Will looked out the window.

“You would’ve made her wait for backup.”

He hated the relief her words brought.

“She’s always been headstrong.”

He felt the need to say, “She didn’t do the wrong thing.”

“That’s my boy.”

Will watched the trees along the highway blend into a sea of green. “Do you think there’s going to be a ransom?”

“I hope so.” They both knew that a ransom pointed to a living hostage, or at least the opportunity to demand proof of life.

He said, “This feels personal.”

“How so?”

He shook his head. “The way the house was torn up. There’s mad, and then there’s furious.”

“I don’t imagine the old girl sat by quietly while they performed their search.”

“Probably not.” Evelyn Mitchell was no Amanda Wagner, but Will could easily see her taunting the men who were tearing up her house. You didn’t get to be one of the first female captains on the Atlanta police force by being sweet. “They were obviously looking for money.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Clams—the last word Ricardo said to Faith before he died. You said it’s slang for money. Ergo, they were looking for money.”

“In the silverware drawer?”

Another good point. Cash was nice, but it was cumbersome. A pile worth kidnapping an ex-Atlanta police captain for would fill several silverware drawers.

He said, “The arrow was pointing into the backyard.”

“What arrow?”

Will suppressed a groan. She wasn’t usually this obvious. “The arrow drawn in Evelyn’s blood underneath the chair she was duct-taped to. I know you saw it. You hissed at me like an air compressor.”

“You really should work on your metaphors.” She was silent for a beat, probably considering the most circuitous route to take him to nowhere. “You think Evelyn has buried treasure in her backyard?”

He had to admit this was unlikely, especially considering the Mitchell backyard was on full display to the rest of the neighbors, most of whom were retired and seemed to have ample time to spy. Besides, Will couldn’t picture Faith’s mother out with a shovel and a flashlight in the middle of the night. Then again, it wasn’t like she could put it in the bank.

“Safe deposit box,” Will tried. “Maybe they were looking for a key.”

“Evelyn would have to go to the bank and sign in to get access. They’d compare her signature, ask for her ID. Our kidnapper had to know her picture would be on every television station the minute he took her.”

Will silently conceded the point. Besides, the same rule applied. A large amount of cash took up space. Diamonds and gold were more for Hollywood movies. In real life, stolen jewels fetched pennies on the dollar.

She asked, “What about the crime scene? Do you think Charlie got it right?”

Will went on the defense. “Mittal did most of the talking.”

“Okay, you’ve covered Charlie’s ass. Now answer my question.”

“The Los Texicanos in the trunk of the Malibu, Evelyn’s gentleman friend. He throws it all out.”

She nodded. “He wasn’t stabbed. He died from a shot to the head, plus, he’s B-positive. That still leaves us with our B-negative out there with a nasty wound.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Will resisted the urge to add, “and you know it.” Amanda wasn’t just tying his hands behind his back. She was blindfolding him and sending him toward the edge of a cliff. Her refusal to talk about or even acknowledge Evelyn Mitchell’s sordid past wasn’t going to help Faith and it sure as hell wasn’t going to get her mother back in one piece. Evelyn had worked in narcotics. She was obviously in contact, almost daily, with a higher-up in Los Texicanos, the gang that ran the drug trade in and out of Atlanta. They should be back in the city talking to the gang units and putting together the last few weeks of Evelyn’s life, not making a fool’s errand to visit a guy who had nothing to lose and a history of stubborn silence.

“Come on, Dr. Trent,” Amanda chided. “Don’t make me pull teeth.”

Will let his ego get in the way for a few more seconds before saying, “Evelyn’s gentleman friend. His wallet was missing. He didn’t have any ID or money on him. The only thing in his pockets was the key to Evelyn’s Malibu. She must’ve given it to him.”

“Keep going.”

“She was making lunch for two people. There were four slices of bread in the toaster. Faith was late. Evelyn didn’t know what time she’d be home, but she would assume Faith would call when she was on her way. There were groceries in the trunk of the Malibu. The receipt says Evelyn used her debit card at the Kroger at 12:02. The gentleman was bringing in the groceries while she fixed lunch.”

Amanda smiled. “I often forget how smart you are, but then something like this happens and it makes me realize why I hired you.”

Will ignored the backhanded compliment. “So, Evelyn’s making lunch. She starts to wonder where her gentleman friend is. She goes outside and finds his body in the trunk. She grabs Emma and hides her in the shed. If she’d grabbed Emma after cutting her hand, like Dr. Mittal said, there would’ve been blood somewhere on the car seat. Evelyn’s strong, but she’s not Hercules. The car seat, even without a baby in it, is pretty heavy. She couldn’t dead lift one of those things off the counter with one hand—at least not safely. She’d have to cup the bottom with her free hand. Emma’s little, but she’s got some heft to her.”

Amanda supplied, “Evelyn spent time in the shed. She moved the blankets around. There’s no blood on them. She dialed the combination lock on the safe. There’s no blood on the dial. The floor is clean. She was bleeding after she locked the door.”

“I’m not an expert on kitchen injuries, but you don’t generally cut your ring finger when you’re slicing something. It’s usually the thumb or the index finger.”

“Another good point.” Amanda checked the rearview mirror and changed lanes. “Okay, what did she do next?”

“Like you said. Evelyn hides the baby, then gets her gun out of the safe, goes back into the house and shoots Kwon, who’s waiting to ambush her from the laundry room. Then, she’s overpowered by a second man, probably our mystery blood type B-negative. Evelyn’s gun gets knocked out of her hand during the struggle. She stabs B-negative, but there’s a third guy, Mr. Hawaiian Shirt. He gets Evelyn’s gun off the floor and stops the struggle. He asks her where the thing is that they’re looking for. She tells them to go to hell. She’s duct-taped to the chair while they search the house.”

“That sounds plausible.”

It sounded confusing. There were so many bad guys that Will was having a hard time keeping track of them. Two Asians, one Hispanic, possibly two—maybe a third man, race unknown—a house being searched for God only knew what and a missing sixty-three-year-old ex-cop who had her share of secrets.

Then there was the even larger question that Will knew better than to ask: why hadn’t Evelyn called for help? By Will’s count, she’d had at least two opportunities to make a call or run for help: when she first heard the noise, and after she shot Hironobu Kwon in the laundry room. And yet, she had stayed.