My question put him on the defensive. “Yeah, almost two hours before the flight. Something wrong?”

“They didn’t get on the plane. And no one has heard from them since.”

He seemed genuinely shocked. “That’s weird.”

“Did you see anything strange? Anyone at the airport who looked out of the ordinary?”

“Nuttin’ that worried me,” said Nick. “They seemed in good hands when I left.”

“Whose hands?”

“There was a woman who met them at the curb.”

“You mean curbside check-in?”

“No, I dealt with that. She was…a friend, I thought. Good lookin’, too. Anyways, they seemed to know her and were glad to see her-really glad. Like they ain’t seen each other for a long time. I didn’t think nothin’ of it.”

I froze, almost too perplexed to ask. “Did you catch her name?”

“Your grandpa called her Ivy.”

Ivy.

“Mr. C.,” said Nick, breaking my chain of thought. “I know you got a lot on your mind, but I heard about the bankruptcy on the news this morning. I was just wondering about my stock.”

“You own shares of Saxton Silvers?”

“Well, yeah. The wife and me, we been saving for years, but it just wasn’t keeping up with the way tuition was rising. You seemed like a successful guy. So we talked it over and put the kids’ college fund in the market. That’s not gone, is it?”

It felt like a knife in my belly. I wondered how many guys like Nick were out there. “We’ll talk about that,” I said.

My cell rang. Mallory’s cell. I didn’t recognize the number, so I ignored it, figuring that it was probably one of Mallory’s girlfriends trying to reach her. Immediately it rang again-the same caller redialing rather than going to voice mail, as if the message were urgent. I was so out of sorts from what I’d just heard from Nick that I’d momentarily forgotten Ivy’s warning about using the cell phone. I answered it.

“Michael, it’s me.” Her voice was racing.

“Ivy?”

“Shut up and answer this question yes or no: Are you still in New Jersey?”

Suddenly I remembered the eavesdropping, and I was afraid to say. “Why is that import-”

“Stop!” she said. “I don’t care where you are. Get to North Bergen and go to the nearest DQ.”

“What?”

“Focus, Michael. Listen to exactly what I’m saying. Meet me at the North Bergen DQ. How soon can you get there?”

“Well, we just got out of a cab so-”

“Stop it! Less than half an hour or more?”

“Less-I think.”

“Good. Get there as fast as you can. You got that? Go to the DQ. Right now! And take the battery out of Mallory’s phone before you go.”

“What?”

“Just do it! Remove the battery and go!”

The call ended, and she was gone.

Olivia came up the driveway, clearly alarmed by the expression on my face. “Everything okay?”

I slid the battery off the back of the phone, then looked at Nick and said, “We need a ride.”

54

“JUST GOT OUT OF A CAB?” SAID JASON WALD.

Wald was in the back of a white van that was parked in the bus lot across the street from the Tonnelle Avenue motel. Seated in the captain’s chair beside him, wearing headphones, was his tech expert. Between them was a laptop computer. Weeks earlier, Mallory Cantella’s “boyfriend,” Nathaniel, had given them everything they needed to program Mallory’s cell with spy software. Ivy’s conversation with Michael had come through the speakers on the laptop in real time, loud and clear.

“How did they get out of the motel without us seeing them?” asked Wald.

It was their job to let Burn know exactly when Michael and Olivia made a move. A wireless camera on the fence was aimed at the motel room door, with either Wald or his tech guy watching the image on their computer screen at all times.

“What does the GPS say?” Wald said.

“For some reason the spyware still isn’t giving me a read from the cell phone.”

“What about Olivia’s car?” Wald had gone over in the middle of the night and planted a backup under the bumper.

The tech guy pulled up the satellite coordinates on the computer screen. “The car hasn’t moved.”

“Of course it hasn’t,” said Wald. “They took a cab. Try getting the GPS reading on the cell phone again.”

“Definitely won’t work now. She told him to take the battery out.”

Wald yanked at his hair, as if trying to pull the answer out of his head. “I just don’t understand how they could get out.”

“I don’t either,” said his techie. “I gave the manager twenty bucks to let me look inside one of the rooms, just like you asked me to. There’s only one way in and one way out-and that’s the front door.”

“This has to be a ruse. They must still be in there.”

Wald flung open the passenger’s-side door, jumped from the van, and ran across the street toward the motel, hurdling over the concrete barrier that separated the divided highway. He stopped at Olivia’s car and laid his hand on the hood. It was cold; the car hadn’t moved since they’d pulled up last night. He went to room 107 and put his ear to the door. Silence.

They can’t be gone!

He wanted to bang down the door and find out for sure, but if it turned out that they were still inside, what would he say when Cantella answered the door? He needed another plan. A maid’s cart was two doors down. He ran to it and found the housekeeper making the bed inside room 103.

“Come quick!” he said. “I think my friend in room 107 is sick!”

She paused.

“Come!” said Wald. “You have to open the door.”

She followed him out to room 107. Wald retreated a few steps and waited in the doorway to room 103, behind the maid’s cart, where he would be out of sight when the door opened. The maid knocked on the door to 107.

No answer.

“Open it!” Wald said, speaking in a hurried whisper.

She knocked again, harder this time. Still no answer.

“Open the damn door!” he said, his whisper even more urgent.

The housekeeper was getting nervous and more than a little suspicious. “I’ll get the manager,” she said.

Wald cursed under his breath as she walked away. Every fiber in his body was telling him Cantella had somehow escaped, but he had to see with his own eyes. He went to the window. The drapes were drawn, making it impossible to peer inside. He tried the knob, but it was locked. He put his shoulder into the door, but it didn’t budge.

The maid’s cart was still in front of room 103. He went to it, grabbed a large bath towel, and pulled the gun from his jacket. With the weapon in hand and his finger on the trigger, he wrapped the towel around it, aimed it at the lock, and fired once. The makeshift sound suppressor reduced the noise level to that of a cap gun, and the lock was destroyed. He pushed open the door and burst into the room. The gaping hole in the back of the closet immediately told the story.

“Son of a bitch!”

He tossed the powder-burned towel aside, tucked away the gun, and dialed Burn.

“Cantella’s on the move,” said Wald. “She called him and said to meet at the Dairy Queen.”

“Which one?”

“The one in North Bergen.”

“What street?”

Wald struggled, no more information. “Hell if I know.”

Wald could hear Burn’s keyboard clacking in the background. It took less than thirty seconds.

“It’s on Kennedy Avenue,” said Burn.

“You want me to meet you there?” asked Wald.

“No,” said Burn, a certain finality in his voice. “I’ve got it.”