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CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

THE ROOSEVELTS

“What the fuck, Hank?”

They sit in the back of Cynthia Roosevelt’s bullet-resistant SUV, her ex-husband looking like a chastened schoolboy. Smelling like a Dumpster after his bender, then brief stint in custody.

“I don’t need this.”

“What you need is a shower.”

“I appreciate you picking me up. But what is it you want, Cynthia?”

“I want to find our son.”

“You think I don’t?”

She wants to say that maybe he shouldn’t have gone on a bender, maybe he shouldn’t have lied about not coming to Parents Weekend, wasted everyone’s time thinking he was involved with the students disappearing. It took them all of a half hour to get footage from that fleabag motel to confirm he was there when the kids’ phones last pinged.

“Why are you in Santa Clara?” Cynthia asks. “What’s going on?”

He hesitates. “I got laid off. From the college. I was just feeling lost. I wanted to see Blane.”

“Well, maybe don’t fuck your TA.”

“That’s not why they didn’t renew my contract. It has nothing to do with—” He stops, as if knowing it’s pointless. “Did you ever ask yourself why I did it?”

Cynthia shakes her head. “Because you’re a selfish asshole. That’s why.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Oh don’t even,” she says. “Fine, humor me. Why did you feel the need to fuck a twenty-two-year-old?”

“She’s thirty. A grown woman.”

Cynthia puffs a sarcastic laugh through her nose. He’s unbelievable. Even now, he’s justifying.

“And you want to know why? Try having someone look disappointed at you every day. From the moment you wake up until you go to bed. Someone who’s embarrassed of you.” Hank looks away.

Perfect, he’s blaming her . That’s rich. But they don’t have time for this. She feels a dull ache in her chest. A strange stew of anger and sadness. Deep down she knows what happened to their marriage isn’t only his fault. “Look, we need to focus on Blane. Did you see anything on Friday night? Did he say anything?”

“No. He was in a hurry. Didn’t want his mother mad at him for being late.”

Cynthia represses the urge to respond to the jab.

“We spoke for less than five minutes. I told the cops everything already.”

“Tell me.”

He tells her how he was already in Santa Clara on Friday when they spoke on the phone. That he thought he and Blane could spend a little time together while Cynthia was working, since she’s always working. That Blane had fallen off his skateboard but wasn’t hurt. That he was in a hurry to get to the dinner. That Blane got a text—one that Hank assumed was from Cynthia—and seemed flustered and rushed off.

“We agreed to meet after. He was going to call me. He never did.”

“You saw nothing?” Of course he didn’t. He’s useless.

“I’m sorry.”

Cynthia releases a breath. “Here’s what we’re going to do. My team has secured a safe house nearby. You’re going to stay there by your phone in case he calls you.”

He doesn’t respond but he doesn’t protest either.

“You are not to talk to the media or leave that house. These internet people and reporters are already on a tear with that spectacle at the motel.”

“You’re worried I’ll embarrass you,” he says.

She doesn’t say he already has. That idiot lead agent—what’s his name?—created a media frenzy by storming the motel with at least a dozen other agents. The raid has been all over the news.

Worse, Cynthia’s chief of staff showed her a viral video of Hank blinking into the sunlight as he’s perp-walked out of the shitty motel. Paul says TikTok has been blowing up with conspiracy theories, people tracking down Hank’s former students, combing through his novels, accusing Hank of killing Blane and the others.

“I’m not embarrassed,” she lies. “We just need to stop the flow of misinformation. It’s hurting the investigation, diverting resources.”

Hank then does something she’s never seen before in all their years together. He starts crying. Bawling, really. “I’m worried, Cynth, that—he’s hurt or—” He’s gulping for breaths.

Cynthia straightens her spine. She didn’t cry when her ambassador father died. Didn’t cry when Blane was abducted. Didn’t cry one time during the divorce. And she’s not crying now. Because they’re going to find her son. Because she knows that Blane comes from her stock and he won’t go down without a fight.