Линвуд Баркли - Find You First

“He was kind of weird with me,” Chloe whispered when Nicky returned. Nicky had told her she thought their conversations were monitored, so they were talking as quietly as possible.

“Weird how?”

“He put his hand on my head for a long time. Just holding it there. He ever do that with you?”

“You mean like if he’s holding your head down on his—”

“No, not that. Putting his hand on my head, like — this will sound totally nuts — like he was feeling my life force or something.”

“I can honestly say he’s never done that with me,” Nicky said.

Chloe struggled to sit up on the side of the bed, letting her toes brush the carpet. “He really is going to kill us, isn’t he?”

Nicky sighed. “I keep thinking, because it hasn’t happened yet, maybe it won’t.”

Chloe said, “Suppose he opened the door tomorrow and told you to leave. What are you going to do? You’re going to go to the police, right?”

“I guess.”

“You guess ?”

“I don’t know. I’d be so grateful to get out, maybe I wouldn’t talk.”

“He can’t take that kind of chance,” Chloe said. “We need to get a message out to someone, anyone.”

Miles, she thought.

“Closest I got was when I picked up a Wi-Fi signal by the window,” Nicky said. “But they found out before I could send a message.”

“If we could set off an alarm or something.”

“Thought of that,” Nicky said. “Was going to try to start a fire one day but couldn’t figure out a way to do it.”

“There must be something.”

Nicky went quiet for several seconds, and when she did talk, her whisper was almost inaudible. “I had this one idea, but I don’t know how to do it. But you’re older than me, so maybe you’ve got, like, skills I don’t.”

Chloe leaned in closer. “Try me.”

Roberta rapped lightly on the door to Jeremy’s office before entering.

“He’s here,” she said.

Jeremy, sitting at the computer, looked her way. “Send him up in five.”

Exactly five and a half minutes later, there was another soft knock on the door. Jeremy, not taking his eyes off the screen, said, “Come in.”

A man walked into the room and stood on the other side of the desk. Jeremy didn’t stand or extend a welcoming hand.

“Sit,” he said.

The man sat, settled into the chair, and crossed his legs. Jeremy entered a few more keystrokes, did one last, dramatic tap on the Enter key with his index finger, then turned and looked squarely at his guest.

“So,” Jeremy said. “You ran into some problems.”

The man nodded. “I can finish the job, but I’ll need a new partner. There’s someone I’ve worked with in the past. I’ll give him a call.”

“What happened to her?” Jeremy asked.

“You really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

“She was caught off guard by the subject’s girlfriend,” Rhys said. “We fucked up.”

“You see any way that we’re exposed?”

“No.”

“Her prints are nowhere on file?”

“No.”

“She had no record?”

“None.”

“No identifying marks? No tattoos?”

Rhys thought back to that night.

“No. When her body’s finally found, and they try to dig into her past, they’ll get nowhere. She has no past.”

Jeremy sighed. “As it turns out, we have one of them under our roof.”

Rhys, usually good with a poker face, could not conceal his surprise.

“Who?”

“Chloe Swanson.”

Rhys wondered if it was the Chloe from Todd’s trailer. When he heard her voice, he’d know.

“Plus, the one we were waiting for you to deal with when you returned,” Jeremy said. “Roberta’s been quite anxious for you to get this done. I didn’t want to bring in anyone else.”

“Sure.”

Jeremy placed his palms flat on the table. “I don’t want it done on the premises. Take them elsewhere.”

“Understood.”

Jeremy smiled. “Maybe tell them you’ve organized an outing. A reward for good behavior. An excursion to the Central Park Zoo. Feed them to the snow leopards.”

Rhys stood. “I’ll drop by, introduce myself as part of your legal team. Tell them we’re drafting some nondisclosure agreements for them to sign, after which their release will be expedited.”

Jeremy nodded. “It has the ring of credibility. Throw in some financial compensation.”

He turned back to his computer, signaling that they were done. Once in the hall, his back to a large black-and-white photo of one man mounting another from behind, Rhys took out his phone, entered a number, and waited. After twelve rings, a pickup, followed by silence.

“It’s me. We need to talk,” Rhys said, and ended the call.

He took his time heading down the hallway, checking out the pictures as though he were in a museum.

The world may think Jeremy Pritkin is normal, but he is one crazy motherfucker, Rhys thought.

His phone, still in his hand, rang.

“Hey,” he said. “How’s things?”

“Okay.”

“What’s your availability?”

“Depends. What’ve you got?”

“Two projects. In Manhattan.”

“I’m in town.”

“What are you doing in an hour?” Rhys said.

“Usual place?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be there.”

Rhys put his phone away and smiled. It was good to have Broderick aboard. The guy was a pro, and he owed him one.

Chloe and Nicky were sitting on the bed, backs to the headboard, legs crossed, watching TV. Nicky had the remote and was going through the channels, spending little more than three seconds on each. There was nothing else they could do right now, but given how hard it was for them to actually focus on anything, they weren’t settling on any one show.

The door opened.

That gave Nicky more of a start than it did Chloe, because Nicky was used to the routine around here, and this was not a normal visiting time. Dinner wouldn’t be until later. Breakfast arrived at eight, lunch at half past twelve, dinner at seven. Every Monday, around nine, housekeeping arrived with fresh sheets and towels.

Rhys stepped into the room.

They both sat up a little straighter, but neither of them got off the bed.

“Relax,” he said, raising his right hand in a nonthreatening gesture. “My name’s Rhys. I represent Mr. Pritkin, and we’ve come to a conclusion about how to resolve our current situation with you two young ladies that I think you’ll find very satisfactory.”

He smiled reassuringly. “You’ll be coming to our offices to sign some papers. Nondisclosure agreements. I’m sure you’re familiar with those. Very common practice these days. You’ll sign, promising never to disclose to anyone what has happened here. There will be significant financial compensation for the inconvenience we’ve caused you.”

Nicky asked, “How much?”

Chloe shot her a look that said, Seriously?

“To be determined,” Rhys said. “But you’ll be pleased by the amount. Anyway, pardon the intrusion. We’ll see you shortly.”

He backed up a step, tapped the door, waited for someone in the hall to open it. When he was gone. Nicky turned to Chloe and said, “That’s good, isn’t it? I’ll sign anything they want if it means this is over.”

Chloe did not look encouraged.

“Did you see his hand?” she asked.

“His hand?”

“His pinkie finger. Most of it was missing.”

“So?”

Chloe sighed. “Big-time lawyers don’t hide under beds.”

Mount Vernon, NY

Martin Gold loved bridges.

His fascination — he supposed it was fair to call it an obsession — with them went back to his earliest childhood years. Using the most basic wooden blocks, little Martin would construct bridges to drive his cars and trucks over. His favorite toy, without question, was a Kenner Bridge and Turnpike Building Set. Inside that box were hundreds of tiny red plastic beams and girders and road pieces that could be used to build the most elaborate structures. There was even a motor for operating a drawbridge. By combining several sets, Martin made bridges with massive spans, long enough to go from one side of his bedroom to the other.