Page 141 of Liar's Point

“What do you think she wanted out of her locker?” she asked from behind him.

“My guess? A go bag. Maybe she was keeping cash or supplies or something—whatever she might need to leave town in a hurry.”

“I don’t see any cameras inside anywhere,” Nicole said.

“There weren’t any out front either.” He pushed open the back door and held it for her as he glanced around. “None back here either. Shit.”

His gaze fell on the little white Mustang parked beside the dumpster. He pulled a pair of latex gloves from the pocket of his jacket as he stepped over to check out the car.

“Colorado plates,” Nicole observed.

He tried the door. “It’s open,” he said, glancing at her over the roof.

He reached inside and popped the trunk as Nicole crutched over.

Emmet braced himself for the possibility of a duffel bag with a dead woman inside it.

There was a duffel back there—not nearly big enough for a body—and several grocery bags containing snack foods and toiletries. Beneath the bags was a pallet of bottled waters.

“Looks like provisions,” he said. “I think she got cold feet about coming in to talk to us and decided to hit the road.”

“And then what?”

He looked at her. “I think somebody grabbed her.”

“Hey.”

They glanced up as Owen stepped outside.

“Brady needs all of us back ASAP.”

“Why?” Emmet asked.

“The FBI is here.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SIX

Nicole had expected Agent Driscoll from San Antonio, but it wasn’t just him. No fewer than three federal agents were crowded into the conference room with Brady, Owen, and Adam, and everyone stood huddled around the giant whiteboard where photographs from Aubrey’s case had been put on display.

“How can you be sure?” Brady was asking Driscoll as Nicole followed Emmet into the room. “He’s wearing shades.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Driscoll said.

“Our program can penetrate disguises,” another agent put in.

This guy was young, thin, and wore wire-rimmed glasses. Nicole had never seen him before.

“The program analyzes numerous features—some of which are impossible to cover, even with plastic surgery.” The agent pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and then pointed to a photograph taped to the whiteboard. “For example, the distance between nostrils. The placement of the ears on the side of the head. Features that are nearly impossible to alter. The program comes up with a score—a probability, if you will—and assigns it to the image.”

Nicole moved closer to the whiteboard, where someone had taped up several new photographs. She recognized a still image from the video that Liam Shaunessy had recorded on his phone. Technicians had zoomed in on the man getting out of Aubrey’s car and enhanced the picture so that the distant image looked remarkably clear.

“And this one is a high probability?” Brady asked, sounding skeptical as usual.

“Very high,” a third agent responded.

The third guy was older—probably midforties—and wore a navy windbreaker with FBI printed on the back in yellow block letters.

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