Ava’s POV
2:19 p.m. — Mexico
“Tell Ava Sinclair we're still waiting.”
I stared at True.
“That's what the note says?”
She nodded.
“Word for word.”
“Wonderful. Apparently, I've become the international postal service for psychopaths.”
Morgan folded his arms.
“Ava.”
“What? Normal people send birthday cards.
"These people leave creepy notes in abandoned buildings.”
Tootsie chuckled.
True held up her phone.
“Rafa sent photographs of everything recovered from the property.”
The first picture showed a small hospital bracelet. The second showed the folded note.
“Enlarge the bracelet,” I requested.
True adjusted the image.
“Sofía,” I murmured.
“Looks like she's nine.”
Morgan leaned closer.
“Recognize her?”
“No.”
“Then why leave your name?”
“That's what I'd like to know.”
