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Special Agent Fallon Baxter

It turns out, there was only one woman going by the name Angel that night at the Paradise compound.

According to the report, she said she was going south to stay at a friend’s place in Colorado Springs. I racked my head trying to think of anyone Erin could have known down there. My sister wasn’t exactly a socialite, but who knows what dicey friends she’s amassed after living in the cult.

“It’s about time the two of you showed up,” Nikki says as Jack, Buddy, and I enter into the forensics lab at the FBI field office.

After we left the hospital, Nikki shot us a message saying that Brittney’s mother dropped off her daughter’s laptop. Forensics already had her phone, and that’s why we’re here.

We stopped off and picked up sandwiches—a hot pastrami for Jack, two turkey with avocado for Nikki and me. Buddy is already sniffing around the bag with a whimper even though I busted out a healthy helping of kibble I brought along and he wolfed it down in three easy bites.

Nikki is in the digital enclave, a smaller segment of the lab, dimly lit with an endless array of computers and equipment. Her crimson locks are pulled back and she’s clad in yoga gear as she calls Buddy to her and offers him a hearty back rub. Buddy likes Nikki almost as much as he likes food.

The walls in the room are black and lined with screens. A white counter rims the room and acts as a desk system and there are a litany of stools on casters to accommodate a small army at once if need be. But for now, it’s just the four of us in the room.

Nikki sits at the counter with a giant monitor glowing in her face, her own laptop is open next to it, and she’s got a phone in her hand with a hot pink case, Brittney’s I’m assuming.

“I hacked my way in, like slicing butter with a hot knife.” She motions to the monitor in front of her that’s able to test hundreds of thousands of codes per second. It’s nice that the good guys have the technology to crack their way when necessary, but the bad guys have it, too.

“So what are we looking at?” I ask as Jack and I pull up a seat.

“I waited to start the party,” she says. “I coasted through some of her social media accounts but didn’t deep-dive into the nitty-gritty. Let’s head to her messages.”

We lean in as the entire screen is populated with messages from dozens of people. Most of the recent messages are laced with comments like are you okay, please tell me this is a joke, and I’m praying for you.

“Here’s one from Nessa.” Jack points to a message near the bottom of the screen.

Nikki clicks in and we quickly scan them to see the two of them chatting about the sale of the house, how happy Nessa is to have her doing the honors, and Brittney’s exuberance to show the house to the sisters last week. Nikki backs out and we scroll down the list of messages.

“Whoa,” I say as we settle our eyes on a certain name at once.

“Derek Russell.” Jack clucks his tongue. “Let’s see what that’s about.”

“It shouldn’t be about anything,” Nikki teases. “He said they haven’t spoken recently, remember?”

“I remember a lot of things.” Jack sighs. “I’m getting the feeling Derek has a selective memory problem.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I have a feeling it’s called not wanting to get caught.”

Nikki clicks in and we quickly scan it and shake our heads. According to their chat, they’ve been meeting up quite regularly for the last few months—coffee here, a Mexican restaurant there, and they even took in a basketball game last winter. The flirtation is unmistakable. Their messages are littered with innuendos and plans to do far more than have coffee.

Jack taps the screen. “Let’s see that last message she sent again.”

“You don’t get to act that way anymore,” I read. “I’m not seventeen anymore. Grow up.”

“Sounds harsh,” Nikki says. “And his reply is, try it yourself.”

“That’s equally as harsh.” Jack clasps his hand to the back of his head as he weighs it. “All right. We’ll talk to him again.”

“I want to search his bar, his home, and any other facilities he has access to,” I say.

“I’ll start the procedure,” Nikki offers as she pulls her own phone out.

Jack ticks his head. “Go ahead, but I think I’ll drop by the bar and see if he offers up a freebie. If he’s got nothing to hide, then he shouldn’t put up a fight.”

“Agree,” I say. “Let’s get the security footage as well.”

“Done,” he says.

“Let’s see what else we have,” Nikki says and we deep-dive back into Brittney’s phone. No other text exchanges arouse suspicion, and neither do any direct messages on her other social media sites. “I’ll keep digging,” she says. “Just in case something sounds off. I know Derek isn’t looking too good, but I’m not putting all of my eggs into Derek Russell’s basket.”

“Good,” Jack says, shaking his head at the hot pink phone before us. “As much as I didn’t care for the guy way back when, I still don’t want him to turn out to be a monster.” He gives Buddy a quick pat. “I’ll call him and see if he’s there.”

Jack steps to the corner of the room to do just that and I lean toward Nikki.

“Jack did some digging in my sister’s direction. It turns out, there was only one person named Angel that night at the Paradise compound. She claimed she was heading south to Colorado Springs. I just can’t figure out who she might have known there.”

“Okay, that’s good.” Nikki closes her eyes a moment. “Your sister’s social network might be a black box right now, but we’ll crack it open.”

“Thank you,” I say just as Jack lands back in his seat. “So what’s the verdict?”

“He’s not picking up his phone.” Jack pulls his sandwich out of the wrapper and breaks a piece of it off and gives it to Buddy. “The bar says he’ll likely be in this evening.”

“That works for me,” I say.

“I’m skipping,” Nikki says, clicking into Brittney’s phone once again. “I’m going to scour the heck out of the internet for both of our victims. Something is out there, I can feel it.” Her eyes flit to mine. “And I’m not forgetting about your sister either. I meant what I said. We’re going to crack this. She won’t even be a challenge.”

I nod her way. “Here’s hoping.”

Jack pulls a keyboard forward. “I’ll pull up those bloody footprints from the scene and a few scuffs in the dirt from the kidnapping.”

Frame by frame we inspect the measurements of the footprints and, oddly enough, there aren’t any clean prints at either locale.

Jack shakes his head. “It’s almost as if the perpetrator at both scenes knew to smear their footprints just enough to throw us. I’m hard-pressed to believe that this was unintentional.”

“I agree,” I say as a fresh wave of adrenaline courses through me. “It’s as if they had the same MO.”

“Then we can’t rule out the fact it’s either the same person or same network of people,” Nikki says. “I don’t think we need any more clues to confirm this.”

I pick up a laptop from the lab and key in the passwords for every social media site and email server that Brittney and Robin had access to.

Nikki and I spend the next few hours turning over every stone the internet has to offer with all of their digital lives laid bare before us. The perpetrator may have taken off in a dark sedan according to security cameras in Robin’s neighborhood. I look up every vehicle registered to any and everyone from Vanessa, to Derek, to the sisters at the scene of the kidnapping to Brittney herself. No one checks off the box.

Evening starts to roll around and Jack and I take off with Buddy in tow.

Jack makes a call and, sure enough, the boss is back in the Penalty Box.

We head to Elmwood for the second half of this day.

Derek Russell, we’re coming for you.