Twelve came from Brandon’s cell, four from Melissa’s private line and one from an unlisted office phone in Oakridge.

After fifteen seconds the green light faded, and the balcony fell back into dark shadow.

The night wind tugged at my shirt collar.

I kept my hands folded in my lap and gazed out at the black water.

At eleven, the phone screen lit up the glass table again.

The white numbers on the display had changed.

There were now fifty-two missed calls in the log.

Three text messages slid across the top of the screen, one right after another, before vanishing into the dark display.