“Well, I think it’s cute,” Astra says.

“As in, you need to be high to carry that,” Paige finishes.

As they share a giggle, a tall, willowy blonde steps out of the back, and the moment she sees us, I can see her assessing us. Her hair is perfect, her makeup is immaculate, and the outfit she’s wearing probably cost more than everything hanging in my closet at home. The smile on her perfectly painted lips slips as she takes in our decidedly not-designer pantsuits and lack of high-end fashion accessories and decides we don’t have the sort of money required to shop here.

“May I help you?” she asks with barely disguised disdain.

I flash her my badge. “Chief Wilder. This SSA Russo and Special Agent Boyle,” I say. “Are you the manager here?”

An expression of mild concern flits across the woman’s otherwise icy features, but it quickly melts away, and a look of understanding dawns upon her face. Obviously, our status as civil servants and the federal paycheck that comes with it explains why three very unfashionably dressed women are darkening her doorstep. She draws herself up to her full five-eleven stature, her gaze growing even frostier.

“I’m Deza; this is my shop,” she says. “What can I do for you?”

“Great. We’re investigating a possible abduction, and we noticed the camera under the awning out there,” I say. “I was hoping we could get a look at the footage—”

“Do you have a warrant?” she asks.

“No. No, we don’t,” I admit. “But we’re talking about the abduction of a child, and I was hoping I could convince you to help us because it’s the right thing to do.”

Deza folds her arms over her chest, her posture defensive, and her expression stony and cold. She looks less interested in doing the right thing than she is in running us out of her shop. She looks at us as if our mere presence in her shop devalues her goods. Astra, the only one of the three of us who can match Deza’s modelesque good looks and impeccable sense of fashion, steps forward and fixes her with a gaze just as cool as hers.

“Listen, Deza,” Astra starts, her tone sweet yet firm. “We don’t care about your bags. We don’t care about your cute little accessories. They are cute, though. We don’t care about your bottom line or your business or your reputation. What we want are those—” she jerks a thumb toward the cameras—“to take a look at the alley. Because if we have to come back with a big team, and a warrant, just to look at your cameras… I can’t imagine what that would do for foot traffic.”

The woman’s expression turns sour, but Astra’s words hit her where they hurt. She glares at Astra and says nothing for a long moment, but then finally waves her hand.

“Fine,” she says. “Follow me.”

I give Astra a grateful nod. “Hang out here and see if you find something you like. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Oh, are you buying? I was thinking of this little number…”

“Not on your life.”

Chuckling to myself, I follow Deza through the back of the shop and into a small office that’s as clean, tidy, and austere as the rest of the shop. She sits down at her desk and turns the monitor to me.

“What is the footage you need?” she asks, sounding somewhat defeated.

I check the data Nina had given to me from Ashley’s phone and relay that to Deza. She types it in, and a moment later, I’m watching footage of a man dressed in black from head to toe stepping out of the alley we were just standing in. He’s wearing a yellow mask—it’s round and looks like a happy face emoji under his black hoodie, and for some reason, that detail chills me to the bone.

The smiley-face man grabs at Ashley, but she throws herself out of his reach and falls hard on the pavement. The man closes on her and reaches for her again, but the girl scrambles to her feet and looks as if she’s about to turn and run. I’m silently telling her to run. To get away. But I know I’m watching a movie I already know the ending to. If Ashley had been able to escape, I wouldn’t be standing here watching it all happening to her right now.

“My God,” Deza whispers. “I can’t believe this happened just outside. I had no idea…”

Her voice tapers off as Smiley-Face pulls something out of his pocket, and I realize instantly that it’s a Taser. Ashley’s body instantly locks up as he sends a charge through her, and she falls to the ground again. I watch in horror as he casually steps forward, picks her up, and slings the girl’s limp body over his shoulder like a sack of laundry. A second later, he disappears back into the alley. And several seconds after that, a black panel van drives out of the alley, turns left, and is gone from view.

“I need a copy of this, Deza. Please,” I say.

“Who is she?” the woman asks breathlessly.

“Somebody who needs our help. Now.”

Barlow Residence, Rivercrest District; Arlington, VA

“You’re sure she was… taken?” Violet asks.

I nod. “Unfortunately, we are. We have video of the incident.”

A small squeak escapes her lips, and her face turns a bright shade of red as a wave of emotion washes over her. We give her a couple minutes to absorb and process the information. Violet runs a hand through her hair and sniffs loudly. She looks like she’s holding it together, though I can see she’s hanging by a thread.

“Ashley’s best friend Nicole Ross was here earlier,” she finally says.

“What did you tell her?” I ask.

“We told her she was in DC with her father. Elliot wants me to keep a lid on this,” she replies. “But Nicole’s a curious girl. We’re only going to be able to hold her off for so long.”

Astra, Paige, and I stand on one side of the large center island in the kitchen of Senator Barlow’s main residence in Arlington. Small and delicate, Violet Wagner stands on the other side of the island, her arms folded over her chest. She looks at us with wide, seafoam eyes that are rimmed red and shimmering with tears she’s struggling to keep from falling. Sobriety has been good for her. Even despite the years that have passed, she looks younger than she did in the photo of her we saw. Healthier. But it’s not difficult to see that she’s been through some things in her life.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Astra says. “Right now, we need to know everything that you know.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know much. I was here, like I always am, waiting for her to get home from school, and she never showed up…”

Her voice trails off, and she wipes her eyes as the tears begin to roll down her cheeks. It’s not difficult to see how torn up she is or that she’s blaming herself. I’d tell her none of this is her fault or try to assuage her guilt in some way, but there’s no point in even trying. She’s in no place to absorb my words even if I tried.

“Lieb came home and told me she never showed up for her piano lesson,” Violet said in a soft, trembling voice. “After that, I called Elliot.”

“Violet, has anybody new come into Ashley’s life lately?” Paige asks. “Or has she mentioned anybody hanging around? Maybe following her?”

She shakes her head. “No. She hasn’t mentioned anybody new or anybody following her.”

“Is that something she’d tell you or her father?” Astra asks.

“I mean… I want to think so. She’s usually open about the people in her life. Her father insists on knowing who she’s hanging out with… he has Lieb run backgrounds on them. I know it’s a little paranoid, but Ashley seems to understand and rolls with it,” she says.

“It’s not as paranoid as you might think. Senator Barlow isn’t the only person I know of who insists on background checks for the people in their children’s lives,” I say. “People in positions of tremendous wealth or power have to worry about things the rest of us don’t.”

Violet nods. “That’s what he says too. And like I said, Ashley gets it and never makes a fuss,” she says. Then after a pause she adds, “We haven’t gotten a ransom demand or had any communication with the people who took her. What does that mean?”

“It’s too early to know if it means anything just yet,” Astra says. “Sometimes, it takes these people a little while to get the courage up to make the call.”

“She’s right. It’s best to avoid reading anything into it right now,” Paige confirms.

Astra and I share a glance. All that sounds good since it helps keep emotions in check, but we both know not having any communication with an abductor is never a good thing. It usually means they have no intention of returning the person they took. Not always, but usually. There have been times when an abductor needs time to work up the balls to make that call and demand a ransom. It’s not common, but it happens.

The simple fact that this person took Ashley so brazenly, in broad daylight, though, tells me this isn’t one of those times. This a person who doesn’t need to work up the courage to call because they’re not intending to call at all. It tells me this is something else entirely. And whatever it is, I already know it can’t be good.