Harlan Coben - Stay close

A stray tear ran down Tawny’s cheek. The perky blond girl nodded at her as though she understood exactly what Tawny was going through.

Maybe, Tawny thought, readying her key, I do need saving. Maybe these two kids, unlikely as it sounded, were her ticket to a better life.

“Okay,” Tawny said, choking back a sob. “You can come in. Just for a second, okay?”

They both nodded.

Tawny opened the door. Ralphie sprinted across the room toward them, his nails clacking on the linoleum. Tawny felt her heart soar at the sound. Ralphie-the one good, kind, loving thing in her life. She bent down and let Ralphie run her over. She giggled through a sob and scratched Ralphie in that spot behind his ears for a few seconds and then stood back up.

Tawny turned to the perky blonde, who still had the smile in place.

“Beautiful dog,” the perky blonde said.

“Thank you.”

“Can I pet him?”

“Sure.”

Tawny turned to the cute guy. He smiled at her too. But the smile was weird now. Off somehow…

The cute guy was still smiling when he cocked his fist back. He was still smiling when he turned his hips and shoulders and punched Tawny straight in the face with everything he had.

As Tawny crumbled to the floor, blood spurting out of her nose, eyes rolling back, the last sound she heard was Ralphie whimpering.

Broome put the phone back in its cradle. He was still trying to process this-to quote all local newscasters-“latest shocking development.”

Goldberg asked, “Who was that?”

Broome hadn’t realized that Goldberg had been hovering. “Harry Sutton.”

“The shyster?”

“Shyster?” Broome frowned. “What is this, 1958? No one calls lawyers shysters anymore.”

“Don’t be an asshole because it’s easy,” Goldberg said. “This have something to do with Carlton Flynn?”

Broome stood, his pulse racing. “Could be.”

“Well?”

Something to do with Carlton Flynn? Maybe. Something to do with Stewart Green? Definitely.

Broome was still replaying the conversation in his head. After seventeen years of searching, Harry Sutton claimed to have Cassie, the stripper who vanished with Stewart Green, in his office. She was there right now-just like that-materializing out of thin air. It was almost too much to take in.

With most lawyers, Broome would figure they were full of crap. But Harry Sutton, for all his private-life extremes-and, man, he had loads-would not pull something like this. There was no upside for him for lying about it.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Broome said.

Goldberg put his hands on his hips, trying hard to look tough. “No, you’ll tell me now.”

“Harry Sutton may have located a witness.”

“What witness?”

“I was sworn to secrecy.”

“You were what?”

Broome didn’t bother to reply. He just kept moving, taking the stairs, knowing that Goldberg, a man who found it exhausting to reach for anything other than a sandwich, wouldn’t follow. When he got in his car, his cell phone rang. Broome saw that it was Erin.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Heading to see Harry Sutton.”

Erin had been his cop partner for twenty-three years before retiring last year. She was also his ex-wife. He filled her in on the sudden reappearance of Cassie.

“Wow,” Erin said.

“Yes.”

“The elusive Cassie,” Erin said. “You’ve been looking for her for a long time.”

“Seventeen years.”

“So you may get some answers.”

“We can hope. You call for a reason?”

“The surveillance video from La Creme.”

“What about it?”

“I may have found something,” Erin said.

“Do you want me to stop by when I’m done with Sutton?”

“Sure, that’ll give me time to hammer this out. Plus you can fill me in on your meeting with the elusive Cassie.”

Then, because he couldn’t resist: “Erin?”

“What?”

“You said ‘hammer.’ Heh-heh-heh.”

“Seriously, Broome?” Erin groaned. “How old are you?”

“Lines like that used to work on you.”

“Lots of things used to work on me,” she said, and there was maybe a hint of sadness in her voice. “A long time ago.”

Truer words. “See you in a while, Erin.”

Broome pushed thoughts of his ex away and kept his foot on the accelerator. A few minutes later, he wrapped his knuckles on the pebbled glass. From inside, a gravelly voice called, “Enter!”

He opened the door and stepped fully into the room. Harry Sutton looked like a beloved college professor gone seriously to seed. Broome took in the whole room. There was no one here but Harry.

“Nice to see you, Detective.”

“Where is Cassie?”

“Have a seat.”

Broome did as asked. “Where is Cassie?”

“She’s not here at the moment.”

“Well, yes, I can see that.”

“That’s because you’re a trained detective.”

“I try not to brag,” Broome said. “What’s going on here, Harry?”

“She’s nearby. She wants to talk to you. But before she does, there are a few ground rules.”

Broome spread his arms. “I’m listening.”

“First of all, this is all off the record.”

“Off the record? What, you think I’m a reporter, Harry?”

“No, I think you’re a good and somewhat desperate cop. Off the record meaning just that. You don’t take notes. You don’t put this in the file. As far as anyone knows, you never talked to her.”

Broome considered that. “And if I say no?”

Harry Sutton stood and reached out his hand. “Good to see you again, Detective. Have a nice day.”

“Okay, okay, no need for theatrics.”

“No need,” Harry said with a bright smile, “but why not throw them in if I can?”

“So it’s off the record. Bring her in.”

“A few more rules first.”

Broome waited.

“Today is a one-time exclusive. Cassie will talk to you in my office. She will answer your questions to the best of her ability in my presence. Then she will vanish again. You will let her. You won’t try to learn her new name or identity-and more important, you won’t try to find her after this meeting.”

“And you’re going to just trust me on that?”

“Yes.”

“I see,” Broome said. He shifted in the chair. “Suppose I think she’s guilty of a crime.”

“You won’t.”

“But suppose.”

“Tough. When she’s done talking to you, she goes home. You don’t see her again.”

“And suppose, after I investigate some more, I stumble across something new I need to ask her about.”

“Same answer: Tough.”

“I can’t come to you?”

“You can. And if I can help, I will. But she makes no commitment to do so.”

Broome could argue, but he had no leverage here. He was also a one-in-the-hand, don’t-look-a-gift-horse-in-the-mouth kind of guy. Yesterday he didn’t have the slightest clue where Cassie was. Now, unless he pissed off her or Harry, he could talk to her.

“Okay,” Broome said, “I agree to all your rules.”

“Marvelous.” Harry Sutton picked up his cell phone and said, “Cassie? It’s okay. Come on in now.”

Deputy Chief Goldberg just didn ’t give a damn anymore.

He was a year from retirement with full pension, and it wasn’t enough. Not even close. Atlantic City might be a cesspool, but it was a costly one. He had alimony payments up the wazoo. His current love interest, Melinda, a twenty-eight-year-old porn star (they were always porn “stars,” Goldberg noticed, never just “actresses” or, as in Melinda’s case, “the lesser girl in the three-way”), was sucking him dry (and he meant that in two ways, snicker). But, man, was she worth it.