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The phone unlocked, and Gabe went straight to his texts. The most recent was the most damning, with instructions to head to Molly’s address and invite the sister and niece for a “ride.”
“Who’s Jackass?” he asked, noting the name attached to the sender.
“None of your fuckin’ business,” Tobin snarled, struggling against his bonds, but to no avail. “Put my phone down. You’re not allowed to look at it.”
Ignoring him, Gabe took screenshots of the text, the sender’s contact information, and the screen in Tobin’s settings that listed all of the model numbers and stuff. He thought about what else that Antoine might need. Oh. Tobin’s phone number would be nice.
He found that screen, took a screenshot, then sent all of the screenshots to Molly’s burner. Then he wiped his prints from the phone. Using Tobin’s own shirt to grip it without leaving more prints, he shoved it back into Tobin’s pocket.
He knew that Antoine could probably unlock the phone without Tobin’s face, and that they’d get a lot of information from it, but he didn’t want to tamper any more with a crime scene than he’d already done. He didn’t want to do anything that could corrupt the DA’s case against the bastard. His father had drilled that into him. Good police work resulted in solid cases, which delivered unappealable convictions.
He’d have to trust that André would do the right thing. That the system would still somehow work. His father had given his entire life in the service of others. Surely that had to count for something.
Surely there were other cops who would do the same.
“Gabe?” Molly called urgently. “We need to go.”
He took one last look at Tobin, allowed himself one last fantasy of killing the man, then he followed Molly to the fire escape.
Chelsea was waiting at the fire escape, balancing a trembling Harper in her arms along with a small overnight bag. Shoe hovered at her side, his nose pressed to the back of Harper’s leg.
Gabe took the bag. “Can I carry Harper?” he asked.
Chelsea shook her head. “She’s too scared.”
Molly went down the first few steps, her gaze searching the darkness, her gun clutched in her hand. “Come on,” she hissed. “Now.”
Chelsea started down the fire escape, but the stairs were steep and she wobbled. Spurred by Molly’s urgency, Gabe scooped the child from Chelsea’s arms. “Go,” he told her. “Harper, I’m a friend of your aunt Molly’s. My name is Gabe. This is Shoe. He’s a good dog. We’re going to get you downstairs, then I’ll give you back to your mom. Okay?”
Harper’s nod was faint, but clear, so Gabe hefted her to his hip and started down the stairs. Shoe followed, slowing when his paws skittered on the grated steps. “Good boy,” he murmured when Shoe took the final four stairs in a single leap, his tail wagging.
When they got to the bottom of the stairs, he looked for Molly, who emerged from the garage, scowling. “Our borrowed car is gone,” she said harshly.
“Somebody stole it?” Gabe demanded. “Who was left to do that? We took care of all of them.”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to take my chances that there’s someone down here to catch us. Come on. We’ll take Chelsea’s car and hope they don’t know our license plate numbers.”
