'I'll come by in a few days and give you all the details. Promise.'
'But-'
'Bye. Love you.' Grace gently placed the receiver in its cradle and cringed. Oh, she was going to be punished for that one. A never-ending lecture, followed by a reminder every time her mother needed a favor. 'Do you remember the time you hung up on me? I cried for days.'
Rolling her eyes, Grace punched in one last number. Her friend Meg was head of reservations for a major airline, so she had Meg check all databases for Alex's name. He wasn't listed, but that didn't mean anything. He could have flown private.
Not about to give up, Grace stuffed her keys, wallet and a can of Mace into her favorite backpack. She caught a subway to the Upper East Side. She needed to find her brother, or at least find proof that he was okay.
He'd always been there for her as a child. He was the one who bandaged her cuts and bruises. He was the one who held and comforted her when their dad died. They both traveled extensively, but they always managed to make time for each other.
Please, please let Alex be home , she inwardly recited, a mantra in rhythm to the rocking of the car against the rails. If he was home, they could spend the rest of the day together. Maybe have dinner at Joe Shanghai in Chinatown, a favorite restaurant of theirs.
Soon she was strolling past the security desk at Alex's apartment building. He'd lived in the ritzy building only a short time. Despite her few visits, the doorman must have recognized her because he let her pass without a hitch. After a short elevator ride, she found herself knocking on Alex's door. When he didn't answer, she used her key and let herself inside. Only three steps in, she paused with a gasp. Papers were scattered across the thick, wool carpet.
Either someone had broken in (again!), or her brother the neat freak had left in a hurry. 'Alex,' she called, remaining in the foyer.
No response.
'Alex,' she called again, this time louder, more desperate.
Not even the shuffle of footsteps or the hum of a fan greeted her.
Though she knew she shouldn't, knew she should call for help first, Grace withdrew her Mace, holding the can out as she inspected every inch of the spacious apartment. Her need to know Alex's whereabouts completely obliterated any sense of caution.
There was no intruder lying in wait for her, but there was no sign of her brother, either. She walked to the living room and lifted a framed photograph of her and Alex, smiling and standing in Central Park, the sun glistening around them. Her aunt had taken the picture several months ago when they'd all decided to jog around the park. Two minutes into their run, Sophie had panted that she was too tired to continue. So they'd taken a break and snapped the picture. The memory made her ache.
Disheartened, Grace locked up and leaned her back against the door. A few seconds later, a man strolled past. 'Excuse me,' she called. She flashed him a quick, I'm-a-sweet-Southern-girl smile that proclaimed you-can- tell-me-anything. She only hoped it worked. 'You live in this building, right?'
He nodded wearily. 'Why?'
'Do you know Alex Carlyle?'
'Yes.' Again, he asked, 'Why?'
'He's my brother. I'm looking for him and was wondering if you'd seen him.'
Her words relaxed him, and he gave her a half smile. He even held out his hand to shake. 'You're Grace,' he said. 'The picture Alex has of you in his office is of a little girl. I thought you were younger.'
'At the office?' Grace asked. 'You work for Argonauts?'
'Nearly everyone here does. They own the building.' He paused, his smile fading to a frown. 'Unfortunately I haven't seen your brother in weeks. He hasn't been home, or even to work.'
'Do you know anyone he might have contacted?'
'Well, Melva in 402 has been picking up his mail… I saw her this morning. She's rent controlled,' he whispered, as if it were a shameful secret. 'Argonauts can't get rid of her. Not legally at least.'
Grace gave him her biggest, brightest smile. 'Thank you,' she said, taking off. Her first break. Another elevator ride and she was hammering on Melva's door.
'Coming. I'm coming,' a craggy voice called. Moments later, the door swung open. Melva was thin, wrinkled and wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe. She held herself up with a walker. The only difference between her and every other great-grandma across the country was that she wore a diamond choker and sapphire earrings.
'Can I help you?' she asked, her rough voice testament to years of smoking.
'I'm Grace Carlyle. I'm looking for my brother and wondered if he'd contacted you recently.'
Melva's wrinkled gaze studied her. 'Sister, eh? That sly boots never mentioned a sister. I'll have to see some ID.'
Grace slid a photo ID from her wallet and allowed Melva to glance at the picture. The old woman nodded in satisfaction. 'I haven't seen Alex for a while now. I have his mail, though. It's been piling up in his box. He asked me to collect it for him, but I was under the impression he would return last week.'
'If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd like to take his mail with me.'
'Give me a second. I'm still recovering from hip surgery and it takes me a bit longer to get around.' She slowly turned, her diamonds twinkling in the light, and disappeared beyond the foyer. When she returned, she wore a fanny pack stuffed with different sized and colored envelopes. 'Here you go.' She braced one hand on the walker and handed Grace the letters with the other.
'Thank you so much.' Grace quickly riffled through the contents. When nothing jumped out at her, she crammed them in her backpack. She'd go through them more thoroughly when she returned home. 'Do you need help getting back inside?'
'Oh, no.' Melva waved her off. 'I'll be fine.'
Spirits buoyed, Grace bounded outside. Within seconds she felt an ominous gaze slicing into her back, observant, penetrating. The sensation unnerved her, and she glanced over her shoulder. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. After everything that had happened with Alex, however, she didn't try to convince herself that her imagination was playing games. She increased her pace and slipped one hand inside her backpack, wrapping her fingers around her Mace.
Instead of going straight home, she stopped in a coffee shop, a souvenir shop and a bakery, trying to lose herself in the crowds. By the time she felt safe, the sun was beginning its descent. She reached her apartment building as darkness fell completely. She gathered her own mail, then bolted herself inside her little efficiency. What have I gotten myself into ? she wondered, securing all of the window locks. A thirst for danger seemed so silly now.
Exhausted both mentally and physically, she tossed her backpack onto her nightstand and sank into the chair at her desk. She booted up her computer and checked her e-mail. When she saw one was from Alex's return address, dated yesterday morning, she broke into a huge smile and eagerly pressed Open.
Hey Grace,
I'm fine. I've got a lead elsewhere and had to follow it. Sorry for the note, but there wasn't time to call.
Love,
Alex
As she read, her smile faded. She should have been relieved by the note. This was, after all, what she'd wanted. Contact with Alex. But if there'd been no time to call, how had there been time to type a note?
With that question floating in her mind, she stripped to her tank and panties, poured herself a glass of wine and sprawled across her bed. She meticulously sorted through Alex's mail. Junk mostly, with a few cards and bills thrown into the mix. She checked her own. Her eyes widened then subsequently narrowed when she came to a postcard from her dad. Her dad ! A man who had died five years ago after a long battle with lymphoma. Confused, she shook her head and read it again.
Gracie Lacie,
Can't come to see you as planned. I've been detained. I'll contact you. Don't worry. I'll be fine. Yours,
Dad
This was Alex's handwriting and had to be some sort of code. But what did it mean, other than someone had sent her a false e-mail? Perhaps the same person who had 'detained' Alex. Why had he been detained? And for
