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Three years ago, he couldn’t have imagined he would be enrolled in community college or on the path to getting a totally cool job doing something that could make a difference. He’d been on the fast-track to major life fuckup. Hanging with the wrong people, not giving a shit about school, making every excuse under the sun about why he had no options. His dad was in prison in California, his mom was a drug addict who came and went, he’d had two older brothers, now both dead—one shot and killed while dealing drugs, one who died of a drug overdose.
The only person who’d stuck with him was his grandma. When he screwed up big-time, his grandma came to him, said, “Do you want to live or do you want to die, Theodore? Because that’s your choice. You want to die, I’m saying goodbye right now, because I don’t want to be burying anymore kids or grandkids. You want to live, you have to stop doing what you’re doing. I’ll help you. Right now, you make your choice.”
“I want to live, Gramma.”
“Okay. I know a girl who can help. You do exactly what she says, and maybe this mistake can go away when you turn eighteen next year. But you don’t get no more chances, understand?”
“Yes, Gramma.”
“Good. I love you, Theodore. We’re going to get through this.”
His grandma called Margo, Margo helped him work out a restitution deal with the store he’d robbed, got him probation, and if he didn’t fuck up, his juvie record would be wiped. Not sealed, but erased.
He followed the rules. Graduated from high school—barely, but he’d done it. Actually did better at community college because the classes were more interesting and he was paying for them with money he earned working for Margo and then for the last year being an Uber driver on the weekends. He lived with his grandma in her tiny house in Sunnyslope, not far from where Margo lived, and helped her with expenses. His grandma was almost sixty, worked at the high school cafeteria, liked her job because she said being around kids kept her young.
Theo knew he was lucky having his grandma in his corner. Too many of his friends didn’t have anyone to help them when they screwed up, to set them on the right path. For the first time in his life, he was thinking about his future. He was excited about working in forensics.
Theo checked out several short-term rental houses in Paradise Valley and then Scottsdale. Jennifer White wasn’t at any of them. Monroe also co-owned a small shopping mall in north Scottsdale with high-end restaurants and shops, and his main office where he actually worked was in the Scottsdale Quarter. No real place for someone to hide out in either location.
He avoided the 101 freeway, which had endless construction projects that added to delays, and took Carefree Highway across the north end of Phoenix to Desert Hills, a rural community with houses on large multi-acre lots where nearly everyone had a horse or two. Monroe owned a five-acre spread out here where his divorced sister lived with her two kids. It would be a good place to hide out, Theo figured, especially since it was next to impossible for him to stake out the place without being spotted. The narrow roads had no sidewalks, nowhere to park, and neighbors would be suspicious of a strange vehicle on the dead-end road.
Theo drove to the end, turned around, slowed down. No activity outside, but there was a four-car garage with all doors closed. A barn was behind the house with an enclosed rink in between the two buildings, but he didn’t see any horses. To him, this would be the best place to hide, and he made a quick note for Margo. She’d probably want to check it out herself.
As he approached the driveway, he saw a black SUV parked just outside the pillars. The same stocky Hispanic guy he’d seen downtown walked toward the house.
Theo stopped the car, zoomed in, and snapped several photos, then he left the neighborhood and the first place to pull over, he sent the pictures to Margo. The guy might have seen him, but he didn’t pursue.
Thirty seconds later, she answered the phone.
“Where are you?”
“This is the horse ranch Monroe’s sister is living at, in Desert Hills. I saw that guy at Monroe’s headquarters on Washington. He’s familiar, but I don’t know why.”
“Frank Sanchez. Works for Endicott. I’ll bet he’s also looking for Jennifer White.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“How many places do you still have to check out?”
“The last six are all clustered near Westgate.”
“Follow Frank if you can. Don’t engage. If he spots you, disappear. Let me know where he goes and what he does.”
“Okay, boss.”
Seventeen
Peter Carillo
Peter slammed the laptop shut and rubbed his eyes.
It was all gone. Every message, every contact, every trace of Annie’s existence had been erased. It was as if she had vanished from the face of the earth.
Not everything. He looked around the family room, his eyes bleary from too much bourbon, too much time staring at the computer screen. The pictures of his kids, Peter Junior and Marie. His perfect children. Playing at the park. Their Christmas portrait, when Marie was asleep in Annie’s arms, a tiny infant. He had a perfect family and that woman, that bitch, stole it from him.
Why had Annie left him? Why had she taken their kids? Why had she deleted everything?
It made no sense.
