He pulled into the parking lot outside the storage facility.

Good, there was only one car, a Cadillac, parked there. It would have been more fitting if Zeke could have done this at his father's old store, but of course that was long gone. He wondered what had happened to its vault, one of the few things left intact after the fire-and the place his father had chosen to die.

"Wait here just one minute," he said, even as Isaac started to shout, "Daddy's car. That's Daddy's car."

It better be, Zeke thought. But Isaac had given him an idea. "Does it have a code for the locks, Isaac?"

The boy looked at him, suspicious as ever.

"He wants me to have the code, Isaac. I talked to him early today, and he said he was going to leave something in his car for me. If you tell me the code, I'll take you to your father."

"Five-six-one-four," the boy muttered, grudging to the end. Zeke punched the numbers and let himself in, opening the glove compartment. Good old predictable Mark: He had brought the gun with him, but he hadn't taken it inside. The old man had carried a gun whenever he went to the storage facility, and now Mark did it, too. Zeke slipped the SIG Sauer into his waistband and went back for the children. The twins were like little zombies, almost sleepwalking. Isaac moved even more slowly, dragging his feet. But as they reached the door, his eyes focused on the gun at Zeke's waistband.

"You're a liar," he said. "Daddy's not in there. You probably stole his car just to fool us, and parked it here. I'm not going in there with you."

"No, Zeke, he's in there, waiting for you. Honest."

"Then why did you steal his gun? Why do you steal everything?"

And with that the little pisher turned and ran, heading down the dark road between the cornfields. It was deserted out here, but who knew what lay over the next hill? Isaac could come back with a farmer carrying a shotgun, or some well-meaning soccer mom.

"Natalie, go get him and bring him back."

"But-"

"Just go. Use the car. He's headed away from the highway. He's got no shot of getting far, not out here. We promised Mark three kids for forty thousand dollars. If we don't bring all three, he won't give us anything."

Isaac ran until he felt that his legs and lungs might explode from the effort. Why did his legs feel so heavy? When he saw the headlights burning their beams into the road ahead of him, spotlighting his shadow as if he were a newly restored Peter Pan, he veered into the cornfields. The corn was long gone, but the stalks were still there, dry and crackly, and they whistled as he tried to move between them, announcing his every step. The car stopped and he stopped, but now his breathing was so loud. Could they hear his breathing?

"Isaac." It was his mother's sweetest voice. "Your father really is here. He's waiting for you."

He didn't say anything. It could be a trick.

"I wouldn't lie to you. He's here. This is his storage place, you know that. He's inside, waiting to see you."

Isaac's breath was so noisy in his chest. He had to make it go away, or at least be quieter. He inhaled, tried to hold it as long as possible.

"Isaac, you're going home to live now. You're going back to our house, back to school. Everything will be as you like it."

She was in the corn now. He could hear it crackling around her. He didn't want to say anything, because then she would know where he was. But he had to ask.

"And you, Mama?"

She must have stopped moving, for he no longer heard the rustle of the cornstalks. "What do you mean, Isaac?"

"Are you going home, too?"

She didn't answer.

"You have to tell the truth. You just said you would never lie to me. You said that just the other day."

"Yes, Isaac." She was moving again, getting closer.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I told you that. I won't lie to you."

"So tell me."

"Isaac-your father is waiting. Really, truly."

"No, tell me, Mama. What are you going to do? Where are you going to go?"

"I don't know, Isaac. I don't know what I'm going to do. But I know you want to go home."

With that she emerged from the corn, just a few feet from him. He could have turned and run in the other direction, but where would he go, what would he do? This was his choice. He could live in the house he had always known, with his father, or he could live with his mother and Zeke. But maybe his mother would change her mind, if he waited long enough, if he talked to her. Maybe she would love his father again, once she saw him. Or, as time went on, maybe she would miss them so much she would give up Zeke and come back to them.

His mother held out her arms to him, and he went to her, pressing his face into her stomach, smelling all her smells, letting her rub his head.

"You're a good boy, Isaac. I love you so much. Never forget that, okay? Your mother loves you."

"I love you, too, Mama."

She took his hand in hers. "Now let's go see Daddy."

Chapter Forty

TESS COULDN'T DECIDE IF SHE SHOULD BE RELIEVED OR in despair when she saw that Mark's Cadillac was the only car at the storage facility. What if I'm too late? What if he's dead inside? She drew her gun and entered a small anteroom, a makeshift office created by cheap plywood siding, a door in the center. Cautiously, she tried the knob, waiting to see if anyone would respond to that motion.

"Nat?" a voice asked. A man's voice, not unlike Mark's, but definitely not Mark's. Tess backed up and kicked the door, on the off chance that the man had positioned himself behind it, then crossed the threshold with her gun firmly in both hands.

"Put your hands above your head," she told the man, who stood no more than ten feet from her, pacing a narrow corridor with two heavy, vaultlike doors on either side.

The man complied, clasping his hands to the crown of his head, sizing her up as she sized him up. The descriptions of him in the random sightings had always been so vague that Tess had never been able to get a clear picture in her mind.

Why hadn't people mentioned how handsome he was? Of course, not everyone might have found him so, but even those who didn't care for this type-tall, lean, with dark skin and light eyes-should have noticed he was a striking man.

But the oddest fact of his appearance, by far, was how strongly he favored Mark. If Tess hadn't known otherwise, she would have taken them for blood relations. The coloring, the features, were all very similar. This one was taller, true, with the kind of body that a disciplined man can sculpt over a long prison sentence. His eyes were a cold, hard blue, whereas Mark's were brown and soft. But there was a resemblance.

"Nathaniel Rubenstein," she said, her gun aimed at his midsection. He kept his hands on his head, making no attempt to reach for the gun tucked into his waistband. She recognized the distinctive grip of Mark's SIG Sauer.

"I prefer to be called Zeke," he said.

"Where's Mark? Is he alive?"

"Well, he's either behind Door Number One or"-he jerked his head toward the other door-"Door Number Two. Are you ready to play Let's Make a Deal?"

"And the children? Are they here, too?"

"You the chick he hired? Lana told me about you." He smiled, sure of his charm even now. Oh, this one had been talking his way out of trouble for most of his life.

"Let him out."

"No can do."

"Excuse me?" She wondered if she could get away with shooting him while his arms were raised.

"I need to keep him there, just for a few hours. Him and the kids. This is a business deal, plain and simple. It doesn't involve you-or wasn't supposed to. I made him promise to leave anyone else out of it, including his private detective, and he was happy to oblige."