If his phone battery died, or if he finished the reset and turned off the hotspot, we would lose him.

“Please stay on,” I muttered to the screen.

“We are five minutes away,” Marisol said, taking the exit toward North Miami.

The neighborhood changed from commercial strip malls to older, low-income apartment complexes.

Palm trees lined the streets, their fronds brown and dry from the heat.

We turned onto the street where Stephanie’s apartment was located.

It was a three-story building painted an faded peach color, with outdoor walkways facing the parking lot.

A blue sedan was parked near the entrance, and I recognized two plainclothes officers standing near the hood.

Detective Arispe was one of them.

Marisol pulled her car into a convenience store parking lot directly across the street.

She turned off the engine but kept the auxiliary power on so we had air conditioning.

“Keep your eyes on the phone,” she said.

I looked down.

The green dot was still pulsing directly over the rear corner of the second floor.

“He is in unit 204,” I said. “The corner unit near the stairs.”