He recites his number and I commit it to memory just as the elevator dings and the doors slide open. I step into the elevator and wave goodbye as the doors close.

CHAPTER THREE

Outside the sun is going down, although it’s leaving the day’s heat behind like a shroud dropped over the city. My hair is damp against my neck in the short time I wait for a cab. Uber is more convenient, but it also leaves an electronic trail. Old habits die hard.

The cabbie’s name is Fitzroy and he has a wide smile and a Jamaican accent. “Where to, miss?” he asks once I climb in the backseat.

“The Store-N-Go on Tenth Street,” I say, and Fitzroy nods and pulls away from the curb.

Fitzroy doesn’t chatter at me or sing along to the radio or carry on a conversation on his phone, just drives calmly through downtown Atlanta. It’s a minor blessing because I need to get myself together, focus on the task at hand and not on the anxiety spiking in my brain. And then I realize with all the drama about my uncle I forgot to ask Ethan why he sent Caesar to track me down in Texas, what he needs my help for. I reach for my phone, intending to call Ethan and ask, only to remember that my old cell is now a bunch of aluminum and glass on a San Antonio highway. “Son of a bitch,” I mutter. Fitzroy glances in the rearview at me, but he says nothing. I sit back in my seat and look at the city sliding past. I’ll touch base with Ethan tomorrow. For now, I need to work on finding Peaches.

I close my eyes and breathe slowly in through my mouth, taking the breath from my belly, then into my ribs, then my chest, then up to the crown of my head. I hold my breath for a count of five and then exhale slowly. I do it again, drawing air into my lungs, holding it, then releasing it. I don’t try to empty my mind or think of nothing, which is pretty impossible for me; I just let my thoughts swim past like fish in a tank without focusing on them. Instead, I focus on my breathing. A calm descends, muting the sounds of traffic. I’m making myself be still, gathering my strength. Settling into hunter mode.

By the time I open my eyes, the sun has fully dropped below the horizon and the streetlights are glowing. Fitzroy brings the cab to a stop outside the Store-N-Go. It’s a large three-story cube dropped onto an Atlanta city block between a Midas auto service center and a Subway. Fitzroy calls out the fare and I add an extra ten dollars. His smile broadens, and it’s a nice smile that reaches his eyes. “Thank you, miss,” he says. “You need me to stay here?”