“Got anything else?” I asked.

“There were five, including Idris,” Paul said. “Isumo Katashi right here.”

“Shit.”

“And then this guy,” he said. “Last off the plane.”

I peered at the distant image of the man, shook my head. “No clue.” His hair was pulled back in a ponytail and he wore a poet type shirt, but I couldn’t tell much else about him.

Bryce shifted beside me. “Mystery Man Twenty-two.”

I gave him a baffled look.

“Some of Farouche’s visitors remained anonymous,” he said with a shrug. “We had nicknames to keep them straight.” He leaned closer to the screen. “No doubt on that one. He’s been in and out for years.”

“I know the jet,” Paul told us. “Belongs to Farouche. And they loaded into cars that belong to Farouche. No GPS though. They’re being careful.” He clicked back to one of his screens displaying incomprehensible streams of numbers and text. “The plane is back in Louisiana, and I’m keeping an eye on the flight plans for it and Farouche’s other jets.” He glanced back at me. “That’s all I have for now.”

“Don’t suppose you found anything on that ring I drew?” I asked hopefully.

“Um.” He flushed, grimaced. “No.” He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, grimace deepening. I gave Bryce a baffled look in the hopes he could translate.

Bryce chuckled under his breath. “What he’s not saying is that the drawing sucks and there’s not much he can do with it.”

Paul smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, but yeah. That’s pretty much it.”

I gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s cool. My talent sure as hell ain’t art.” I knew my crappy drawing had been a long shot, so I couldn’t be too disappointed. “Awesome job with the pics, Paul,” I added, totally impressed that he’d found the video. “Keep on it and let me know what you come up with.” Like I needed to tell him to keep on it. He was already typing away, totally absorbed and probably no longer aware we were even in the room.

Bryce headed off to shower while I went out back to tell Mzatal what Paul had found. It didn’t look to me as if Mzatal had moved since I last saw him, but the half-full glass of tunjen told me Jekki diligently tended to his needs.

I felt him acknowledge my presence, and a few seconds later his eyes opened. I quickly filled him in on the sighting.

“It’s two days old, which means they could be anywhere by now,” I said with a wince. “But it’s more than we had before.”

“The information is very useful,” he assured me. “Knowing his location within the last few days will allow me to narrow my searches through the flows, much as if tracking footprints.”

With a quick parting kiss, I left him to his work, and as I returned to the house I mulled over the various new information we’d gleaned over the past few days. Farouche was no saint, Katashi was busy on Earth, and now, thanks to Paul, we had confirmation of Idris’s cryptic StarFire clue and knew for certain the two were working together.

I stopped dead. Facts shuffled and re-ordered. How could I have missed this possibility? If Farouche was involved in holding Idris, surely he had a hand in related matters as well.

I broke into a run, burst through the back door and raced down the hall to the living room. “Bryce!” I called out as I shuffled through folders on the coffee table, found the one I needed. “Bryce!”

He emerged from the bathroom holding a towel around his waist with one hand and a toilet plunger in the other. “Kara?” Shaving cream covered half his face, but he had a look in his eye that said he was ready to take down whatever threatened me. With a towel and a toilet plunger, apparently. “What’s wrong?”

I winced. “Sorry. There’s something I need you to look at, but it can wait a few minutes,” I said. “Can you meet me in the kitchen when you’re finished?”

“No problem. Two minutes,” he said and ducked back into the bathroom.

I flipped through the case file folder and chose photos. Less than two minutes later Bryce came in, fully dressed and freshly shaved, with a piece of toilet paper stuck to a nick on his jaw, probably caused by my bellow.

“Reporting as ordered,” he said with a smile. “What’s up?”

“I want to see if you recognize any of these people.” I laid out a half dozen photos on the table.

He peered carefully at them, took his time with each one before moving to the next, then went through them all again.

“Only one of them,” he finally said. “This one.” He picked up a photo of a smiling woman in her late forties standing on a beach with the waves behind, and holding up a whole sand dollar. Laugh lines crinkled around hazel eyes set in an attractive face. Light brown hair with blond highlights waved to her shoulders.

It was the pic I’d hoped he would choose. “How do you know her?” I tried hard to keep my voice neutral, but Bryce was a sharp cookie and didn’t miss the tension and excitement that leaked through.

“She’s a detainee of Farouche’s.”

“Still? When did you last see her?”

“She was at the plantation on the morning of the day I was shot.” His eyes met mine. “Who is she to you?”

Adrenaline surged through me as a floodgate of possibilities opened. “This is Idris’s adoptive mother. We think she’s being held as a hostage to assure his good behavior.”

His expression went from curious to grim.

I pulled the wedding photo of Idris’s sister from the folder, passed it over to him. “What about this one? Was she at the plantation too?”

After a brief look, he nodded. “Yep. Until about a week ago.”

My pulse quickened. “Tell me everything you know about what happened to her.”

Bryce dropped both photos back to the table. “I wasn’t assigned so I don’t know a whole lot, but Sonny was their handler after they arrived,” he said. “They were brought in from out of state at the same time, but kept separately. Neither knew the other was there.” He tapped Amber’s photo. “I never talked to her. Jerry left with her about a week ago. He came back. She didn’t. I don’t know anything more.”

“Jerry?”

“Yeah. Jerry Steiner. Like me.” He shook his head, distaste curling his lip. “No, not like me. He never loses any sleep over the job. Gets off on it.” He sighed out a breath. “She’s dead?”

“Yeah, she is,” I said grimly. I touched the photo of her smiling and beautiful on her wedding day, then tugged out a crime scene photo of the young woman—naked and displayed with the sigils all over her torso and legs.

His expression went flat and cold. “Raped?”

I nodded.

“Jerry would do that,” he said tightly. He continued to examine the photo. “But the cuts? Jerry didn’t do that. Not that he wouldn’t, but those cuts are too careful. Controlled.”

“That’s specialty work with a big dose of the arcane,” I told him. “But he probably brought her to whoever did it.”

“What was her name?”

“Amber Palatino Gavin,” I told him. “I would dearly love to nail her murderer to the wall, but right now I want to get Idris’s mom to safety even more.”

Bryce’s expression remained dark, but I caught the flicker in his eyes. He wasn’t Amber’s killer, but twenty-seven other ghosts haunted him.

“The mom,” he said after a moment. “She was a nice lady. And being kept as a five-star captive.”

That much was a relief at least. “I can’t imagine Idris’s mom not being nice,” I said. “You know Farouche. Do you think he’d move her?”

He folded his arms, considered. “It’s not a black and white answer, unfortunately,” he finally said. “If he thinks she’s compromised in any way at the plantation, then yes, he’d move her. But he feels pretty invulnerable there. If I was to venture a guess, I’d say that she’ll be there until needed elsewhere.”

I carefully gathered up all the photos and printouts and tucked them back into the folder, then pulled out a photo of Idris, smiling at his high school graduation with his mortarboard precariously balanced atop his unruly mop of curly blond hair. “This is Idris around two years ago. He’s had to grow up fast.”