Cora. Despite all the pain she’d endured, she’d found joy with her daughter, Tilly. It had forced him to take stock of himself.
Maybe he hadn’t met the right woman yet.
Taking a hot shower, he considered the women he’d known. There was Sarah Kirby, the human-rights worker he’d met in Rio de Janeiro. There was Emma Lane, who lived out west. Then Isabel Luna, the journalist he’d met in Mexico, although she was married. Gannon could never forget her, or the others.
All of them had blazed through his life like comets.
As he brushed his teeth, his focus shifted to his story.
Four men died today.
He thought of the families of the guards, the agent. Man, his heart went out to them. He knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of that kind of news, when the ground beneath you vanishes and you plummet into a chasm of darkness.
Gannon fell into his bed, exhausted, set his alarm, then reached for his BlackBerry to check his competition again. Nothing new.
He had to find a fresh angle on the story.
Worlds had collided at the Freedom Freeway Service Center in Ramapo. For three guards just doing their job and an FBI agent.
Sleep was gaining on Gannon as he reread his work.
The witness.
She was beside the agent when he was murdered.
Who was she?
How did she come to be there? What had she been doing in her life up to that point? He had to find her. If he could put readers in her place, take them through that moment, well, that would be one hell of a story.
Two FBI agents escorted Lisa Palmer through a side entrance of the Westover Suites Hotel on West Twenty-ninth Street.
The men said little during the drive from Ramapo to Midtown and used a service elevator to take her to a twenty-fifth-floor suite of two large adjoining rooms.
To stem the adrenaline still rippling through her, Lisa held her bag tight and scanned the layout. Each room had two doubles and a single bed. There was a hint of Chanel as three women emerged to greet her.
“Hello, Lisa, I’m Agent Vicky Chan.” The first woman extended her hand. She was wearing jeans and a blazer over a T-shirt.
“This is Agent Eve Watson,” Chan said. The second woman, also in jeans, wore a New York Yankees sweatshirt. She had a firm handshake.
Chan indicated the third woman, wearing bifocals and a conservative skirt suit. “This is Dr. Helen Sullivan.”
Sullivan sandwiched Lisa’s hand in both of hers with warm concern. “Please call me Helen. I’m a psychiatrist with the FBI’s Office for Victim Assistance. I’m here to help.”
Lisa glanced around again, concluding that the bags in the other room belonged to the women. This looked like a sleepover with strangers. All the curtains were drawn. Outside, a passing siren underscored how Lisa’s world had been turned upside down.
Chan touched her shoulder.
“We want you to feel safe and comfortable while you help us with the investigation,” Chan said. “No one knows you’re here. This location has not been disclosed. With the exception of Helen, we’re all armed. The guys—” Chan cued the men to leave “—will be in the rooms across the hall.”
“Where are Ethan and Taylor?”
“NYPD detectives are bringing them now with your friend Rita Camino.”
“My kids must be scared. I haven’t spoken to them yet. I—I—I feel like—damn it—” Lisa’s heart raced.
“They’ll be here soon,” Chan said.
“Lisa.” Sullivan stepped closer. “After an event like this, it’s normal to go through a range of emotions.”
Lisa shot her palm at Sullivan.
“With all due respect, Helen, don’t tell me about my feelings, please. I went through hell when I lost my husband.”
“Yes, I know. Matt Bosh briefed me on the phone. But Lisa, you’re enduring a lot of trauma.”
A tense moment passed as Lisa eyed Sullivan then Chan.
“Did the FBI find the monsters who did this?”
“We’re still searching.”
“Because I shouldn’t be here right now,” Lisa said. “I shouldn’t be here talking to you, waiting to see my kids. That bastard put a gun to my head! He wanted to kill me, too. And if that had happened, I would never see my kids again!”
Lisa dropped her bag and covered her face with her hands.
“Where are they? Oh, dear Jesus!”
The women moved to console her.
“It’s okay,” Sullivan soothed her. “It’s okay. Your fear, guilt and rage—
Lisa cried softly and Sullivan passed her tissues.
“You and your children have already been victimized by your husband’s death. This kind of trauma reopens the wound. Healing will take its own time. Everyone reacts differently. We know that Ethan and Taylor are your chief concern,” Sullivan continued. “Don’t underestimate their ability to cope. Children are perceptive. You should tell them, give them an idea you experienced something troubling. They may not need to know every detail, but they need to understand what happened to you. They need to have enough information so that they can help you heal.”
Lisa nodded, touching the tissue to her eyes until she found a measure of composure.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It all happened so fast. I just stopped at a truck stop. I was just trying to get home.” She ran her hands through her hair. “I have to fix myself up before the kids get here.”
Lisa went to the bathroom where she switched on the light and stood before the mirror, still trembling. Helen was right. What happened today had torn open her wound, pulling her back over time to that night when she was…
…
