by Harlan Coben
"No, I'm fine," I said.
He frowned. "Are you a guest of the hotel?"
"Yes."
"What's your room number?"
"I don't have a room number."
"But you just said "
I rapped the door hard. Buzz Cut hurried toward me. For a moment I thought he might make a diving tackle in order to protect the door, but at the last moment, he pulled up.
"Please come with me," he said.
I ignored him and knocked again. There was still no answer. Buzz Cut put his arm on mine. I shook it off, knocked again, and yelled, "I know you're not Sheila." That confused Buzz Cut. He frowned some more. We both stopped and watched the door. Nobody answered. Buzz Cut took my arm again, more gently this time. I did not put up a fight. He led me downstairs and through the lobby.
I was out on the sidewalk. I turned. Buzz Cut puffed his chest again and crossed his arms.
Now what?
Another New York City axiom: You cannot stand in one place on a sidewalk. Flow is essential. People hurry by and they don't expect to find something in their way. If they do, they may veer but they never stop.
I looked for a safe place. The secret was to stay as close to the actual building as possible the shoulder of the sidewalk, if you will.
I huddled near a plate glass window, took out the cell phone, called the hotel, and asked to be connected to Donna White's room. I got another "a pleasure" and was patched through.
There was no answer.
This time I left a simple message. I gave her my cell phone number and tried not to sound like I was begging when I asked her to call.
I slid the phone back into my pocket and again asked myself: Now what?
My Sheila was inside. The thought made me lightheaded. Too much yearning. Too many possibilities and what-ifs. I made myself push it away.
Okay, fine, so what did that mean exactly? First off, was there another way out? A basement or back exit? Had she spotted me from behind those sunglasses? Was that why she hurried to the elevator?
When I followed her, had I made a mistake about the room number? That could be. I knew that she was on the ninth floor. That was a start.
Or did I? If she spotted me, could she have stopped at another floor as a decoy?
Do I stand out here?
I didn't know. I couldn't go home, that was for sure. I took a deep breath. I watched the pedestrians race by, so many of them, one bleary mass, separate entities making up a whole. And then, looking through the mass, I saw her.
My heart stopped.
She just stood there and stared at me. I was too overwhelmed to move.
I felt something inside me give way. I put my hand to my mouth to stifle a cry. She moved toward me. Tears stung her eyes. I shook my head. She did not stop. She reached me and pulled me close.
"It's okay," she whispered.
I closed my eyes. For a long while we just held each other. We did not speak. We did not move. We just slipped away.
Chapter -Two.
"My real name is Nora Spring."
We sat in the lower level of a Starbucks on Park Avenue South, in a corner near an emergency fire exit. No one else was down here. She kept her eyes on the stairs, worried I'd been followed. This Starbucks, like so many others, had earth tones, surreal swirling artwork, and large photographs of brown-skinned men too happily picking coffee beans. She held a venti iced latte between both hands. I went with the frappuccino.
The chairs were purple and oversize and just plush enough. We pushed them together. We held hands. I was confused, of course. I wanted answers. But beyond that, on a whole higher plane, the pure joy splashed through me. It was an amazing rush. It calmed me. I was happy. Whatever I was about to learn would not change that. The woman I loved was back. I would let nothing change that.
She sipped at the latte. "I'm sorry," she said.
I squeezed her hand.
"To run out like that. To let you think" she stopped "I can't even imagine what you must have thought." Her eyes found mine. "I never wanted to hurt you."
"I'm okay, "I said.
"How did you learn I wasn't Sheila?"
"At her funeral. I saw the body."
"I wanted to tell you, especially after I heard she'd been murdered."
"Why didn't you?"
"Ken told me it might get you killed."
My brother's name jarred me. Nora turned away. I slid my hand up her arm and stopped at the shoulder. The tension had knotted her muscles.
I gently kneaded them, a familiar moment for us. She closed her eyes and let my fingers work. For a long time neither of us spoke. I broke the silence. "How long have you known my brother?"
"Almost four years," she said.
I nodded through my shock, trying to encourage her to say more, but she still had her face turned away. I gently took hold of her chin and turned her to me. I kissed her lightly on the lips.
She said, "I love you so much."
I felt a soar that nearly lifted me off the chair. "I love you too."
"I'm scared, Will."
"I'll protect you," I said.
She held my gaze. "I've been lying to you. The whole time we've been together."
"I know."
"Do you really think we can survive that?"
"I lost you once," I said. "I'm not going to lose you again."
"You're that sure?"
"Love you," I said. "Always."
She studied my face. I don't know what she was looking for. "I'm married, Will."
I tried to keep my expression blank, but it was not easy. Her words wrapped around me and tightened, boa-constrictor-like. I almost pulled my hand away.
"Tell me," I said.
"Five years ago, I ran away from my husband, Cray. Cray was" she closed her eyes "incredibly abusive. I don't want to go into details.
They're not important anyway. We lived in a town called Cramden. It's not far from Kansas City. One day, after Cray put me in the hospital, I ran away. That's all you need to know, okay?"
I nodded.
"I don't have any family. I had friends, but I really didn't want to get them involved. Cray is insane. He wouldn't let me go. He threatened ..." Her voice trailed away. "Never mind what he threatened. But I couldn't put anyone at risk. So I found a shelter that helps battered women. They took me in. I told them I wanted to start over. I wanted to get out of there. But I was afraid of Cray.
You see, Cray is a town cop. You have no idea .. . you live in terror for so long, you start to think that a man is omnipotent. It's impossible to explain."
I scooted a little closer, still holding her hand. I had seen the effects of abuse. I understood.
"The shelter helped me escape to Europe. I lived in Stockholm. It was hard. I got a job as a waitress. I was lonely all the time. I wanted to come back, but I was still so afraid of my husband, I didn't dare.
After six months, I thought I'd lose my mind. I still had nightmares about Cray finding me...."
Her voice broke off. I had no idea what to do. I tried to scoot my chair closer to hers. The armrests were already touching, but I think she appreciated the gesture.
"Anyway, I finally met a woman. She was an American living in the area. We started cautiously, but there was something about her. I guess we both had that on-the-run look. We were also lonely as hell, though she at least had her husband and daughter. They were in deep hiding too. I didn't know why at first."
"This woman," I said. "It was Sheila Rogers?"
"Yes."
"And the husband." I stopped, swallowed. "That was my brother."
She nodded. "They have a daughter named Carly."
It was beginning to make sense.
"Sheila and I became close friends, and while it took him a little longer to trust me, I grew close to Ken too. I moved in with them, started helping them take care of Carly. Your niece is a wonderful child, Will. Smart and beautiful and, not to get metaphysical, but there is such an aura around her."
<
br /> My niece. Ken had a daughter. I had a niece I had never seen.
"Your brother talked about you all the time, Will. He might mention your mother or your father or even Melissa, but you were his world. He followed your career. He knew all about your working at Covenant House. Here he had been in hiding for what, seven years? He was lonely too, I guess. So once he trusted me, he talked to me a lot. And what he talked about most was you."
I blinked and looked down at the table. I studied the Starbucks brown napkin. There was some stupid poem about aroma and a promise on it.
Made from recycled paper. The color was brown because they did not use bleach.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"I'm fine," I said. I looked up. "So what happened next?"
"I got in touch with a friend back home. She told me that Cray had hired a private detective and that he knew I was in the Stockholm area.
I panicked, but at the same time, I was ready to move on. Like I said, I had lived with Cray in Missouri. I figured that if I moved to New York, maybe I'd be safe. But I needed a deeper ID, in case Cray kept hunting. Sheila was in the same boat. Her fake ID was all surface, just a name change. And that was when we came up with a simple plan."
I nodded. This one I knew. "You switched identities."
"Right. She became Nora Spring and I became Sheila Rogers. This way, if my husband came after me, he'd only find her. And if the people searching for them found Sheila Rogers, well, you see, it adds another layer."
I considered that, but something still did not add up. "Okay, so that's how you became Sheila Rogers. You switched identities."
"Yes."
"And you ended up in New York City."
"Yes."
"And" here was the part I was having trouble with "somehow we happened to meet."
Nora smiled. "You're wondering about us, aren't you?"
"I guess I am."
"You're thinking it's a hell of a coincidence that I volunteered at the very place you work."
"It would seem unlikely," I agreed.
"Well, you're right. It wasn't a coincidence." She sat back and sighed. "I'm not sure how to explain this, Will."
I just held her hand and waited.
"Okay, you have to understand. I was so lonely overseas. All I had was your brother and Sheila and, of course, Carly. I spent all that time hearing your brother rave about you, and it was like ... it was like you were so different from any man I'd ever known. The truth is, I think I was half in love with you before we ever met. So I told myself when I came to New York that I'd just meet you, see what you were really like. Maybe if it seemed okay, I'd even tell you that your brother was alive and that he was innocent, though Ken warned me repeatedly about the danger of that. It wasn't a plan or anything. I just came to New York and one day I walked into Covenant House, and call it destiny or fate or whatever, but the moment I saw you, I knew that I would love you forever."
I was scared and confused and smiling.
"What? "she said.
"I love you."
She put her head on my shoulder. We grew quiet now. There was more.
It would come in time. For now, we just enjoyed the silence of being with one another. When Nora was ready, she started up again.
"A few weeks ago, I was sitting at the hospital with your mother. She was in such pain, Will. She couldn't take it anymore, she told me. She wanted to die. She was in such discomfort, well, you know."
I nodded.
"I loved your mother. I think you know that."
"I do," I said.
"I couldn't stand just sitting there doing nothing. So I broke my promise to your brother. Before she died, I wanted her to know the truth. She deserved that. I wanted her to know that her son was alive and that he loved her and that he hadn't hurt anybody."
"You told her about Ken?"
"Yes. But even in her haze, she was skeptical. She needed proof, I think."
I froze and turned to her. I saw it now. What had started it all. The visit to the bedroom after the funeral. The picture hidden behind the frame. "So you gave my mother that photograph of Ken."
Nora nodded.
"She never saw him. Just the photograph."
"That's right."
Which explained why we never knew about it. "But you told her he was coming back."
"Yes."
"Were you lying?"
She thought about that. "Maybe I was engaging in hyperbole, but no, I don't think it was an outright lie. You see, Sheila contacted me when they captured him. Ken had always been very careful. He had all sorts of provisions set up for Sheila and Carly. So when they caught him, Sheila and Carly ran off. The police never knew about them. Sheila stayed overseas until Ken thought it was safe. Then she sneaked back in."
"And she called you when she arrived?"
"Yes."
It was all adding up. "From a pay phone in New Mexico."
"Yes."
That would be the first call Pistillo was talking about the one from New Mexico to my apartment. "So then what happened?"
"It all started going wrong," she said. "I got a call from Ken. He was in a frenzy. Someone had found them. He and Carly had been out of the house when two men broke in. They tortured Sheila to find out where he'd gone. Ken came home during the attack. He shot them both.
But Sheila was seriously wounded. He called and told me that I had to run now. The police would find Sheila's fingerprints. McGuane and his people would also learn that Sheila Rogers had been with him."
"They'd all be looking for Sheila," I said.
"Yes."
"And that was you now. So you had to disappear."
"I wanted to tell you, but Ken was insistent. If you didn't know anything, you'd be safer. And then he reminded me that there was Carly to consider. These people tortured and killed her mother. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to Carly."
"How old is Carly?"
"She'd be close to twelve by now."
"So she was born before Ken ran away."
"I think she was six months old."
Another sore point. Ken had a child and never told me about her. I asked, "Why did he keep her a secret?"
"I don't know."
So far, I had been able to follow the logic, but I could not see how Carly fit into this. I mulled it over. Six months before he vanished.
What had been going on in his life? It was right about the time the FBI had flipped him. Could it be connected to that? Was Ken afraid that his actions might put his infant daughter in danger? That made sense, I guess.
No, I was missing something.
I was about to ask a follow-up question, try to get more details, when my cell phone chirped. Squares probably. I glanced at the caller ID. Nope, not Squares. But I recognized the number instantly. Katy Miller. I pressed the answer button and put the phone to my ear.
"Katy?"
"Oooo, no, sorry, that's incorrect. Please try again."
The fear flooded back. Oh Christ. The Ghost. I closed my eyes. "If you hurt her, so help me "
"Come, come, Will," the Ghost interrupted. "Impotent threats are beneath you."
"What do you want?"
"We need to chat, old boy."
"Where is she?"
"Who? Oh, you mean Katy? Why, she's right here."
"I want to talk to her."
"You don't believe me, Will? I'm wounded."
"I want to talk to her," I repeated.
"You want proof she's alive?"
"Something like that."
"How about this?" the Ghost began in his silkiest hush. "I can make her scream for you. Would that help?"
I closed my eyes again.
"Can't hear you, Will."
"No."
"You sure? It would be no problem. One piercing, nerve-shredding scream. What do you say?"
"Please don't hurt her," I said. "She has nothing to do with this."
"Where are you?"
"I'm on Park Avenue South
."
"Be more specific."
I gave him a location two blocks away.
"I'll have a car there in five minutes. Get in it. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"And, Will?"
"What?"
"Don't call anyone. Don't tell anyone. Katy Miller has a sore neck from a previous encounter. I can't tell you how tempting it would be to test it out." He stopped and whispered. "Still with me, old neighbor?"
"Yes."
"Hang tight then. This will all be over soon."
Chapter -Three.
Claudia Fisher burst into the office of Joseph Pistillo.
Pistillo lifted his head. "What?"
"Raymond Cromwell didn't report in."
Cromwell was the undercover agent they'd assigned to Joshua Ford, Ken Klein's attorney. "I thought he was wired."
"They had an appointment at McGuane's. He couldn't wear a wire in there."
"And nobody's seen him since that appointment?"
Fisher nodded. "Same with Ford. Both are missing."
"Jesus Christ."
"So what do you want to do?"
Pistillo was already up and moving. "Get every available agent. We're raiding McGuane's office now."
To leave Nora alone like that I had already gotten used to the name was beyond heart-wrenching, but what choice did I have? The idea that Katy was alone with that sadistic psycho gnawed straight into my marrow. I remembered how it felt to be handcuffed to the bed, helpless while he attacked her. I closed my eyes and wished the image away.
Nora made an effort to stop me, but she understood. This was something I had to do. Our good-bye kiss was almost too tender. I pulled away.
The tears were back in her eyes.
"Come back to me," she said.
I told her I would and hurried out.
The car was a black Ford Taurus with tinted windows.
There was only the driver inside. I did not recognize him. He handed me an eye shade, the kind they give out on airplanes, and told me to put it on and lie flat in the back. I did as he asked. He started up the car and pulled out. I used the time to think. I knew a lot now.
Not all. Not enough. But a lot. And I was reasonably sure that the Ghost was right: It would all be over soon.
