Page 110 of Three Steps Behind

“That’s the rebel symbol in Syria. The ones who kept me . . . They had it tattooed on their forearms.”

“Grey,” Deck said.

“On it.”

After examining the cardboard box for booby traps and incendiary devices—again, because they did so with every package that arrived on their doorstep unannounced—Grey handed it back over. “Clean.”

“Should I open it for you?” Deck offered.

“No.” She squared her shoulders and slipped on the gloves Riley gave her. “I’ve got this.”

“Are you sure? We have no idea what’s in it.”

“I got it.” She sliced the tape and pulled up the flaps, her heart thwacking in her chest. A small brown box sat inside, like the kind sold at airport shops for knickknacks. She lifted it out, took a stiff inhale, then opened it—and screamed.

She flung the box. The finger fell out, and she stumbled onto the floor.

Tears streaked down her face. “It’s . . .”

“Gone,” Grey said, having quickly retrieved the finger with gloved hands and replaced everything back into the cardboard box. He was nearly out the door with it under his arm.

“Where are you taking it?” Harper managed to ask.

“To the police. They can run the fingerprint, and we can get an identity.”

“We don’t need them to tell us. I know. It’s Tracey’s.”

Deck knelt by her side. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Remember I told you we exchanged token gifts?”

“Yeah.” Deck helped her to her feet.

“She gave me this necklace.” She pulled it out from under her sweater. “And I gave her that ring.” She pointed at the box, sorrow seeping into every pore of her skin. “But why? Why follow me home? Why send this? Because I escaped?”

“No,” Deck said, his arms wrapped around her. “I think this is about far more than that.”

She gazed up at him, confusion raking through her. “I don’t . . .”

“Let’s all go to the conference room and run through everything.”

“Good idea,” Riley said.

“I’ll be in with the coffee.” Grey moved for the kitchen.

Soon they all sat around the table. “The necklace,” Harper said, lifting her hair. “Could you help me take it off?” she asked Deck.

He did so and handed it to her. “The whole time we thought it was Big Max or Nick breaking in and trying to intimidate us.”

“It still might’ve been them for a portion of the incidents,” Deck suggested.

“But there’s got to be something with this necklace. It’s the only thing I brought back here with me, so if they’re looking for something . . .” She examined the locket, then opened it. Nothing. “I don’t understand.”

Riley leaned closer. “One time when I was working undercover, I wore a necklace like that, and it had the tiniest microphone hidden in a little stone.”

Harper turned the necklace over again. No stone, but maybe . . . She stuck the tip of her nail under the rose, and it moved. She slid it over and a microchip fell out.

“A computer chip?” Deck asked. “So that’s why your laptop was stolen. Someone working with the rebels was looking for the chip.”