Page 102 of All the Missing Pieces

Ridley nodded. “Not gonna break.”

“That’s my girl.” I released her and slipped back into the closet, quickly changing into jeans and a tee. But I left the door open. I couldn’t stand not having eyes on Ridley for even asecond. My alarm was set and the doors were locked, but I still wasn’t about to risk it.

The second I was changed, I headed back out to my bedroom and took Ridley’s hand, leading her back to the living room. The moment we sat on the couch, Bowser dropped his head into Ridley’s lap. Her free hand immediately began to scratch and pet, but her other still held the phone in a death grip.

I tried to keep my voice steady, calm, even as anger surged in fiery waves. “Can I have it?”

Ridley didn’t make a move to hand the device to me for a moment, just kept petting Bowser. Finally, she flipped the device over and punched in a passcode. She didn’t make any attempt to keep the code from me, but whether that was from shock or her simply telling me she had nothing to hide, I wasn’t sure.

I gently took the phone from her. The Instagram app was still open. I fought to keep my expression as neutral as possible as I took in the endless stream of comments. There were countless screen names with threats and other disgusting messages.

The use of Emerson’s name in more than a handful had me pulling out my own phone and assigning an officer to sit outside her house for the night. But it wasn’t long before I saw a pattern. There were only about twelve unique phrases and even fewer names. It looked as if someone had put them all in a jar and kept mixing them up to use over and over again. A computer program of some sort maybe?

Ridley’s phone dinged in my hand, and I scowled at the screen.

Baker

For fuck’s sake, call me. We need to get a handle on this.

This prick needed to take a flying leap.

“I need to call him,” Ridley said. Her voice wasn’t quiet. It was robotic. So unlike her.

“The hell you do.”

That had her pulling up, a little life flooding back into her cheeks. “He’ll never leave me alone otherwise.”

“Maybe he’s the one who’s leaving the comments in the first place.”

Ridley’s jaw went slack as shock set in, but it quickly fled as she mulled over the idea. “It’s possible. He likes any sort of press attention.”

“There’s a pattern in these. A few root phrases. I’m guessing it was done with a software program. I want to get your phone to our tech team?—”

Ridley snatched it out of my hold. “No.”

I pinned her with a stare. “This isn’t something you can just brush off.”

“I know that. And I’ll give you my Instagram login and password, but you don’t get my actual phone. I need it. It has access to the tip line app, and it’s how I’m in contact with sources.”

My molars ground together as I struggled not to lash out in search of control. “Maybe you should be taking a break from all that.”

Ridley sent me a look that asked if I was a moron.

I should’ve guessed as much. These past couple of weeks, while we'd put as many pieces together as we could, Ridley was doing the same on her show. She even interviewed a psychologist who specialized in the developing criminal mind. If she didn’t pause after an attack and concussion, she wasn’t going to pause for anything.

“Fuck,” I muttered.

“I have a friend who can help. He’s good with computers and all things tech,” Ridley assured me.

My eyes narrowed. “What kind of friend?”

She sent me a wincing smile. “One that bends the rules of legalities but gets excellent results. The white hat I told you about before.”

“Jesus.” I dropped my head to my hand, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“My contact can find out what’s going on. Probably even track this creep’s IP address.”

My spine snapped straight. “None of which I’d be able to use because it was gotten illegally.”

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