“I assume I can start combing through this?” Duarte asked.

  “Yes. Malone, Reyes, do the same, but let Duarte take the lead. You understand internet culture the best. You showed that with the Sac State Rape Organization. I’d like you to parse out what needs the most immediate attention. Assign Reyes and Malone as you see fit.” Malone and Reyes nodded at Michelson.

  “What about us?” Laurel asked.

  “You’re civilians. If there’s anything Duarte thinks you can help with, then he will let you know. But we’re going to treat you like a civilian contractor because that’s what you are.”

  “Jesus Christ. Not you too,” Laurel said.

  “Me too what?” Michelson asked.

  “Reyes is on a whole ‘you make poor decisions’ kick too.”

  “This isn’t that.” Michelson put his hand up. “Make all the poor decisions you want. Our job is to keep you safe. You and Braddock have very specific knowledge. If we need that specific knowledge, we will ask. But otherwise, we just need you to follow directions and not take unnecessary risks.”

  “Where does laser tag land on the necessary risk scale?” I asked.

  “It’s not on the scale at all.”

  “At all? Seems like your list might have some gaps, man.”

  “Yeah, that’s on me,” Michelson said very seriously.

  “So I guess laser tag is out for this afternoon?” I said. Duarte tried not to smile. Malone and Reyes shook their heads. Michelson laughed. “What? I thought it would be a fun team building activity.”

  “I still call dibs on Kallen’s team,” Duarte said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Boyd’s printer came in handy when Duarte started printing reams of Henry’s internet history. Laurel and I were given pages of WhatsApp messages to see if we could glean any information. We weren’t making much progress.

  “How can he be so boring? He’s a former LEO. He was a dirty cop. He’s been on the run for a year. And yet his texts are complete garbage.” Laurel flipped the page in her packet with a bit more vim than necessary.

  “I told you he wasn’t that interesting.”

  “What conversation do you have?” she asked.

  “Toy Story Cowboy.” Seriously. That was the name. Not Woody, but Toy Story Cowboy. “What do you have?”

  “Raphael.”

  Henry’s screen name was Iron Man, which was severely uninspired. We also had Professor Utonium. The Professor Utonium conversation was the shortest. It was only six messages. They consisted of Henry explaining that he had a new burner, a confirmation of said burner, a question about whether or not a line was secure, and a confirmation of the security of the line. There was also a solo message with a purple heart and another with a rocket ship. Not the most illuminating of emojis.

  Toy Story Cowboy alternated between sharing his exploits boning an allegedly freaky girl and various sheriff movements. He was providing vehicle placements, air surveillance, and locations of raids. He never seemed to have much detail, just that things were happening. We’d decided he was clearly EDSO, but the information was fairly easy to come by. Any sheriff in the county could access it. Hell, anyone with a keen ear and a police scanner app could figure out most of it. There was nothing to narrow down who he was.

  “Ugh.” Laurel was lying on the couch with her knees bent. I was definitely not thinking about how nice it would be to join her on the couch. She leaned over and tossed her packet on the coffee table between us. I was sitting in a wingback with my feet on the table. The packet hit the bottom of my foot and bounced back toward her. “You said the Professor one was even shorter?”

  “Yeah.” I grabbed the sheet with the Professor Utonium messages and held it out. She took it. I traded Toy Story Cowboy for Raphael. It was a quick read. More messages, but with a code that was impossible to decipher. It was all E36-APV 1400 and PFV-8CA5 0900, which was extremely unhelpful. There were also discussions about speedboats and Jet Skis. Henry’s responses suggested he didn’t actually know much about various watercraft, but he didn’t want Raphael to know that. He did, however, have a lot of opinions about color.

  “How’s the reading going?” Reyes asked. He sat next to Laurel on the couch. She moved her feet to make more room for him.

  “It’s not. This is gibberish,” Laurel said.

  “And these guys are dumb,” I said.

  “How so?”

  “Who would opt for a navy blue Jet Ski when lime green with purple accents is an option? Come on. That’s a no-brainer.” I shook my head.

  Reyes looked at Laurel and she shrugged. “She’s right. That is a no-brainer,” she said.

  “What about you?” I asked.

  Reyes shook his head. “I’m reading the most recent entries to the cloud account where he documented you two. It’s creepy.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know we had access to that,” I said.

  “Yep. It’s all the same stuff we had access to previously, but it picks up where the other left off.”

  “Neat.”

  “If it’s the same shit as before, where are all his other WhatsApp messages?” Laurel pushed herself into a sitting position.

  “We don’t have them. They were encrypted?” Reyes made it a question as if we would know the answer. But Laurel and I weren’t big on the digital encryption knowledge. “With this burner, he apparently didn’t think to change the privacy settings. Or he thought the settings would transfer over. I don’t know. Either way, the texts are decrypted when they’re backed up on his cloud account so that’s how we can read them.”

  “What a dipshit,” I said with the full confidence of someone who would have made the exact same mistake.

  “Is there anything illuminating on the internet history?” Laurel asked.

  “No.” He nodded at Malone. “Malone is looking through the browser history, but it’s mostly porn. Unimaginative porn.”

  “Right. I’ll stop bitching about boring text messages then.” I had no desire to look into whatever it was Henry got off to.

  There was a knock at the front door.

  “That’ll be Duarte. We’re going to review what we’ve learned over dinner. You guys in?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sure.”

  “Wanna pop into your rooms so we can let him in?” Reyes asked.

  We rolled our eyes and huffed a little, but we did it. Ten minutes later, we were all set up around the dining room table with burgers and fries. Duarte had come through with another six-pack for me and Laurel. When Boyd did dinner runs, he never remembered beer.

  Duarte did a quick review of each chunk of data we were looking at before turning to Malone. “What have you found in the internet history?” Duarte asked.

  “Aside from porn, he looked up Jet Ski specs. He also googled ‘cool cities in Mexico’ before looking up real estate, hiking, and nightlife in each city on the list,” Malone said.

  I laughed. They all looked at me. “What? That’s hilarious. Cool cities in Mexico? It’s so uninspired.”

  “What would be inspired?” Boyd finally asked.

  “Well, you’d look at like Mexico City or Guadalajara. Because everyone knows they are cool places.”

  “Right, sure. Everyone,” Reyes said.

  I glared at him. “And then you would look at which areas have activities or environment you’re into. I’d look for beaches. Laurel would look for trails to run.” Duarte and Laurel appeared to agree with me. The rest of the guys looked confused. “Jeez. It’s like none of you are former drug dealers who had to check out international cities to live in.” I shook my head and sipped my beer.

  Reyes grinned. “Fair point. I’ve never given fleeing much thought.”

  “So what else did he look up?” Duarte asked.

  Malone flipped through his notes. “New grips for his gun. He opted for a neon blue that’s responsive to black light for a Glock and silver tooled sacred heart for a Smith & Wesson revolver.”

  “Oh, good. He’s armed to the teeth,” Reyes said.

  “And he spent three hours one night looking at different beard styles and conditioning products,” Malone said.

  “Wow. That’s…” Duarte looked at me. I shrugged at him. He grinned. “Embarrassing, honestly.”

  Reyes and Laurel laughed. “Is there anything else?” Reyes asked.

  “Nothing,” Malone said.

  “What did you two find in the texts?” Duarte asked me and Laurel.

  “Nothing. The important stuff is all coded. The remainder is just gross. Hot chicks and speedboats,” Laurel said.

  “What kind of code?” Duarte asked.

  I looked through the Raphael messages. “Shit like E36-APV 1400.”

  “E36? Does that mean anything to anyone?” Duarte looked around the table.

  Boyd set down his burger and reached for the packet. “Can I see it?”

  “Sure.” I handed it over.

  He read and nodded. “Airport codes. I’ll double check, but I think they’re all small airports.”

  “No shit,” Duarte said.

  “So the superhero gang is flying something out of small airports?” Reyes asked.

  “Looks like.” Boyd typed on his laptop. “It’ll take me a bit, but I can figure out all these codes and translate them. Like, for example, PFV is Placerville.”

  “Technically, they’re not superheroes,” I said.

  “Yes, that’s the important part,” Laurel said.

  Duarte gave me a look. “Uhh, technically, they are.”

  “Woody is not a superhero,” I said.

  “Okay, but he’s heroic. Close enough.”

  “What about Professor Utonium?” I pointed at him with a french fry.

  “He’s part of X-Men.” Duarte looked at me like I was losing my grip on reality. “They’re definitely superheroes.”

  I shook my head and swallowed. “Umm, no.”

  “X-Men are absolutely superheroes,” Malone said.

  I was quite tickled that we’d brought him into one of our idiotic discussions. But he was still wrong. “X-Men are totally superheroes, but Professor Utonium isn’t one of the X-Men.”

  Malone sighed. “Okay, he’s the leader of the X-Men. A mentor still counts as a superhero.”

  “He’s right,” Boyd said. “Nick Fury is a superhero.”

  “I’m not disagreeing with any of that. But Professor Xavier is who you’re thinking of,” I said.

  “Oh,” Malone said.

  “Oh,” Duarte said.

  “Who’s Professor Utonium?” Boyd asked.

  “He’s the scientist who created the Powerpuff Girls. Obviously.”

  “Obviously,” Laurel said. I shot her a look. “What? I knew that.”

  “Name the Powerpuff Girls,” I said.

  “Blue, red, and green,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes. “Those aren’t their names.”

  “Okay, you name them.”

  “Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup. Boom, motherfucker,” I said.

  “How? How do you know shit like that?” Laurel asked.

  I smirked. “Not just a pretty face.”

  “You’re a jackass,” Reyes said.

  “Fine.” I sighed. “I went to school with a kid who was obsessed with the Powerpuff Girls. It started in second grade and it lasted well into high school. He was my lab partner in bio.” I turned to Laurel. “And also I remember weird shit.”

  “That doesn’t exactly explain why you remember their names.” Duarte grimaced. “Unless it was you. Are you secretly obsessed with the Powerpuff Girls?”

  “No, but I’m terrible at biology. I memorized Powerpuff facts, Curtis got me through bio. It was a solid partnership.”

  “Not to be a downer, but I think we’re a little sidetracked here,” Boyd said.

  “Good point. Reyes, anything useful in the Kallen-Braddock stalking files?” Duarte asked.

  “No, it’s all just the same disturbing shit.”

  “Wait,” I said. They all turned to look at me. “I’m sorry. Curtis, the bio kid. He was in chem with Henry. They became friends. At the time, I thought it was a pity move to get girls, but what if they’re still friends?” There was silence.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Reyes said.

  “What’s the last name?” Boyd asked.

  I tried to come up with it, but there was nothing. “I don’t remember. Mill something. Miller? Milner?”

  “You remember Professor Utonium, but not his last name?” Duarte asked.

  “Well, I don’t remember any biology either,” I said.

  “How can we find out? Can we call the high school?” Laurel asked.

  “It might tip someone off. We still don’t know who is helping Brewer,” Malone said.

  “Yearbooks? Any chance you have one?” Reyes asked. “We could send a uniform to your place to pick it up.”

  “No, they’re in Clive’s garage.” I stood to get my phone out of my pocket. “Give me a second.” I hit Clive’s name. It rang for a minute.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey. Listen, can you do me a favor?” I asked. I knew he would. It didn’t matter if we weren’t speaking, he would show up when I needed him. Being angry was a luxury, a privilege born out of an excess of love.

  “Yes, of course. What do you need?”

  “There are a couple of tubs in the garage labeled ‘Cash Memories.’ My yearbooks are in them. Can you pull them out?”

  “Sure.” He hesitated. “What do you want me to do with them?”

  “For now, just let me know if you can find them.” Just because I imagined I knew the location didn’t mean it was the actual location.

  “Okay. Does it need to be now?”

  “Kind of, yeah.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll call you back in a minute.” He hung up.

  “Clive’s checking,” I said.

  “Who is Clive?” Boyd asked.

  “My uncle.”

  Ten minutes later, Clive called back. “I’ve got them. You didn’t specify which so I grabbed first through twelfth grade.”

  “No shit. Okay. I need to find a specific kid I went to school with. His first name is Curtis. Last name starts with Mill, I think.”

  “Are you messing with me?” he asked.

  “No, I swear.”

  “Okay, what years were you in school with him?”

  “All of them, but start with ninth grade.”

  “I’m putting you on speaker,” he said. I heard a tick when he tapped the screen. Then I heard the creak of a book spine opening. “How are you? Marjorie said you’d been put into a safe house?”

  “I’m okay. I’d rather not be in a safe house, but it’s not terrible.”

  “Millard,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Curtis Millard. Could that be him?”

  “Holy shit. Yeah, I think so. Can you send me a photo?”

  “Just take a photo of the yearbook page?”

  “Yeah. Quality doesn’t matter. I just want to make sure it’s him.”

  “Sure. Sure. Page forty-seven,” he muttered. I heard the flop of heavy pages. “Okay. Photo is coming to you.”

  My phone vibrated. I pulled it away from my ear to look at the screen. It was little Curtis all right. “Yep. This is him. Thanks, Clive.”

  “Yeah, no problem. You sure you’re okay?”

  “I am. I swear.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  We hung up. Everyone at the table was staring at me intently. “Curtis Millard.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Over the next hour, Clive slowly sent me every single yearbook photo of Curtis. In third, fourth, and sixth grade he was wearing Powerpuff T-shirts. In seventh, he was wearing a Professor Utonium shirt. By eighth, he must have figured out it wasn’t making him any friends. Of course, the bedazzled Ed Hardy shirt he’d worn instead was a whole different level of terrible. I wondered if his jeans were embroidered too. But I knew they were.

  Malone contacted Michelson and Agent Jalen, the FBI tech who had only been cleared ninety minutes before we made the Professor Utonium connection. They were running background on Curtis, but the guy was a ghost. He’d bought a small house in Garden Valley about six months before, but they hadn’t been able to find a job or social media or any digital footprint. He didn’t even have utilities. Dude was off the grid.

  Boyd was in a deep dive with small airports. He was trying to match flight plans with the airports and times, but we could only speculate on dates. It was a slog. But it was also our best bet at identifying Raphael.

  Toy Story Cowboy was our main focus. He was clearly a sheriff, but beyond that we couldn’t find anything to identify him. Laurel and I pored over the messages he’d sent Henry, hoping some detail would jump out. We’d started making notes about the girl he was sleeping with in the hope we could identify her. Thus far, nothing. And it was starting to feel skeevy.

  Laurel readjusted her seat at the table and rolled her shoulders. She winced.

  “You doing okay?” I asked quietly.

  “Fine. My stitches are itchy.”

  “You have stitches?”

  “Yeah, from where he got my shoulder.” She pulled the neck of her shirt aside so I could see the white gauze again.

  “Oh, yeah. Didn’t you pull a stitch before?”

  “Yep. Not pleasant.”

  “What about your thigh?” I glanced at the offending thigh but couldn’t see anything aside from her chinos.

  “Those itch too. It’s all itchy. I mean, it’s healing so that’s a good thing, but it’s super uncomfortable.”

  “Does anything help?”

  She shrugged the non-injured shoulder. “When I clean it and change the bandage, it’s a different kind of discomfort. I was supposed to get the stitches out yesterday, but you know, safe house.”

  “Isn’t that like bad?”

  “It’s probably not good. I had Duarte get me supplies to remove the stitches, but I haven’t had the courage to do it.”