Vanish

summer’s evening in suburbia. But tonight is different, she thought. Tonight, she wouldn’t be lingering over her glass of chilled wine or her latest issue of Vanity Fair. How could she enjoy her usual pleasures, knowing what Jane was enduring at that moment?

If Jane was still alive.

Maura pulled into her garage and walked into the house, grateful for the cool breath of central air-conditioning. She would not be staying long; she’d come home only to grab a quick supper, to shower, and change clothes. For even this brief respite, she felt guilty. I’ll bring back sandwiches for Gabriel, she thought. She doubted the thought of food had even crossed his mind.

She had just stepped out of the shower when she heard her doorbell ring. Pulling on a robe, she hurried to answer it.

Peter Lukas stood on her front porch. Only that morning, they had spoken, but judging by his wrinkled shirt and the tense lines around his eyes, the hours since then had taken a toll. “I’m sorry to just show up here,” he said. “I did try to call you a few minutes ago.”

“I didn’t hear the phone. I was in the shower.”

He gaze dropped, just for an instant, to her bathrobe. Then he looked past her, focusing on a spot over her shoulder, as though he was uncomfortable staring directly at an undressed woman. “Can we talk? I need your advice.”

“Advice?”

“About what the police are asking me to do.”

“You’ve spoken to Captain Hayder?”

“And that FBI guy. Agent Barsanti.”

“Then you already know what the hostage takers want.”

Lukas nodded. “That’s why I’m here. I need to know what you think about this whole crazy setup.”

“You’re actually considering it?”

“I need to know what you’d do, Dr. Isles. I trust your judgment.” His gaze finally met hers and she felt the heat rise in her face, found herself tugging her robe tighter.

“Come inside,” she finally said. “Let me get dressed, and we’ll talk about it.”

As he waited in the living room, she hunted in her closet for clean slacks and a blouse. Pausing before the mirror, she winced at the reflection of smeared eye makeup, tangled hair. He’s only a reporter, she thought. This isn’t a date. It doesn’t matter what the hell you look like.

When she finally walked back into the living room, she found him standing at the window, gazing out at the dark street. “It’s gone national, you know,” he said, turning to look at her. “Right this minute, they’re watching it in LA.”

“Is that why you’re thinking of doing this? A chance at fame? The fact you could get your name in the headlines?”

“Oh yeah, I can see it now: ‘Reporter gets bullet in brain.’ I’m really crazy about that headline.”

“So you do realize this is not a particularly wise move.”

“I haven’t decided.”

“If you want my advice-”

“I want more than just your advice. I need information.”

“What can I tell you?”

“You could start by telling me what the FBI is doing here.”

“You said you spoke to Agent Barsanti. Didn’t you ask him?”

“I’ve heard there’s an Agent Dean involved as well. Barsanti wouldn’t tell me a thing about him. Why would the Bureau send two men all the way from Washington, for a crisis that would normally be handled by Boston PD?”

His question alarmed her. If he already knew about Gabriel, it would not take long for him to learn that Jane was a hostage.

“I don’t know,” she lied, and found it hard to meet his gaze. He was watching her so intently that she finally had to turn away and sit down on the couch.

“If there’s something I should know,” he said, “I hope you’d tell me. I’d like to know ahead of time what I’m walking into.”

“By now, you probably know as much as I do.”

He sat down in the chair facing her, his gaze so direct she felt like a pinned butterfly. “What do these people want?”

“What did Barsanti tell you?”

“He told me about their offer. That they promised to release two hostages. Then I walk in with a TV cameraman, talk to this guy, and two more hostages will be released. That’s the deal. What happens after that is anyone’s guess.”

This man could save Jane’s life, she thought. If he walked in there, Jane might be one of the two hostages who walks out. I would do it. But I can’t ask this man to risk his life, even for Jane.

“It’s not every day a man gets the chance to play hero,” he said. “It is an opportunity of sorts. A lot of journalists would jump at it.”

She laughed. “Very tempting. Book deal, TV movie of the week. Risk your life for a little fame and fortune?”

“Hey, I’ve got a rusty old Toyota parked out there right now, and a mortgage with twenty-nine years left to go, so fame and fortune doesn’t sound too bad.”

“If you live long enough to enjoy it.”

“That’s why I’m talking to you. You were with the shooter. You know what kind of people we’re dealing with. Are they rational? Are they going to keep their side of the bargain? Will they let me walk out of there after the interview’s over?”

“I can’t predict that.”

“That’s not a very helpful answer.”

“I refuse to be responsible for what happens to you. I can’t predict what they’ll do. I don’t even know what they want.”

He sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Now I have a question for you. I assume you know the answer.”

“Your question is?”

“Of all the journalists they could have asked for, why did they choose you?”

“I have no idea.”

“You must have had some contact with them before.”

It was his hesitation that caught her attention. She leaned toward him. “You’ve heard from them.”

“You have to understand, reporters hear from a lot of crazy people. Every week, I get at least a few bizarre letters or phone calls about secret government conspiracies. If it’s not the evil oil companies, then it’s black helicopters or UN plots. Most of the time I just ignore them. That’s why I didn’t really think much of it. It was just another screwy phone call.”

“When?”

“A few days ago. One of my colleagues just reminded me of it, because he was the one who answered the phone. Frankly, when the call came in, I was too busy to pay much attention. It was late, and I was about to hit a deadline, and the last thing I wanted to do was talk to some nutty guy.”

“The call was from a man?”

“Yeah. It came into the Tribune newsroom. The man asked if I’d looked at the package he sent me. I didn’t know what he was talking about. He said he’d mailed me something a few weeks before, which I never got. So he told me a woman would drop off another package at the front desk that night. That as soon as it arrived, I should go down to the lobby immediately and pick it up, because