What next?
Andrew could pull up a credit report on Warner using the social security number. He could see which credit cards he had in his name and if Devon had used them recently. If he had, that could suggest where he was hiding. Nash had probably gone through the records himself, but it was worth another try. Wasn’t that what Patricia wanted of him? To find something Nash had missed?
A slight throbbing had erupted behind his eyes, and Andrew massaged his temples with his fingers. He’d had a few headaches, varying in magnitude, over the last few days. He wasn’t sure if it was all the screen time he’d been logging, or if it was, somehow, a side effect of his sudden brain power, all the synapses suddenly firing so rapidly that they literally made his head hurt. Of course, there was another option, too … that the pain in his head right now was all imagined. But he couldn’t let himself believe that one. Patricia said their old symptoms would go away. Everyone else’s had.
He took a gulp of water and shifted his focus to the credit reports. Unsurprisingly, Devon had no credit cards. No bank accounts either.
He continued down the report. Before Falcon Rock, Devon’s last listed address was in Homer, Alaska, where he’d seemingly been for two years. Before that, there were two addresses in North Dakota. Clearly, Devon Warner was a big fan of cold weather.
A pattern jumped out at Andrew as he studied the report. In Alaska and North Dakota, Devon had lived more of a life. He had bank accounts, credit cards, even a car lease. But he had none of those things since moving to Colorado. In fact, he’d closed all of his previous accounts. Was he running from something — or someone — in Alaska?
“Hey, Hype.” Andrew swiveled to see his older sister, Morgan, at the door. Hype was short for “hypochondriac,” the not-so-clever nickname she had given him several years ago.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, minimizing the browser window in what he hoped was a nonchalant fashion. His sister was a freshman at Colorado State Pueblo, and she’d made a big production over the fact that she wasn’t going to be coming home every weekend.
“The piece-of-crap washing machine in our dorm broke. I need my uniform cleaned by tomorrow morning.” Unlike Andrew, Morgan had actually used her tall and lanky genes to her advantage, as the outside hitter on her college volleyball team.
“So, what were you so busy hiding on your computer?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. So much for nonchalance.
“Nothing.”
Morgan rolled her eyes. “I bet I could guess. Looking up your newest symptoms on WebMD.”
“I don’t have any symptoms right now,” Andrew retorted before realizing that was exactly the wrong way to shut Morgan up.
“Really? There’s nothing bothering you? Not one thing?”
The look of disbelief on her face was so blatant that Andrew declined to mention the headache that had just flared up. “Nope. I feel great.”
She looked at him for a long moment, her close-set tawny eyes a mirror image of his. “That’s amazing.” Her face was still etched with shock, but there was something else there, too … was it happiness? Was she actually relieved that he was feeling better? His gaze drifted toward a Batman snow globe on his desk. Morgan was the one who’d given it to him, after debilitating stomach cramps had landed him in the hospital for five days. She’d even used three weeks of her own allowance to buy it for him. Back then, Morgan used to muster sympathy for him. But as time passed, something had shifted in her — the sense of duty morphing into deep resentment. Andrew doubted he’d had a real conversation with her in years. “So how did this amazing recovery happen?” Morgan asked. “Medical marijuana or something?”
Andrew shrugged. “Something like that.” A slight smile tugged at his lips. Patricia did say the serum operated like a drug.
“And what are you looking at that’s so secret?” she asked, and before he could stop her, she grabbed the mouse, reawakening his screen. Straight to the Colorado DMV page.
Crap.
“What the …” Morgan trailed off, her confusion slowly turning to excitement. “No way. Are you making fake IDs?”
“Uh, yeah,” Andrew replied, grateful for the out. “You, uh, caught me.” He flashed Morgan a conspiratorial grin.
“Can you make me one?” she asked. “This guy from my dorm promised he was going to get me one, but he totally flaked.”
Could he actually pull it off?
“Ah … sure.” He’d figure it out somehow. It couldn’t be that difficult.
“Awesome.” She gave his shoulders a quick squeeze. “Thank you.”
She was almost out the door when she turned back. “Oh, but don’t do a Colorado one for me. It’s harder for bouncers to tell a fake if you use an out-of-state ID that they don’t see a lot. Like Maine or Alaska or something.”
Alaska.
The wheels in Andrew’s head were already turning before the door had shut behind her.
He hadn’t looked up Devon’s driver’s license from Alaska, where he lived just before Falcon Rock. It might tell him more about Devon’s life up there, maybe give him another lead.
He typed the name into the Alaska DMV database. There was just one Devon Warner in the state, and his social security number matched the one Patricia had given him. Andrew clicked on the name, waiting for a few seconds as the image loaded up on the screen.
Devon was clean-shaven in this license photo, and his hair was shorter, just grazing his cheeks.
Andrew was going to double-check the address on the license when something caught his eye. He zoomed in on Devon’s photo on the Colorado license, then zoomed in to the photo on the Alaska license. He placed the images side by side on his screen.
Something was off. The man in the Alaska photo had the same wide-set eyes as the man in the Colorado photo. But they didn’t have the hazel undertones. The nose bridge was slightly thinner. And above the left eye, on the Colorado ID, there was a thin red scar. It looked old, maybe left over from a childhood fall.
But the scar was nowhere to be found on the Alaska ID.
Andrew’s stomach dipped as he suddenly understood why the Devon Warners in these two IDs looked different.
Because they weren’t the same person.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“It’s called ghosting,” Nash explained to the Lost Causes seated around the maple table at Cytology. Sabrina glanced between the two images projected side by side on the screen behind him. One was a photo from Devon Warner’s Alaska driver’s license and the other from Devon Warner’s Colorado license. Andrew had already explained how they were actually two different men. The question now was how that was even possible.
“Ghosting is a specific form of identity theft,” Nash explained, his eyes grazing the room. Sabrina couldn’t quite meet his eye. She still felt sheepish about the way things had played out between them all at Devon’s apartment. Nash had only been looking out for their safety by keeping them out of there. It made sense when she thought about it logically. Why would the FBI bring five teenagers into a potential murderer’s home unless they could vouch for their safety as much as possible? Sabrina was annoyed she’d let Z’s frenzied worrying create so much doubt in her.
And yet … she couldn’t forget the warning she’d received from the ghost, either.
You can’t trust them.
Was it possible she was putting too much stock in what this girl whispered to her? Sabrina had no idea who the girl was or how she possibly fit in to any of this. Sabrina wasn’t even sure if the girl did fit into the story. What Sabrina did know, though, was that Patricia and Nash seemed as intent on solving this case as the five of them were. Maybe it was time to start trusting them more than a ghost.
Sabrina caught Nash watching her and she immediately straightened up. His knuckles were still a mess, as they had been at Devon’s apartment. No one had dared to ask him, b
ut she wondered what had happened. Not that she was holding her breath she’d get an answer.
“This is the original Devon Warner,” Nash said, pointing to the man on the Alaska ID. “Up until about nine months ago, he was living in Alaska, working on an oil rig. Then, according to his former boss — I spoke to him this morning — one day he just disappeared. Never showed up to work. No forwarding address. No goodbye.”
Z frowned. “Did they report him missing?”
Nash shook his head. “They figured he’d just moved on to the next job. It’s pretty common on the rigs. It’s hard hours. Long periods of time away from your family. People get burnt out. Sometimes they even flip out.
“The day before Devon left, there was a small explosion on board. No one was seriously injured, but it spooked a lot of the guys. A few men besides Devon skipped work the next day, too. And then a month later, Devon Warner pops up in Colorado. Same social security number. But it’s a completely different person.”
“How can that be?” Gabby asked.
Patricia broke in. “That’s how ghosting works. The man in the Alaska ID, the original Devon Warner who went missing, must have died or he would have surfaced by now. Murdered, most likely. And then this man, the Falcon Rock Devon Warner, whatever his name really is, just stepped in and took his place. Assumed his identity. He’s probably the one who killed him in the first place.”
“He killed him to get a clean identity?” Sabrina asked, trying to make sure she was following.
Andrew nodded. “That was obviously valuable to him. Once he took over the Devon Warner identity, he managed to erase whoever he was before, whatever record he had. He’s been living here with a blank slate for five months.”
That meant the guy they were after could literally be anybody. A former FBI agent, a criminal, a member of a foreign government … the possibilities were endless. Many people could put the serum to good use.
“Why do you think he picked Devon Warner as his new identity?” Z wondered.
“Usually the ghoster picks a person around the same age and with a similar build so they can easily take over the ID,” Patricia explained. “As you see from the photos, these two men weren’t identical, but they resembled each other enough to pass through undetected at what was probably a busy DMV office. Especially with the beard shaved off, it’s difficult to tell.”
Sabrina’s head was spinning. “So what does this mean?”
“It means we need you all to help us figure out two things,” Nash said. “First, who is this man?” He pointed to the Colorado ID photo of Devon Warner. “We know he assaulted Sadie. We know he had the gun used to kill Lily in his apartment. But who was he before he assumed this identity? Was he someone with an FBI connection? Is that how he knew about this serum? Is he a gun for hire? What criminal history did he have in his old life?”
He stood up and began pacing. “Second, where has he escaped to? Has he shed this identity already and assumed another one? Or is he just lying low?”
Sabrina looked around the room and wondered if the others felt as overwhelmed as she did.
“Whenever you find anything, no matter how small, you let us know.” Nash’s eyes found Sabrina’s. Did he know she was keeping something from him? She looked down quickly. “We’re dealing with someone who is very dangerous. No charging into places without us. Be careful and keep your eyes open. We’ll reconvene here tomorrow to see if we’ve made any progress. You guys should get to school — first bell is in fifteen minutes.”
Patricia and the others filed out of the room, but Sabrina hung back with Nash. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, but she didn’t like the weird vibe between them.
“Did you need something, Sabrina?” he asked coldly. His detached expression made him seem like a completely different person than the one who had lifted her off the ground and into his arms just days ago.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you we were going to Devon’s apartment.” The words tumbled out of her mouth, unplanned.
He looked as if he expected her to say more.
“It seemed like you were mad at me,” she added.
“It’s my job to ensure your safety. Don’t make it hard for me to do my job. That’s it.”
Strictly business. Sabrina flushed, though she knew she shouldn’t have been surprised. With her foray into Devon Warner’s apartment, she’d suddenly turned herself into a petulant child in his eyes, a problem to be dealt with.
“It won’t happen again,” Sabrina replied.
“I appreciate that.” He raised an expectant eyebrow at her. “Now that we’ve agreed to full disclosure, are you ready to tell me what really happened in the woods?”
She paused. All she wanted was this tension between them to go away, but something still held her back from telling him about the girl in the woods. Even if Sabrina wasn’t sure whether she trusted her.
Nash’s stare was firm. “So, is that a no?”
She didn’t like the edge in his voice — or his hypocrisy. It wasn’t as though Nash divulged every detail of his life either. The double standard was starting to annoy her.
“I don’t know,” she answered combatively. “Do you want to tell me what happened to your hand?” He followed her gaze to his bruised knuckles. “If you’re set on full disclosure, then you won’t have a problem telling me.”
“Sure.” He didn’t even blink. “I met up with my friend Toby. The bartender.”
Sabrina was caught off guard. And not just because he’d called her bluff. He’d beaten up the guy who slipped something into her drink in Falcon Rock.
“Don’t look so surprised. When I told you I’d take care of it, I meant it.”
He locked his eyes on her and she saw a flicker of vulnerability in them. He wasn’t exactly tearing down the wall he’d built between them, but it was as if he’d knocked a few bricks out. “Thank you,” she finally said.
He turned back to his computer, effectively dismissing her. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said brusquely. “I wasn’t going to let a serial rapist just roam around.”
“Right,” Sabrina muttered, her cheeks flaming. This had nothing to do with her. It was just another part of Nash’s job. Law enforcement. “Sorry to add another thing to your plate.”
Sabrina walked quickly to her car without turning back.
Frustrated, she jabbed her key into the ignition.
And then she screamed.
It was the girl from the woods again. She was in the passenger seat, but there wasn’t a chill in the air this time. Just a radiant warmth enveloping them both.
“What’s your name —” Sabrina started. Before she could get an answer, the girl disappeared.
“No! Don’t go!” Sabrina shouted desperately, her heart slamming against her chest.
She put her head against the steering wheel and tried to regain control of her breathing. When it finally returned to normal, she glanced over at the passenger seat again. There was still no sign of the girl.
But the seat was sopping wet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Gabby sat across the table from Andrew at the school library, trying to pay attention to his third attempt at explaining molecular mass.
Even through the worst of her OCD, she had always managed to be an above-average student. Once she got through her rituals, she could settle in and focus on the task at hand. But that was back when she had hours of time every afternoon and evening. Now she was so busy that reading assignments were piling up and math problem sets were left half done.
Luckily, Andrew had been sitting next to her when Dr. Fields mentioned the upcoming exam Gabby had completely forgotten about. All it took was one look at Gabby’s panicked face for Andrew to offer to get her up to speed. The problem was, her mind kept wandering to the Lily Carpenter case and what she could do to help find Devon Warner, a man who
tried on and shed identities like winter coats. With someone that skillfully evasive who could vanish without a trace, Gabby knew the best shot the FBI had at generating any kind of lead was through one of the Lost Causes. She had been carrying one of Lily’s prescription bottles around with her since she’d found it in his apartment, trying at various points to see if it would “speak” to her. She hoped it might give her a glimpse into who Devon Warner really was. But she hadn’t gotten a single vision from the bottle.
“I guarantee you he’s going to ask about that lab we did in class,” Andrew said. “Do you have your report for that?”
Gabby flipped through her binder. “I feel like maybe I didn’t finish it?”
“Okay, well, the main takeaway from the lab was about calculating molar mass. So molecular mass is the mass of one molecule, while molar mass is the mass of one mole in a molecule.”
While Andrew spoke, he also typed on his laptop, one activity having no impact on the other. He wasn’t like her dad, who insisted that he was listening while his eyes never left the screen of his iPhone and then remembered nothing about the conversation.
His stomach rumbled. “I’m starving. I’m going to get something from the vending machine. You want anything?”
“Maybe some chocolate,” Gabby said. If she was going to get through this, she needed some energy.
“Speaking of which, there’s a good chemistry question. What’s the molar mass of candy?”
“Huh?”
Andrew blew the hair away from his forehead as he scribbled on a piece of paper, “CaNdY.”
Gabby met his eyes and saw he was smiling, a big un-self-conscious smile where you could picture exactly what he had looked like as a seven-year-old. “Is that real?” she asked.
“Yup. Calcium, neodymium and yttrium.” Gabby wondered if there was anything Andrew didn’t know at this point. “Remember what I told you about calculating the molar mass. Try to see if you can do it on your own before I come back.”
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