“I know,” she said, resting her head against his, “but don’t break the spell.”

They continued to unpack Greg’s belongings. Some photos and mementos, including a painted wooden block she had given him with the word PERSEVERANCE, in bold, block letters on it. A ton of old medical tomes. Greg lifted himself up onto the counter, feeding the books into the shelves as Kate handed them up, two or three at a time. Most were old clothbound texts from medical school. “Largely unread,” Greg admitted. Some were even older than that. A couple of dust-covered textbooks on philosophy from undergraduate days. A few he’d carried with him when he moved here. In Spanish.

“Why the hell are you even displaying these old things?” Kate asked.

“Why all doctors display them. Makes us look smart.”

Kate stood up, trying to hand him three more. “Then here, Einstein-”

Suddenly one fell out of her grasp, knocking against her shoulder as it tumbled to the floor.

“You okay?” Greg asked.

“Yeah.” Kate knelt down. It was an old copy of Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude. In his native Spanish. Greg must’ve brought it with him from Mexico. It had probably sat at the bottom of this old box for years.

“Hey, check this out.”

The flap was open. There was a name scrawled on the inside cover in faded ink.

Kate went cold.

There was this instant-this time-stopping freeze-where Kate saw her life on one side, a life she knew was now left behind-and something else on the other, something she didn’t want to see. And no matter how hard she wanted to keep it from happening, the moment wouldn’t stop.

She read what was there.

“Kate!”

It was as if the oxygen had been sucked out of her lungs. Or like the horror of a plane suddenly accelerating into a steep dive-something chilling and life-changing that was way beyond belief, yet real.

Gregorio Concerga, the name read in a familiar, right-leaning script.

Not Herrera. Kate knew the name immediately. Concerga-he had been one of Mercado’s henchmen. Her eyes ran down the page and saw something else.

La Escuela Nacional , Carmenes, 1989.

Kate looked up. At Greg. His face was ashen.

Then it was like she was on that plane-as the whole thing started to blow apart.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

Kate staggered backward, as if a concussion grenade had gone off and everything was black. Had she read it right? She looked at the book again. Gregorio Concerga. Carmenes. 1989. Then back at Greg. The stonelike dread on his face confirmed that she had.

“Kate, I don’t know where the hell that came from.”

Kate stared into her husband’s face. All of a sudden, she saw a person she had never seen before.

“Jesus, no, Greg…” She shook her head. Her stomach dropped off a cliff.

“Kate, listen, you don’t understand.” He jumped down from the counter.

No, she didn’t understand.

Suddenly things started to become clear. “How did my father know about Tina?” Kate asked.

Greg acted a little confused. “What?”

“Tina. He knew she’d been shot. How would he know that? That all happened after he disappeared. How the hell would he know about that, Greg?”

“I don’t know!” He took a step toward her. “Listen, baby, this isn’t what you think…”

“What I think…?” Her blood was buzzing with shock. “Oh, God, Greg, what I think?”

Kate dropped the book to the floor. Her fingers went numb, useless. She backed away from him and toward the door. “How did he know about Margaret Seymour being tortured, Greg?”

Greg took a step toward her. “Kate, please…”

“No!” She flailed at him with her fists. “Oh, my God, Greg, what have you done?”

She realized she had to get out of there. She continued to the door. Greg’s eyes darted toward the book on the floor. Kate started to run. Before she hit the door, she caught a glimpse of him kneeling, picking up the book.

“Kate, where are you going? Please.”

She dashed into the hall, flinging aside an idle gurney that was blocking her path. She needed to get out, she needed air. “Don’t come after me!” she begged. At the elevator bank, Kate jammed her palm against the buttons.

She heard Greg’s voice calling after her, “Kate, wait, please…” She heard him running after her. She looked around frantically for the stairs, mashing her hand over and over against both buttons. Please!

Miraculously, the elevator door opened. Kate threw herself in. It was empty. She feverishly pressed the green “Door Close” button. Greg slid around the turn and tried to force his arm through the closing doors. Thank God, he was an instant too late.

She pressed “Lobby.”

As the elevator descended, Kate put her hands over her face and leaned back into the paneled wall. Her stomach was grinding.

You have to think. She flashed through a mental reel of their relationship since they’d first met. It had been four years. They’d met at the temple. In New York. Rosh Hashanah. Greg was in medical school. He didn’t have any family here. Her father took a liking to him, and Kate did, too. Then her father invited him out to the house. It was as if she were being set up.

Kate gagged in revulsion. Was it all part of the fucking plan?

Finally the elevator door rattled open in the lobby. Kate ran out, brushing by a mother and son about to step in. “Hey…”

She sprinted through the high-ceilinged atrium space and out the glass doors, her mind a jumble of thoughts and fears.

All she knew was that she had trusted Greg-and suddenly he was part of it. He had been the only thing in her life she could count on as real.

Kate pushed through the revolving doors onto Fort Washington Avenue. She had to get away and think. She couldn’t see Greg or hear him explain. He was probably coming down the stairs after her now.

Their van was parked across from the rear entrance on 168th Street. Kate ran the other way, toward Broadway.

A security guard came out of the entrance with a radio and called after her. Kate didn’t even stop to think. Halfway up the block, she looked around and saw Greg pushing through the revolving doors, calling, “Kate, listen, please!” Kate kept on running. She didn’t know what she would do when she got to the corner. All she could think of was losing herself in a crowd.

Broadway was jammed. Bodegas. Discount clothing stores. A Dr. J ’s athletic-shoe store. Fast-food outlets. The intersection at 168th Street was one of the busiest in this part of town.

Kate looked frantically for a cab.

There was a subway entrance in front of her. Kate bolted down the stairs. She remembered the MetroCard in her wallet and groped wildly in her purse, her fingers shaking. She located her card, forced it into the turnstile, and went through.

The Broadway line.

First she headed toward the downtown staircase. Then she stopped. She didn’t know how soon the next train would arrive. Not seeing her on the street, Greg might come down here. She might still be on the platform when he caught up to her.

Then Kate remembered that 168th was where the Broadway and Eighth Avenue lines merged. She searched the signs above and spotted the green circle for the IND line. She followed them, running eastward down a long corridor. She didn’t know if Greg had followed her. Then she thought she heard his voice behind her, coming down the stairs: “Kate…Kate…”

Her heart rate accelerated. Please, just leave me alone.

There were a few people in the long underground tunnel. A group of teenagers wearing Knicks jerseys and basketball sneakers. Their voices echoed off the low ceiling as Kate brushed by. “Watch it, lady!”

She ran as fast as she could. She didn’t know if Greg was behind her. Then she saw the green circle indicating her train. There was an escalator leading to the platform. Kate took it down.