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NINETY-FOUR

“I’M SORRY, AGENT BLAIR, that cell phone is still turned off.”

Blair, racing back to Hemingway Grove on the highway, says into his earbud, “Keep trying. The moment that cell phone pings, call me at this number.”

“Will do, Agent.”

He dials the number for Kyle Janowitz.

“This is Kyle.”

“Kyle, it’s Blair. I’ve been calling you.”

“Sorry — been occupied. Is Marcie okay?”

Careful, now. Careful how you handle Kyle.

“Something went haywire this morning. Marcie took off. Her phone’s turned off, and we can’t find her.”

“Oh, no. I mean, Blair, what did you expect from her today? That she’d be in the right frame of mind to perform some task for you, after just finding out her husband died?”

Blair jumps in his seat. “David is dead ?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“Uh, no — no, she didn’t.”

That’s not good news. Emotional as she must be, Marcie will be even less predictable now. All the more reason he needs Kyle.

“I need you to help me with something, Kyle.”

“Then you’ll need to tell me why.”

“I can’t get into that right now. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“I need more than that, Blair. I’m not your errand boy. I will cooperate with a federal investigation, but not in the complete dark.”

Blair feels his frustration boil over. But he needs Kyle. Keep it cool.

“I promise I’ll tell you, but not now. All I can say right now is there is more to Marcie than you know. And I’m afraid she’s on the run. And if she is, she’ll take her children.”

“Why would she run? I thought she was cooperating with you.”

She was, or so Blair thought. Until she read that handwritten note from her husband in the vault, that six-word note Marcie left behind in her rush to leave. Blair glances over at it now, resting on the passenger seat:

Don’t trust anyone from the FBI

“You have two choices, Sergeant,” Blair tells him. “You can secure those children, who I’m sure are at the hospital. Or you can ignore my request. If you ignore my request, lives will be at risk, and probably your career, too. So do us both a favor and help me. Find the kids, secure them, and call me when you do so.”

He punches out the phone and unleashes all the rage he’d suppressed in one primal shout. Then he takes a breath and dials Silas. “Talk to me.”

“You can’t track her by phone?” Silas asks. “Or by her credit card maybe?”

“Her phone’s turned off. And I’m pushing it as it is — you have any idea what I’d have to go through to track her credit card transactions in real time? I’m not actually performing Bureau work right now, Silas, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Okay. Well, so where am I looking down here? Feels like a waste of time.”

“If she’s still in Champaign, she’s hiding,” he tells Silas. “So think like her. Think of places she could do that. Places she could blend into a crowd. Nothing small like a convenience store. Probably not even a restaurant. A bar, maybe — hiding in a dark corner by the exit. Or maybe a coffee shop, where she could cocoon herself in a corner. Probably lots of bars and coffee shops around a college campus. I’d focus on those.”

“Bars and coffee shops. Will do.”

“Keep your eye on the prize,” says Blair. “Money first, revenge second.”