Дэвид Балдаччи - Mercy

But this one was different. Still, she had committed to doing it.

Even with that, she could only lie on her bed and stare at the ceiling, wondering about her life decisions and not coming away with a single good answer.

In his room, after having some wine and doing some other work, Peter Buckley was staring down at his notes from the interview with Wanda Atkins. It was a setback that they didn’t have Desiree’s phone number or address, but they would have to work around that. And if they could somehow get to Desiree first and then await Cain’s arrival? But she had the woman’s phone number and might already be well ahead of them.

His smartphone buzzed as a text dropped into his inbox. When he looked at the screen he couldn’t believe his good fortune. A transaction had been made using Eloise Cain’s credit card at a hotel in Asheville, North Carolina.

He pulled from his file a copy of her driver’s license. He had two associates standing by for just this sort of eventuality with immediate access to his private jet. He gave them the necessary information, then he took a snapshot of Cain’s driver’s license and sent it to them.

Fly there now, find her, and take her , he said in the message. And let me know when you do. I’ll arrange for a place for you to bring her and text you the location. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

He made a call and had one of his people attempt to charter a private plane from a local provider in Huntsville. Unfortunately, nothing was available, and all commercial flights leaving that day had long layovers. He clicked off and then texted Spector with the news; he added that they would be driving to Asheville, a little more than five hours away, and she should be ready to leave in ten minutes. He received a single thumbs-up in reply. He frowned at the response. He was unsure what was going on with the woman, but he didn’t like it.

He called another associate and told him to find a private place on the outskirts of Asheville and to do it in the next hour or so. It seemed a difficult task, and it was. But Buckley paid for people to do difficult things all the time. And they either succeeded or they no longer worked for him.

He packed his bag and left twenty dollars for the maid. Then he met Spector in the lobby, and they headed to the rental car.

“Hello?”

“Agent Pine?”

“Yes, who is this?”

It was the evening and Pine was in her hotel room sitting on her bed when the phone had rung.

“Special Agent Drew McAllister. I’m out of the WFO,” he added, referring to the Washington Field Office.

“What can I do for you?”

“I’ve been assigned to the Ito Vincenzo homicide matter.”

Pine kicked off her shoes, leaned back against her headboard, and thought back to Jack Lineberry’s frantic phone call. “And this has become an FBI ‘homicide matter’?”

“Yes. And I’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

“I meant in person. Where are you?”

“Asheville, North Carolina.”

“I can be there in the morning.”

“I’m not really sure what I can tell you. And why isn’t this an investigation for the local cops? I understand that police from Virginia and Georgia are already involved.”

“You know how these things roll. The Bureau has an interest, so I have an interest. Can you give me the address in Asheville?”

Pine did so, and then they arranged a time to meet in the morning. She clicked off and tossed her phone down.

“Shit,” she muttered and then rubbed her temples because she felt a sudden fire there. They really were going after Tim Pine in connection with Vincenzo’s death.

Well, they might actually find Tim and my mom for me. And then send them and Jack to jail. Great. She audibly groaned at this possibility.

Pine needed to do something, something to burn some energy. The weight room at the hotel didn’t have enough iron to challenge her, so she ran out to a shop down the street and bought a one-piece black bathing suit. She returned to her room, put on her jeans and a T-shirt over the swimsuit, and headed to the pool. She dove into the water and swam lap after lap, focusing on her strokes and her breathing — a form of cheap therapy.

Exhausted, she finished, pulled herself out of the pool, and climbed into the in-deck hot tub situated on the pool deck. She let the hot, jet-propelled water envelop her and thought about what questions Special Agent Drew McAllister would ask her tomorrow. And, more critically, what answers she would or could give.

She climbed out of the hot tub, went into the changing room, stripped off her bathing suit, dried off, and then changed back into her clothes. As she was leaving the pool area she glanced through the window of the adjacent space where the workout room was located.

There was only one person in there. A tall woman with a buzz cut. Probably in the military, Pine thought. She was outfitted in loose-fitting sweats and was moving all the stacks the universal weight machine had to offer.

Pine went back to her room, showered, and changed into another pair of jeans and a fresh sweatshirt. After a room-service dinner, she sat in her chair looking out the window and then debated whether to take a walk to further clear her mind. With Desiree in jail, she wasn’t sure what direction to head in now. But finding Mercy was still her only priority.

A moment later her phone rang. She snagged it off the nightstand.

“Yes?” she said.

“Agent Pine? This is Wanda Atkins. I hope it’s not too late for me to call.”

“No, not at all. Did you remember anything else?”

“No, but I thought you needed to know that she was here.”

“Who was there?” It couldn’t be Desiree, Pine knew.

“Beck — I mean Mercy, she was here. She tracked me down somehow.”

A dumbfounded Pine stood there shaking.

“ Mercy was at your house?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

When Atkins told her Pine barked, “And you’re just calling me now!” Pine felt like her head was about to explode. She could barely breathe.

“She was very upset. Which made me very upset. I’ve been crying for what seems like days. But I finally decided I needed to call and let you know what happened.”

Pine got her nerves under control and refocused. “What did she want?”

“She wanted to know if I had a way to get in touch with Desiree.”

“And what did you say?”

“I... I had a phone number. I know I should have told you, but I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Forget about that. It doesn’t matter now. Just tell me, did you give Desiree’s number to Mercy?”

“Yes, I did. But she doesn’t go by Mercy. She goes by Eloise now, El for short. She didn’t tell me her last name. Eloise is from the children’s book. That’s what she told me. I brought her a copy of it while she was... with Joe and Desiree. I... I did try to help her, you know,” she added in a pitiful tone.

When Pine said nothing, Wanda added, “Why would she want the phone number? I really don’t think Desiree will talk to her. I mean, why would she?”

“That’s not why she wanted it,” said Pine.

“What do you mean?” Wanda added, her voice now laced with panic. “Wait, can she track Desiree down from just her phone number?”

“Yes,” said Pine, who had a sick feeling that that was exactly what Mercy was going to do and might already have done. In fact, Pine could have gotten that information faster through paying to access an internet search database than waiting for the Bureau to provide it. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. “There are ways on the internet to get a physical address from a phone number.”