I glare at her, wanting to find fault in what she’s proposing, but she makes more sense than I want to give her credit for. More importantly, she’s offering the one thing I could never envision—an exit plan. I have an incoherent string of facts that I can continue to collect, but I have nowhere to go with them. Detective Irving hasn’t exactly been reliable. And the more I collect, the more danger I’m in.

“How did you know about the attack?” Emi presses.

For several seconds, I say nothing. I’ve spent the last two years loathing this woman I’m about to trust. “Twitter. They used numbers: latitude, longitude, day, and time. They hashtag the number of the attack.” Trusting Emi tastes bitter in my mouth.

Her face scrunches in disbelief. “Death Mob kids understand latitude and longitude?”

“Type in coordinates to any search engine and you get the location.”

Emi stares off into the distance and nods.

“Any idea who sent the tweet?”

I shake my head. “Whoever set up the account did it at the Harold Washington. I figured out which computer they used, but there isn’t much I can do with that.”

Emi nods again as if agreeing it’s a dead end.

“What did the attackers look like? Hispanic? Latino?”

I shake my head again, slower. “Definitely not all of them.”

Emi puts her hands on her hips and looks to the sky.

“I’ll say it on camera. You can ask me what I saw. I’ll say it publicly.”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but we need to protect you right now too.”

“My dad was in the process of linking all the deaths to people in Chicago.” I blurt it out like it makes up for my silence and everything I’m not telling the press. I hate giving it to her, but without protected Internet access, I can’t keep researching it anyway. “Jeremiah Dopney has to be connected to someone in this city.”

“We’ve already tried.”

“He is—I know he is.” My eyebrows pinch together, frustrated she isn’t taking me seriously. “Search harder.”

She nods. “I’ll look into it and get back to you.”

“The attack—it’s somehow tied to the Lakefront Project.” The words fall out of my mouth before I consciously decide to tell her.

Emi claps her hands and spins around, once again staring off into the distance. “I knew it!” When she turns back, her eyes are ignited. “Can you prove it?”