Inside was what he’d expected: large crowd. Pulsing dance music. The smell of perfume and sweat. He scanned the faces, looking for her. It was at times like this, unexpected, unusual, that he had moments of clarity. Charlotte wasn’t here. He was chasing a ghost. Wasting his final days before Magpie went to college. Squandering his life with Liv and Tommy. Ruining his relationship with Matt. He needed to let this go.

But he was here. Might as well …

He navigated through the crowd and made it to the bartender. The barman had tattoo sleeves and a hipster beard. He wasn’t Mexican, but it wasn’t clear he was American, either.

The music was loud. The guy shouted over the noise, “What can I get you, mate?” He had an Australian accent.

Evan laid a five-hundred-peso bill on the bar, if only because that was what they did in the movies and TV when they were trying to get information. He held out his phone, displaying a photo of Charlotte.

“I’m trying to find my daughter,” he lied. He assumed the bartender might be more sympathetic to a father than if he thought Evan was a cop or a private investigator or a creepy old guy looking for a young woman.

Evan waited for him to say he’d never seen her before, that he was sorry he couldn’t help.

The bartender smoothed a hand over his beard, then closed his fist around the money.

“Yeah, I’ve seen her.”

CHAPTER 51

SARAH KELLER

Keller awoke to the buzz of her phone. She was disoriented for a moment, trying to comprehend why her nightstand was different, the window of her bedroom not where it should be, then she remembered. Nebraska. The motel. The old alarm clock said it was only 11:40 P.M., but she’d been in a deep sleep. She was going to ignore the call, but it might be Bob, an emergency with the twins.

The number was from Mexico. Keller sat up, switched on the lamp, swiped the device.

“It’s Carlita Escobar.”

Keller’s thoughts were still fuzzy, and she blanked for a second. But then the fog lifted. Of course, the consular officer, Carlita “No Relation” Escobar.

“Hi, yes, thanks for getting back to me.”

“I’m sorry, did I wake you? You said to call when I got news, no matter the time. I can call back tomorrow.”

“No, please…”

“I’ve identified the girl.”

“Hank?” Keller asked.

“Her real name is Joanna Grace. She went by Joey. It turns out she is from Oklahoma, but she’s no hairdresser.”

Keller felt a rush of adrenaline. The fake persona confirmed that her meeting with Matt was no accident, that she’d lured him off with her, likely to deliver him to someone, until she apparently had a change of heart.

“She’s a party girl,” Escobar continued. “Works for a company out of New York.”