Everyone gave her a look. “Ours?” Faber asked.

Beck glanced at Sawyer. “Yeah. I’m coming with. If I’m right, then I got us this far,” she added, quickly.

“And if you’re wrong,” Faber murmured, “you just wasted forty man hours.” She sighed, though, looking at Sawyer again. “You’re the fed. This is your rodeo. You want the doc to pair up?”

“Why that one?” Sawyer asked, nodding at the photo she’d picked off the stack.

Ilse’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t blink. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

“Right. She’s with me,” Sawyer said, shrugging at Faber, who smirked.

“Fine,” Faber said. “The rest of you grab a photo. Head to the address. Call backup if you see anything untoward. You know what that word means, Vick?”

The man snorted. “Untowards your face, Faber.”

The pixie-cut sergeant snorted. “Good one. Right, well, grab a photo. Head off. Guess the Bureau’s taking cues from civies now.”

Sawyer tapped Ilse on the arm. Before he could indicate she follow, though, she stepped past him and quickly moved ahead. Then, without looking back, she beckoned him with a crook of her finger. He blinked after her for a moment as she strode away, the photo clutched in one hand.

Despite himself, a small smile crept across his lips. He hid it in a cough, though, and then followed Dr. Beck out of the precinct.

Was she right after all? What were the odds? Had she remembered Samantha Wright’s words correctly? Had Ms. Wright remembered the past correctly?

Somewhere out there, Samantha’s time was running out. They didn’t have another lead. Maybe there was a chance… a chance of a chance. Maybe, just maybe, they had a chance at finding this old abductor’s address. Active for twenty years…

Sawyer shivered, frowning as he did. He wouldn’t make it personal. Couldn’t allow it. But even for him, the thought made his skin crawl.

He could only hope Dr. Beck was right. Otherwise, things were looking grim for Samantha Wright.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The gloomy, overcast weather marked the horizon as Ilse watched Agent Sawyer drive through the narrow roads south of the city. At least this time, he’d allowed her a seat up front, though he’d seemed reluctant to do so.

Ilse’s eyes kept darting from the printed photo in her hand to the road ahead of them. The GPS from Agent Sawyer’s phone kept chirping. His eyes were fixed on the road. As they traversed beneath gray skies, Agent Sawyer murmured, “Tell me again why we can’t use your phone’s GPS?”

This was the first he’d spoken to her in the nearly twenty-minute drive south from the station. She cleared her throat delicately, glancing toward the lanky form of the BAU agent. “I have a dumb phone,” she murmured. “It doesn’t have GPS.” She pulled out her old flip phone to show it to him.

He glanced over, then returned his attention back to the road. A few moments passed, but then, to her surprise, he spoke again. “You’re not a drug dealer, are you?”