Michael’s stomach turned to pure acid. Daniel?

“The creep took some nasty pics of those kids. His hands, or someone’s hands, show in some of them. There’re tats on the wrists.”

“His wrists?”

“Yeah, they don’t look like they go up his arms. Forearms are clear. It’s just a few Asian characters on the backs of the wrists. Pretty big, though. About an inch and a half in diameter.”

“You can’t see his face?” Michael asked. His head suddenly felt weightless. He leaned on his elbows on his hood, head down.

“Not of him. Just the kids. Nothing else shows of the adult.”

Michael didn’t want to know any more. No details. His brain was supplying too many details of its own.

“What’d Jamie say the tattoos looked like?” Callahan asked.

“She didn’t say. She’s working on some sketches with the cops. I don’t know if she saw specifics. She said there were a lot of them.”

“He could have added to them.”

“Hang on, Callahan.” Michael strode over to the lawn where Jamie sat. “Hey, princess, you come up with any images yet?”

Jamie gave him a weak smile. “Don’t call me princess, please.” She looked down at her paper. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t picture them.”

“I told her to start with just colors,” the cop next to her said. “Then add stark lines or shapes.”

“Let me see.” Michael held his hand out for the paper.

It appeared she’d traced her own hands and wrists for the outlines. She’d made muted multicolored swirls that started at mid-forearm and spread nearly to the knuckles. The colors intensified on the backs of the hands. Blues, reds, greens.

Directly on the wrists, over the colors, she’d drawn thick black crisscrossing slashes, like pound signs.

Acid from Michael’s stomach burned up his esophagus.

“It’s him,” he said into the phone. “We’ll be downtown in thirty minutes.”

At the police station, the young woman in front of Mason looked like she’d been brutalized, but she held her chin up, her stance solid, her back straight. Jamie Jacobs was tough, and he admired that. Looked like Brody was admiring her, too. Mason hadn’t ever seen him hover over a woman like this before. He’d been plenty protective of that little dentist, Lacey Campbell, but that was in a big-brother type of way.

Mason caught his partner’s gaze, and Ray Lusco nodded with a wry smile, agreeing. Looked like the reporter had been hit in the head with a love stick.

The bandages on her face pissed him off, and Mason knew she had more under her light pants. She was agitated, trying to reach someone on her cell who wasn’t picking up.

“Are you sure it’s the right number?” Brody asked her.

“Yes! It’s in my contacts and in the call history. I know it’s right, but it’s been disconnected.”

“Has he ever left you without a way to reach him before?”

“Never. There’s always been a phone number. Sometimes he doesn’t get right back to me, but he’s never done anything like this before.”

Mason interrupted. “You’re talking about your brother?”

Unusual light green eyes looked to him.

Holy crap. No wonder Brody’s smitten.

“Yes, and no, I don’t know where he is. But he’s always left me a number to call in the past. Maybe someone got to him…like that guy got to me today.”

Brody carefully took her hands, getting her to look at him. “Jamie, you’ve told me how smart your brother is. I think he’s well aware that someone from his past could one day seek him out. I think that’s part of the reason he left and why he doesn’t let you know how to find him. I have no doubt he’s gone deeper into hiding.”

Mason raised a mental eyebrow at Brody’s soft and reassuring tone. Yep. He’s in deep.

Jamie stared at Brody for a few seconds and then nodded. “We need to warn him, though. He should at least know what happened to me today.”

Mason cleared his throat. “Let’s talk about that.” He waved a hand at two chairs. “Have a seat.”

Ray tactfully and thoroughly led Jamie through the events of the day. Surprisingly, Brody kept his mouth shut but watched everyone in the room like a hawk.

Mason only interrupted once, directing a question to Brody. “You traced his call?”

“Yep.”

“How?”

Brody said nothing and just looked back at Mason.

“Okay. Fine. I suppose you’re still planning a trip to find him?”

Again, Brody just looked at Mason and then asked a question of his own. “Tell me about the tattoos in the pictures.”

Mason noted he didn’t ask what else was in the pictures. He only wanted to hear about the tattoos.

Mason moved Jamie’s sketch of hands and wrists to the center of the table. “There’s a lot more color and detail here than in the pictures. Possibly, he’s added ink.” Mason pulled out four hazy close-ups of wrists that they’d created off the Polaroids. The pictures weren’t the greatest, but anyone could see that the tattoos in the pictures were in the exact same position and same size as the black marks on Jamie’s drawings.

Jamie stared at the close-ups. “Those are them. They’ve been enhanced with design and colors. It must be the same person.”