Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
With each mile marker, it felt like Charlotte slipped further away.
Delaney gripped the steering wheel of the rental car, her knuckles white as she cruised along the beachfront road in Norfolk.
The November sun glinted off the water to her right, mockingly cheerful compared to the heaviness inside her.
To her left, an upscale golf course stretched in manicured perfection.
This was all she knew. Violet’s apartment had a view of the water and was within walking distance of a golf course.
But what constituted “walking distance”?
A mile, two? There were countless homes, apartment buildings, and condo complexes on this stretch of coastline. Violet could be in any of them.
Delaney did have one other piece of information, shared by Michael an hour before—the make and model of Violet’s car, an older gray Honda Civic. Norton had told him the Driftwood PD had that information, but he hadn’t given Noah or Delaney the details.
She’d spotted at least ten cars already that could fit the bill, none with the right plate number. For all she knew, Violet had stolen another car’s plate. Or stolen a car.
“This is never going to work.” How did she think she was going to find Charlotte when the police hadn’t been able to?
But she couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t, not until Charlotte was found. Maybe Delaney would look ridiculous for thinking she could do something. That’d be a small price to pay for trying to find the child she loved.
Michael was helping. If anybody could locate Violet, he could. He’d rescued his wife—girlfriend at the time—from a heavily guarded compound in the middle of Iraq, then escaped with her and her twin through Turkey, bad guys on their tail the whole way.
She figured the story had been embellished, but even so, the man was tenacious. If he could find Leila in a desert half a world away, surely he could find Violet in Norfolk, Virginia.
That thought kept her driving, scanning every parking lot, every storefront, every flash of movement that might lead her to Charlotte.
The question wasn’t could Michael do it. The question was, how soon?
Please, Father. Please lead me to her. Or the police, or anyone. Please, save Charlotte.
Her phone rang, Michael’s name lighting up the screen. She searched the unfamiliar dash for the button to answer through Bluetooth, then jabbed it. “Please tell me you have something.”
“Maybe.” Michael’s voice came through clear and focused. “Alyssa got this for me. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her it was for you.”
Delaney didn’t care who knew what she was doing, but it would be better if her family didn’t worry. “Tell me what she learned.”
“She was searching utility customers. No Violet Bosch or Heather Brown, but following that pattern—”
“What pattern?”
“First name’s a flower, second name begins with B.”
“Oh. I hadn’t noticed that.”
“Most people use patterns when they’re setting up aliases. It’s a rookie mistake.”
“Good catch.”
“There’s a utility customer under the name of Iris Benson. She activated the account about three months ago.”
Delaney ignored the surge of hope. “Where?”
“Alyssa’s still working on that. I’ll get back to you. I just wanted you to know we’re making progress. Don’t give up.”
“Thanks, cuz.” Delaney ended the call, still driving, still searching for Violet’s car. Maybe she’d get lucky.
One way or another, they had to find Charlotte. Delaney couldn’t fathom the pain Noah and Jasper—and she herself—would feel if they didn’t.