Vanish

“The bedroom window’s wide open,” she said.

“How did you two get in here?”

“Your building super let us in,” said Glasser. “We couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Where’s Jane?”

“That’s what we’d like to know.”

“She should be here.”

“How long have you been gone? When did you last see your wife?”

He stared at Glasser, unnerved by the urgency in her voice. “I’ve been gone about an hour. I drove her mother home.”

“Has Jane called you since you left?”

“No.” He started toward the telephone.

“She doesn’t answer her cell, Agent Dean,” said Glasser. “We’ve already tried reaching her. We need to reach her.”

He turned to look at them. “What the hell is going on?”

Glasser asked, quietly: “Is she with Mila right now?”

“The girl never showed up at the…” He paused. “You already knew that. You were watching the park, too.”

“That girl is our last witness,” said Glasser. “If she’s with your wife, we need to know.”

“Jane and the baby were alone here when I left.”

“Then where are they now?”

“I don’t know.”

“You understand, Agent Dean, that if Mila is with her, Jane is in a very dangerous situation.”

“My wife knows how to take care of herself. She wouldn’t walk into anything without making damn sure she’s prepared.” He crossed to the drawer where Jane usually stored her weapon and found the drawer unlocked. He yanked it open and stared at the empty holster.

She took her gun.

“Agent Dean?”

Gabriel slammed the drawer shut and went into the bedroom. As Glasser had reported, the window was wide open. Now he was scared. He walked back into the living room and felt Glasser’s gaze searching his face, reading his fear.

“Where would she go?” Glasser said.

“She’d call me, that’s what she’d do.”

“Not if she thought her phone was tapped.”

“Then she’d go to the police. She’d drive straight to Schroeder Plaza.”

“We’ve already called Boston PD. She’s not there.”

“We need to find that girl,” said Barsanti. “We need her alive.”

“Let me try her cell phone one more time. Maybe this is nothing at all. Maybe she just ran out to the store to buy milk.” Right. And she took her gun with her. He picked up the receiver and was about to punch in the first number when he suddenly frowned, his gaze on the keypad. A long shot, he thought. But just maybe…

He pressed redial.

After three rings, a man answered. “Hello?”

Gabriel paused, trying to place the voice. Knowing he had heard it before. Then he remembered. “Is this… Peter Lukas?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Gabriel Dean. Would Jane happen to be there?”

There was a long silence. A strange silence. “No. Why?”

“Your number’s on our redial. She must have called you.”

“Oh, that.” Lukas gave a laugh. “She wanted all my notes on the Ballentree story. I told her I’d dig them up.”

“When was that?”

“Let me think. It was about an hour ago.”

“And that was it? She didn’t say anything else?”

“No. Why?”

“I’ll keep calling around, then. Thanks.” He hung up and stood staring down at the phone. Thinking about that silence when Lukas had not immediately answered his question. Something is very wrong.

“Agent Dean?” said Glasser.

He turned and looked at her. “What do you know about Peter Lukas?”

The hole was now knee-deep.

Jane scooped up another spadeful of dirt and heaved it onto the growing mound of soil. Her tears had stopped, to be replaced by sweat. She worked in silence. The only sounds were the scraping of the shovel and the clatter of pebbles. Regina was quiet, too, as though she understood that there was no longer any point of making a fuss. That her fate, like that of her mother’s, had already been decided.

No it hasn’t. Goddammit, nothing has been decided.

Jane rammed the spade into stony soil, and though her back ached and her arms were quivering, she felt the heat of rage flood her muscles like the most potent of fuel. You won’t hurt my baby, she thought. I will rip off your head first. She heaved the soil onto the mound, her aches and fatigue unimportant now, her mind focused on what she had to do next. The killer was only a silhouette standing at the edge of the trees. Though she could not see his face, she knew he must be watching her. But she’d been digging for nearly an hour, her efforts stymied by the rocky soil, and his attention would be flagging. What resistance, after all, could an exhausted woman mount against an armed man? She had nothing working in her favor.

Only surprise. And a mother’s rage.

His first shot would be rushed. He’d go for the torso first, not the head. No matter what, just keep moving, she thought, keep charging. A bullet takes time to kill, and even a falling body has momentum.

She bent to scrape up another load of dirt, her spade deep in the hole’s shadow, hidden from the beam of his flashlight. He could not see her muscles tense, or her foot brace itself against the edge of the hole. He did not hear her intake of breath as her hands clamped around the shovel handle. She crouched, limbs coiled tight.

This is for you, my darling baby. All for you.

Lifting the spade into the air, she flung the soil at the man’s face. He stumbled backward, grunting in surprise, as she sprang out of the hole. As she charged headfirst, straight at his abdomen.

They both went down, branches snapping under the weight of their bodies. She lunged for his weapon, her hands closing around his wrist, and suddenly realized he was no longer holding it, that it had been knocked from his grasp when they’d fallen.

The gun. Find the gun!

She twisted away and clawed through underbrush, scrabbling for the weapon.

The blow knocked her sideways. She landed on her back, breathless from the impact. At first she felt no pain, only the numb shock that the battle was so quickly over. Her face began to sting, and then the real pain shrieked its way into her skull. She saw that he was standing above her, his head blotting out the stars. She heard Regina screaming, the final wails of her short life. Poor baby. You’ll never know how much I loved you.