“I wouldn’t share it.” Please let it be proof that Lena’s in Texas. Far, far away from my parents and Grace.

“Okay. I’ll send a picture. Take a good look, then delete it. I’m not even supposed to have it, but I want you to believe me when I say the best thing you can do is stay put. Will you do that for me?”

“I will.” Send it. Send it now.

“I’m not gonna lie to you. I’m ninety percent sure Lena’s in Texas, but a few weeks ago I would have been ninety percent sure I didn’t know any serial killers. I’m going to call the FBI office up there. You need someone watching you, just to be sure.”

“I asked the cop who was just here, and he said he’d see what he could do.”

“Not good enough. Let me make some more calls. I know you’re going crazy waiting. I know this is hard, but if you just hang tight, I’ll let you know as soon as there’s news, I swear.” She spoke to someone out of range. “Okay, I have to go. Stay safe.”

“Wait …” But she was gone, and I was alone, and certain that eyes were watching from behind the curtains of every house on the street. After all, I was a stranger here, squatting in a sublet apartment, and the police had just left. Good. I hoped they were watching, and that if they saw Lena, they’d call the cops.

My phone buzzed with the picture Alondra had promised and a single word: Laredo.

Cupping my hands over the screen of my phone to reduce glare, I squinted at what appeared to be a security shot of a woman approaching the counter of a convenience store. Tall, broad shouldered, with her hair crammed under a baseball cap. A Skeeters cap. The color in the photo was washed out like a snap from the seventies, but her hair was somewhere between brown and red. This woman looked a lot more like Lena than the photo from Aimee’s feed.

And the time-stamped date was yesterday.

My shallow breathing slowed. Not Houston. But Texas. Laredo, five hours away from Michael. Almost two thousand miles away from me and Aimee. Right on the way to Mexico.

Could I believe this?

Maybe. I could picture Lena backlit on a beach, a sunset reflecting in her blazing hair, a margarita in her hand. Mexico sounded right.

That would mean we were safe here in this house. For now. But then this nightmare would never be over. Lena could always come back from her tropical vacation and get right back to work. Our home wouldn’t be safe, our friends, our family.

There’d be no end.