Chapter 17
Sophia was at Lettie's door by seven-fifteen, an hour after Tom's truck had cleared the driveway.
She'd been up since four. The schematics, at least what Angie was calling the schematics, were in a sealed envelope in her bag.
First Lydia had worked pulling together seventeen iterations of publicly available helicopter development documents, cross-referencing them against what little Angie had been able to piece together about the actual prototype's known specs.
Rylie had spent those same hours on the dark web calling in favors owed to a woman named Sylvia Hessman who technically didn't exist anymore, finding the right person who could then upgrade, alter and modify the documents so they'd survive scrutiny.
She had not explained in detail how that worked. Nobody had asked.
Lydia had the print-outs by five this morning.
And now, here she was, at Lettie’s door.
Sophia rang the bell.
Lettie answered in thirty seconds, already dressed, her eyes showing she hadn't slept either. She looked at Sophia's face, then at the bag in her hand, and stepped back to let her in without a word.
They sat at the kitchen table. Sophia put the envelope between them.
“These are fake,” she said. “I need you to understand that completely. They look real.”
Lettie opened the envelope and spread the pages across the table. “You’re right, they do look real.”
“They'll photograph well. They’ll not hold up to expert analysis, but that analysis takes time. Time we need.” She looked at Lettie steadily.
“You’re not handing over anything that puts Tom at risk.
You are not handing over anything that compromises the project.
What you’re doing is buying us another window. ”
Lettie looked down at the papers again.
“How long?”
“We don't know exactly. Long enough.”
“Long enough for what?” Lettie asked again.
Sophia held her gaze. “Long enough.”
Lettie was quiet for a moment. Then she reached out and put her hand flat on the fake schematics, resting her palm there.
“You think you know where she is,” Lettie said.
It wasn't a question.
Sophia didn't answer right away.
“We're working on it,” she said carefully. “Now Lettie, tell me again, exactly how Mary wanted you to hand over the photographs you were going to take.”
Lettie straightened slightly. “She gave me a number. Told me to text the photographs when I had them.”
“But you never had them. Because you couldn't drug Tom.”
“No.” Lettie's voice was flat. “I couldn't do it.”
“So Mary has been waiting. And running out of patience.” Sophia tapped the papers.
“Which is exactly why you're not texting these to a number.
You're walking into that coffee shop and sitting down across from her.
And before she sees a single page, you're going to ask her to prove to you that Bree is alive.”
Lettie went very still.
“Proof of life,” Sophia said. “A photo. A video. Bree holding today's newspaper, saying today's date—whatever Mary can produce. You don't hand over anything until you have something real in return.”
“She'll say no.”
“She might push back. But think about it from Mary's side.
She needs what's on your phone. She has a clock running, too. And if you walk out of that coffee shop without delivering, she has to explain to whoever is above her why her asset went sideways.” Sophia held her gaze.
“She needs you to cooperate more than you need to give her what she wants. Use that.”
Lettie looked down at the papers under her palm. She was quiet for a long moment.
“What if she says she can't get proof?” Lettie asked. “What if she says Bree is fine but she can't—what if she won't—”
“Then you stand up and you tell her you'll be back when she can.” Sophia kept her voice steady. “You do not give her anything without getting something first. Are you clear on that?”
Lettie lifted her chin. The exhaustion was still there, the weeks of it carved into her face, but underneath it something had shifted. Something that looked like the particular fury of a woman who has run out of patience for being afraid.
“Clear,” she said.
Sophia got to the Bay Brew twenty minutes before Lettie was due.
She ordered a water and a cookie from the college-age girl at the register, things that didn’t require her to interact with Mary, and paid cash.
Then she settled at a table against the side wall with a clear sightline to the counter without being directly in the eyeline of anyone working it.
She had her phone out. She looked like a woman with somewhere to be in an hour. Nothing more.
She did not look up when Mary came out from the back.
She didn't need to. She could track her in her peripheral vision. Mary was efficient, someone comfortable in their space. Sophia heard her voice briefly, warm and unhurried, greeting someone at the counter.
She looked at her phone and waited.
Lettie came through the door at eight fifty-one.
Sophia watched her from behind her reading glasses and did not move. Lettie stood just inside the entrance for a moment, her bag over her shoulder. Her spine was straight. She was a woman with a purpose.
She didn't go to the counter to order. Her eyes zeroed in on Mary, and she walked directly toward her.
Sophia watched Mary register Lettie's approach. Something in her posture shifted. She said something to the other barista and came around the end of the counter.
They didn't go to the corner table immediately. There was a brief exchange standing up, with Lettie saying something low and Mary's head tilting slightly. Then Mary gestured toward the corner and they sat.
There was no hope of Sophia hearing them with all the ambient noise, but she took note of the careful stillness of Lettie's hands on the table. The way she leaned in. The way that Mary’s brows raised.
Sophia watched Lettie talk. Watched her keep her voice low and her back straight and her eyes steady on Mary.
Watched Mary's expression stay pleasantly composed, the warmth that Sophia now understood was simply what her face did when she was working.
And she watched the slight pause when Lettie finished speaking.
From where Sophia was sitting, she could see Lettie’s right leg shaking. That was it, the only outward sign that she was nervous.
Good for her.
Mary shook her head.
Lettie pushed back from the table, and Mary grabbed her wrist. Then she nodded at Lettie, and Lettie sat back down.
Mary took out her phone and made a call, her eyes focused on Lettie the entire time. Sophia watched her lips move. Watched as she listened. Watched her lips move again. And again. She was clearly arguing with someone. Finally, she nodded.
Sophia had her phone out. She texted Lydia so that they could do the scan. Maybe, God willing, pinpoint the call here in the coffee shop, and trace it back to its origin.
Mary set her phone down on the table and Lettie looked down at it. Waiting. Willing it to ring. Sophia counted. She reached the number eighty-six. The phone rang.
Mary pressed something, and the relief that crossed Lettie’s face was a thing of beauty. She tried to pick up the phone and Mary pulled it away, shaking her head. Lettie bit her lip and nodded. She kept it together. God bless her, she kept it together.
Then Mary reached into her pocket and set her phone on the table between them, screen up.
Lettie looked at the phone. She didn't touch it. She looked at it for a long time—long enough that Sophia felt the seconds accumulate in her own chest—and then she reached into her bag and pulled out her own phone.
She navigated to something. Turned it to face Mary. Mary looked at the screen without touching it, scrolling through the images with one finger, unhurried, the way you looked at something you had been waiting a long time to see.
Then she nodded.
Mary then gave her an expectant look. Lettie pulled out her phone, and Sophia’s phone buzzed.
I’ve got a lock. Three block radius.
Lettie bent down over her phone. She was typing in something.
Mary fished out another phone from her pocket, and waited.
Lettie looked up. Mary nodded. She said something fast, then she got up, and took one step back toward the counter.
Lettie got up so fast, her chair tilted and almost fell to the floor. She grabbed the back of Mary’s blouse.
“Wait!”
Half of the coffee shop patrons looked up and stared. Mary turned around, furious.
“Sit back down.”
Mary sat.
Sophia knew that Lettie was demanding to know the specifics on when and where she would get Bree back. Apparently whatever Mary had said before hadn’t been enough.
Good for Lettie.
Mary talked fast, now keeping her face pleasant, like she was trying to mollify an upset customer. She finally stood up. “The next cup is on the house,” she said as she smoothed her apron and moved back behind the bar.
Lettie got up and turned, spotting Sophia.
“Sophia, I didn't know you were here.”
“Yep. This is a nice surprise. Is everything sorted?” She smiled, and let her eyes move briefly, naturally, to Mary.
Mary was looking at her. Not surprised. Almost as if she’d been aware of Sophia’s presence from the beginning.
“Walk out with me?” Sophia asked Lettie.
“Sure,” Lettie said.
She glanced back at Mary. “Thank you.”
“Always.” Mary's voice was warm. She looked at Lettie, then let her gaze travel to Sophia and settle there without hurry.
“I hope you'll both come back later today.
We're doing a zucchini bread.” The warmth stayed exactly where it was, not shifting by a degree.
“You should try it, Sophia. It's wonderful.
Better than anything else I've found at any other bakery.” A small gracious smile. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Sophia smiled back. “I'll keep that in mind.”
She put her hand lightly on Lettie's arm and they walked out together.
They walked out without talking until they'd cleared the coffee shop window. Then Lettie let out a long exhale. It was the sound of someone who had been holding their breath for a very long time.
“I got to see Bree,” Lettie said. Her voice was just above a whisper. “Bree. She looked scared, but she was talking. She said the date. She said she was okay.” Her throat worked. “She looked right at the camera and she said she was okay.”
Sophia kept her hand on her arm.
“She held up,” Lettie said. “She's holding up.”
Sophia steered her gently around a crack in the sidewalk the way you did with someone who wasn't watching where they were going. “She is absolutely her mother's daughter.”
Lettie made a sound that was almost a laugh. Not quite. But almost.
They stopped at the corner where their cars were in opposite directions. Lettie looked at her.
“She knew who you were,” Lettie said. “Mary. She knew exactly who you were, and that you were there waiting for me.”
“Yes.”
“She’s going to check the files. I have to come back to the coffee shop. If her people are satisfied, she’ll tell me where to pick up Bree.” She stopped and stared at Sophia. “Are the… Are you absolutely positive that the files are good enough?”
“Absolutely, Lettie. I wouldn’t screw with Bree’s life. Just like I wouldn’t with Kayla’s.”
Lettie exhaled again.
“Go home. When she calls you, I’ll come back with you.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Trust me, she’ll be expecting it.”
Lettie gave her one last look. Hopeful. Terrified. Exhausted.
“Go, honey. You’re going to see your daughter soon.”
She waited until Lettie had turned the corner. Then she walked to her car, got in, and sat with her hands in her lap.
She thought about the zucchini bread comment. About the way Mary had delivered it, so perfectly calibrated, so warmly aimed, the smile never shifting. The threat wrapped so neatly in graciousness that anyone watching would have seen two women being polite.
She pulled out her phone and called Lydia.
“It's done,” she said when Lydia picked up. “Lettie got proof of life. Mary has the photos.” She paused. “And Mary wanted me to know she knows exactly who I am.”
“How'd she do it?”
“Zucchini bread,” Sophia said.
A beat of silence.
“So that’s a whole other problem.”
“Yeah, but you’ve narrowed down where she’s being kept.”
“And I’ve got even better news. Get over here.”
The line went dead.