Page 63 of The Naturals
I wondered how long it would take Sloane to run through the two thousand nine hundred and sixteen possible combinations.
“Lorelai.”
“What?” The sound of my mother’s name was like a bucket of ice water thrown directly into my face.
“567-3524 is the telephone number that corresponds to the word Lorelai. It also spells lose-lag, lop-flag, and Jose-jag, but the only seven-letter, single-word possibility—”
“Is Lorelai.” I finished Sloane’s sentence and translated the message with that meaning.
For a good time, call Lorelai. Guaranteed plus one. Kola and Thorn.
“Plus one,” Dean read over my shoulder. “You think the UNSUB is trying to tell us that we’ve got another victim on our hands?”
For a good time, call Lorelai.
Now I had ironclad proof that this case had something to do with my mother’s. That was why the UNSUB had wanted me to come here. He’d left me this message—complete with a “guaranteed plus one.” Someone the UNSUB had already attacked? Someone he was planning on attacking?
I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that if I didn’t solve this, if we didn’t solve this, someone else was going to die.
Genevieve Ridgerton. Plus one. How many people are you going to kill because of me? I asked silently.
There was no answer, just the realization that everything was playing out exactly as the UNSUB had intended. Every discovery I’d made had been choreographed. I was playing a part.
Unable to stop myself, I turned my attention to the last line of the message.
Kola and Thorn.
“Symbolism?” Dean asked me, following my thoughts exactly. “Kola. Cola. Drinking. Thorn. Rose. Blood…”
“An anagram?” Sloane had that faraway look in her eye, the same one she’d gotten the day I met her, kneeling over a pile of glass. “Ankh onto lard. Hot nodal nark. Land rand hook. Oak land north.”
“North Oakland,” Dean cut in. “That’s in Arlington.”
For a good time, call Lorelai. Guaranteed plus one. North Oakland.
“We need a list of every building on North Oakland,” I said, my body buzzing with a sudden rush of adrenaline.
“What are we looking for?” Briggs asked me.
I didn’t have an answer—a warehouse, maybe, or an abandoned apartment. I tried to focus, but I couldn’t quite rid my brain of the sound of my mother’s name, and I realized suddenly that if this killer knew me half as well as he thought he did, there was another possibility.
For a good time, call Lorelai.
The dressing room. The blood. I swallowed. “I’m not sure,” I said. “But I think you might be looking for a theater.”
“We’ve got a body at a small, independent theater in Arlington.” Agent Briggs’s fingers curled into his palms as he delivered the news, but he fought the urge to clench his fists. “It’s not Genevieve Ridgerton.”
I didn’t know whether to be relieved or upset. Somewhere, fifteen-year-old Genevieve might still be alive. But now we were dealing with body number eight.
Our UNSUB’s “plus one.”
“Starmans, Vance, Brooks: I want the three of you to take the kids back to the house. I want one of you posted at the front door, one at the back door, and one with Cassie at all times.” Agent Briggs turned and started walking out of the club, a signal to the rest of us that he was so confident that we would follow his orders that he didn’t even need to stay here to see them through.
I didn’t need Lia or Michael here to tell me that his confidence was a lie.
“I’m going with you,” I said, following him outside. “The exact same logic that let you bring me here applies in Arlington. The UNSUB turned this into a little treasure hunt. He wants to see me follow it to the end.”
“I don’t care what he wants,” Briggs cut in. “I want to keep you safe.”