth, issuing a warning. “You’re a married man, Aslan Ronan Doyle. Don’t you forget it.”

He chuckled. “Are you worried, hot stuff?”

“No. Not anymore, but I want these warrants signed. Just… don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“You’re a worse flirt than I am.”

“No I’m not.”

More laughing. He looped an arm around my waist and dragged me closer. Our bodies fit together perfectly. Aslan leaned his forehead against mine. “You’re all I want, Quaid. You know that.”

“I do. Don’t take too long.”

“I’ll do my best.”