Page 146 of Think Twice

“I tried to pull it off with my hand, but the tape wouldn’t give. So I went back to the kitchen and got scissors.”

“Did you flip it open or anything?”

“No. I called you right away.”

Myron nodded. “Could you get the gloves?”

She found them under the sink, but they were far too small for his hands. Myron gave up on them pretty fast—if he messed up some DNA or whatever, so be it. The phone had been taped. Emily had grabbed it. The contamination was already there.

“Wait,” Emily said. “Should we call Jeremy first?”

“Okay,” Myron said. “But let’s not ask him about the phone right now.”

“It’s probably nothing.”

“You’re probably right.”

“He’s in the military. He does a lot of clandestine work. The phone could be a part of that.”

“Yes,” Myron said. “I agree.”

They both stared at one another for a long moment.

“He’s our son,” Emily said, her voice a plea. “You get that, right?”

Myron said nothing.

“Maybe we shouldn’t touch it,” she said. “We should wait until he gets here and let him explain.”

“Call him,” Myron said.

She dialed Jeremy’s number, but the call went straight to voicemail. The voice on the message was machine-produced, not Jeremy’s. Emily didn’t bother leaving a message. She hung up. They sat at the table together. The room was silent. Myron stared at the phone. He glanced up at Emily and then reached across the table and picked up the phone. He flipped it open and checked incoming calls. There were four calls in total, all over the past three days, the most recent being an hour ago.

The caller ID on all of them read Anonymous.

Not helpful.

Myron looked for an option to call the number back. There was nothing there. He clicked the arrow on top of the screen and moved to outgoing calls. Bingo. There were two calls listed. Same number. When Myron saw it, he stiffened.

“What?” Emily said.

He didn’t reply. Don’t jump the gun, he told himself. Step at a time.

“Myron?”

The number had a 215 area code. That was what had startled him. He put down the phone and picked up his own.

“What are you doing?” Emily asked.

He put the 215 phone number into his own phone. He was about to dial the number, but then thought better of it. Why leave a record of his call? He moved over to the Google app and entered the number in there. If this didn’t work—if the number was unlisted or not online in some way—he would send it to Esperanza. She’d be able to find the phone’s owner right away.

But no need. The google worked.

The 215 phone number, according to Myron’s web search, belonged to the Prine Organization.

Myron closed his eyes.

“What?” Emily asked.