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“I can’t promise one of those possibilities didn’t occur,” Officer Langley said, “but I can tell you it’s very unlikely your ex managed to tail you all the way across town, no matter what he was driving. Despite what you see on TV, most drivers don’t have the skills to just hop in their car and follow someone that distance. Not in Atlanta. This city experiences some of the densest traffic in the nation. Throw in fifty miles of heavy rail, ninety-some bus routes, sixteen hundred licensed taxis, and over forty-five miles of bike paths, and you’ve got a whole lotta stars that have to align to tail a vehicle to an unknown destination.”
“On top of that,” Stern interjected, “today’s break-in smells like a crime of opportunity. Nothing more. Somebody happened by, spotted the open window, got the lay of the land well enough to realize, ‘Hot damn, I found myself an empty, unlocked house.’ None of the neighbors report seeing an unfamiliar vehicle, so it’s possible the intruder lives nearby and fled on foot.”
“A kid?”
She couldn’t tell by Hunter’s voice if he was skeptical or in agreement.
Langley shrugged. “A bored teen. Possibly someone taking a dare.”
“Or it could be Cody.” She didn’t care about looking paranoid anymore. She cared about protecting Joy. “Somehow he tracked me here, staked the place out to make sure nobody was home, and then came in through the window in the hopes of finding cash or so
mething valuable he could convert to fast cash. In his mind, I owe him ten thousand dollars, and he can’t afford to write that off—”
Stern leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Is there some other way he could have learned your whereabouts? A friend or family member? A social media post?”
“No. Nothing like that. I’m not on social media. I honestly don’t know how he found me.” She released Joy’s hand and twisted her fingers together. “Maybe when he texted himself the photo from my phone, he established a link and now he can track me through cell towers or something?”
“Miss Foley, is your ex Jason Bourne?”
She swiveled her head to look at Langley, whose faint smile suggested he was trying to make a joke to ease her mind. It didn’t work. “Of course not, but he’s desperate and you can’t underestimate him.”
“He can’t track you through your phone,” Stern said, commanding her attention again. “Did the photo contain any background elements he could use to pin down the house or neighborhood?”
“I don’t think so. It’s just Joy with her teddy bear.” She reached for her handbag, and then stopped. “Shoot. My purse is in the car.”
Hunter went looking for his phone, and returned a minute later, scrolling as he walked back to the living room. “This one?” He turned the phone toward her.
She nodded. He handed the phone to Stern. “I only see baby and bear, but I’ll let you be the judge.”
Stern stared at the image, widened the screen—presumably to zoom in on some aspect—and then handed the phone back to Hunter. “Yeah, he didn’t get any information from this, except Miss Foley has a very cute daughter.”
This was slipping away from her. She could feel them discounting her suspicions. The knot in her stomach tightened. “Officers, please. Can’t you at least find him and question him? Maybe charge him with…I don’t know…blackmail, or attempted child trafficking? I don’t know where he’s living, but I can give you a list of places he likes to hang out.”
“Do you have a picture of him?” Langley asked.
Hope surged, but quickly ebbed. “No. I can describe him, if that helps.”
Stern raised his hand in a hold-on gesture. “Do you know if Mr. Winslow has ever been arrested by Atlanta PD? If so, we can get his mug shot and fingerprints.”
“I’m sorry.” She sagged back against the sofa. “I don’t know.”
“All right. We can look into that, too.” The older officer took a deep breath and then blew it out slowly. “I’m stretching the shit out of this to characterize it as anything but breaking and entering, but here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to call CSI out and have them check the window and doors for prints. Assuming they can lift anything, they’ll run them through our system and get a list of likely matches. If Cody Winslow is in our system and makes the list, we’ll definitely track him down and have a chat with him.”
She resisted the urge to reiterate everything she’d already told them. It wouldn’t do any good. They weren’t starting a manhunt based on her word. “How long does it take to see if prints match?”
“Couple weeks.”
A couple weeks! The shock of the news must have shown on her face, because Stern shook his head. “I can’t put a rush on this. Those guys have murders, and rapes, and all kinds of felonies to deal with.”
“I understand.” She took Joy’s hand again and held fast. “I’m grateful for your help.”
“We’ll let you know if we get any hits with the prints. In the meantime”—Stern stood and his gaze shifted to encompass Hunter—“you’ve got a real nice alarm system installed. Wouldn’t hurt to use it.”
Chapter Seventeen
A muffled cry tugged Hunter out of sleep. He sat up, his body on auto-pilot, and checked the bedside clock to see if Joy wanted her three a.m. feeding. But the clock read four thirty, and the louder, more urgent follow-up cry came from beside him in bed, not from the baby bed on his dresser across the room.
Madison.
