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Around eleven o’clock Cushing stood in his upstairs bedroom, looking out at the dark waters of the Farmington River that ran behind the house.

The Forge where Jodi was now was north up the river and he looked to his left in that direction.

Then he looked back at the empty bed.

Like all the other rooms in his historic home, his bedroom had all the ingredients of a designer’s touch. Neutral tones, soft lighting, statement furniture in the sitting room. The king-size bed was draped in luxe Italian linens and behind it was a creamy, velvet, cushioned custom headboard.

Truly, the whole estate was a masterpiece. A rolling lawn went down to the scenic river and in the southwest corner of the property was a sunken garden, a greenhouse, a fountain.

And the artwork. They had several of the more important impressionist paintings—a Degas, a Monet—as well as several Whistlers, all from the college’s vast art collection.

How happy Jodi had been when they first were shown the stunning place, Cushing thought. It was like the Virginia manor house that she had grown up in, only better. He would never forget her happy tears.

But what did all that matter now? Cushing thought.

He looked back at the empty bed again.

The whole place felt worthless now, dead, abandoned.

He lifted the Scotch bottle that was still in his hand. It was two-thirds empty now. Not a big drinker, he should have been drunk by now, he thought.

But there was no way to get drunk enough, was there?

There would be nowhere to hide from what he had done.

He remembered that night. The meeting with Frank interrupted by someone near the house. The bodyguards running out in a search and bringing Olivia in through the back door.

She was soaking wet, terrified. He remembered how her nose was bleeding. How one of the thugs laughed as he admitted he had broken it. He remembered standing there, stammering, not knowing what to do.

That’s when Frank smacked him and demanded that he look up her records. Red-faced with his lip bleeding, going to his computer, doing what he was told as the girl sobbed and bled on his hall floor. The shock of all of it like a dream.

Cushing closed his eyes.

He couldn’t wait anymore. He couldn’t stand this.

He lifted the SAT phone in his other hand and called Frank.

“Hello,” said Cheryl, Frank’s assistant.

“I know he’s busy, Cheryl. Just take a second.”

“I’ll get you on the front of the line, Mr. Cushing.”

“Thank you, Cheryl,” Cushing said. “Where are you guys? Already out at sea?”

“No, we’re still in Montauk. We set sail tomorrow if the weather holds,” Cheryl said.

“Well, bon voyage.”

“Thanks, Mr. Cushing,” Cheryl said. “Just hold a moment. You’re next up.”

“Marty,” Frank suddenly said. “I have the South Koreans on the phone. We’re in the middle of a bond thing. What can I do for you?”

“Just checking in,” Cushing said, trying to hide the fear in his voice. “Any word yet?”

“None yet. Like I said, I’ll call you.”

“Of course, Frank. I was just—”

“Worried. I know,” Frank said. “Don’t be. The people we have on this are the best in the world. I’ve already told them to treat Jodi as if she’s been kidnapped. They will extract her with white-glove treatment, I promise. Stop worrying. We’re going to settle this, I promise. Jodi will be fine. We’ll smooth this thing over, Marty.”

“Do you really think so?” Cushing said, hope like a sudden lightness in his chest.

“I don’t think so, I know so.”

“That’s...really great, Frank. Thank you so much. Really. I’m—”

“Don’t give it another thought. I’ll call the second I hear,” Frank said.