I have a contact in the Flagstaff PD who may have something recent, and I can run the vehicle description from the school surveillance through some channels. I need it faster than 48 hours if you can manage it. I'll see what I can do. You setting up a full protective detail? Yes.
Gallardo's men plus two of my own contacts. Eddie Briggs? Probably. Good. He's steady.
Torres paused. Em, I want to say something. Go ahead. You've been in Cedar Ridge for 6 years. I know why you went there.
I know what you were trying to build. Whatever happens with this situation, you go back to that, okay? You don't let this pull you back in all the way. Emily was quiet. "I'm just helping a family," she said.
"I know," Torres said. "I know that's what you're telling yourself. I'm just saying you have a life there, a real one. Whatever else happens, that's what you go back to." The call ended, and Emily stood in the quiet of the room.
Gallardo had arranged for her a room that smelled like rented air and other people's habits, and she thought about Cedar Ridge. She thought about her shop and the organized rows of tools, and the whiteboard with clients' notes, and Gary Hendrick's coffee cups left on the workbench edge. She thought about Colton Hayes sitting on that stool listening. She thought about Sophie Ashworth in the other room doing homework, trusting that the gap was being closed. She called Eddie Briggs.
He was there on the second ring. She told him the situation. He said he could be in Flagstaff by morning. Good, she said. She hung up and looked at the card Gallardo had given her, which was now sitting next to the original card she'd picked up in her parking lot 2 days ago.
Two pieces of cardboard that represented the distance between the life she'd built and the life she'd come from. She put both of them face down. She needed to sleep tonight. She was going to need everything she had tomorrow. But the thing that happened at 11:15 that night was the thing she hadn't planned for.
She was going over Gallardo's briefing documents for the third time when her phone lit up with a number she didn't recognize. She almost let it go to voicemail. Something made her answer. Emily Carter, she said. The voice on the other end was a man's voice, older, unhurried, with the quality of someone who was accustomed to being on the advantage side of conversations.
Ms. Carter, he said. My name isn't important. What is important is that I'm aware you've recently arrived in Flagstaff, and I'm aware of the nature of your engagement there. Emily said nothing. She was already on her feet moving to the window, running through the implications as fast as they came.
I want you to understand, the voice continued, that the Ashworth family is not your concern. Their situation is a private matter between certain parties, and the introduction of outside professionals makes things more complicated than they need to be. Who are you? Emily said. As I said, that's not important.
What is important is that this would be a good time for you to reconsider your involvement. Go back to Cedar Ridge. Do I Go back to your motorcycles. There's no reason for your life to become entangled in something that has nothing to do with you. It has a 12-year-old girl in it, Emily said.
That makes it something to do with me. A pause, very short. That sentiment is admirable, the voice said. But sentiment doesn't determine outcomes. Experience does.
I agree, Emily said. "So, I'll keep my experience right here." Another pause, longer this time. "Think carefully," the voice said. "The only people who get hurt in these situations are the ones who insert themselves unnecessarily."
"Or the ones being threatened," Emily said. "Good night." She hung up. She stood in the center of the room for 3 full seconds processing. Then she called Gallardo.
He answered immediately. "Yeah." "Someone just called my personal cell," she said. "Knew I was here, knew the nature of the engagement, told me to go home." Gallardo's voice went very sharp.
"That's not possible. The only people who know you're involved are" "I know," Emily said. "Figure it out fast, and we're moving the family tonight." "Emily." "They have my number, Vincent.
They knew I'd arrived. Someone in your chain of communication is a problem." Her voice was completely flat. "We move the family in the next 2 hours or I start making decisions without you. Your choice."
The silence on his end lasted 4 seconds. "Give me an hour," he said. "You have 45 minutes," she said. She was already pulling on her jacket. Whatever had been a choice 2 days ago in her parking lot was no longer a choice.
The only direction now was forward. And Emily Carter, who had learned a long time ago in circumstances much harder than this one, that hesitation is a luxury that situations like this do not offer, moved toward the door without looking back. The 45 minutes moved like a controlled emergency. Emily didn't waste any of it. While Gallardo made calls, she went to the Ashworths' room and knocked twice firmly.