Jake shook his head. “Not until I hear all about your visit with Dean Gordon.”

Chapter 35

Myron filled Jake in. Then he drove Christian home. On the way he filled Christian in too. On everything. Christian wanted to know. Myron wanted to spare him, but he knew he didn’t have the right to keep things from him.

Christian did not interrupt with questions. In fact, he said nothing. On the field he was famous for his composure under any situation. Right now, Christian had on his best game face.

When Myron finished, neither spoke for several minutes. Then Myron said, “Are you okay?”

Christian nodded. His face was pale. “Thank you for being up-front with me,” he said.

“Kathy loved you,” Myron said. “Very much. Don’t forget that.”

He nodded again. “We have to find her.”

“I’m trying.”

Christian shifted in the car seat so he could face Myron. “When I was being wooed by all these big agencies, the whole process felt—I don’t know—so impersonal. It was all about money. Still is, I know that. I’m not being naïve here, but you were different. I instinctively knew I could trust you. I guess what I’m trying to say is, you’ve become more than just an agent to me. I’m glad I chose you.”

“Me too,” Myron said. “This might not the best time to ask, but how did you hear about me in the first place?”

“Someone gave you a glowing recommendation.”

“Who?”

Christian smiled. “You don’t know?”

“A client?”

“No.”

Myron shook his head. “I have no idea.”

Christian settled back in his seat. “Jessica,” he said. “She told me your life history. About your playing days, your injury, what you went through, how you worked for the FBI, how you went back to school. She said you were the best person she knew.”

“Jessica doesn’t get out much.”

They fell back into silence. The New Jersey Turnpike had a center-lane closure, slowing them down to a crawl. Should have taken the western spur. Myron was about to change lanes when Christian said something that almost made him slam on the brakes.

“My mother once posed in the nude.”

Myron thought he’d heard wrong. “What?”

“When I was a little kid. I don’t know if they were ever printed in a magazine or anything. I doubt it. She wasn’t very attractive by then. She was twenty-five but looked sixty. She worked as a prostitute in New York. On the streets. I don’t know who my father was. She figured he was one of the guys at a bachelor party, but she had no idea which one.”

Myron sneaked a glance at him. Christian stared straight ahead. The game face was still on.

“I thought your mother and father raised you in Kansas,” Myron said carefully.

Christian shook his head. “Those were my grandparents. My mom died when I was seven. They legally adopted me. We had the same last name, so I just pretended they were my real parents.”

Myron said, “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. They were wonderful parents. I guess they made a lot of mistakes with my mom, the way she ended up and all. But they were kind and loving to me. I miss them a lot.”

The silence was heavier now. They drove past the Meadowlands. Myron paid the toll at the end of the turnpike and followed the signs to the George Washington Bridge. Christian had bought a place two miles before the bridge, six miles from Titans Stadium. A set of three hundred prefab condos loftily labeled Cross Creek Pointe, one of those New Jersey housing developments that looked like something out of Poltergeist.

As they cruised to a stop, the car phone rang. Myron picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?”

It was Jessica.

“In Englewood.”

“Take Route four west to seventeen north,” she said quickly. “I’ll meet you in the Pathmark parking lot in Ramsey.”

“What’s going on?”

“Just meet me there. Now.”

Chapter 36

The moment Myron saw Jessica standing in the dusky glow of the Pathmark fluorescent parking lights, looking achingly beautiful in a pair of hip-hugging blue jeans and a red blouse open at the throat, he knew there was trouble. Big trouble.

“Very bad?” he asked her.

She opened the car door and slid in next to him. “Worse.”

He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop thinking of how beautiful she was. She looked a little pale, her eyes a bit too sunken. She did not have crow’s-feet quite yet, but new lines had etched their way into her face. Had they been there yesterday or the day she visited his office? He wasn’t sure. But he thought she had never looked so devastating. The imperfections, if you wanted to call them that, just made her more real and hence more desirable. Myron had thought Dean-nessa Madelaine was attractive, but she was nary a penlight next to Jessica’s blinding beacon.

“Want to tell me about it?”

She shook her head. “I’d rather just show you.” She started giving directions. When they reached a road appropriately called Red Dirt Path, she said, “My father rented a cabin out here.”

“In these woods?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Two weeks ago. He had it for the month. According to the realtor, he wanted some peace and quiet. A place to get away from it all.”

“Doesn’t sound much like your father,” Myron said.

“Not like him at all,” she agreed.

A few minutes later, they arrived at the cabin. Myron had a hard time believing that Adam Culver, a man he had gotten to know fairly well during his time with Jessica, would want to vacation out here. The man liked to gamble. He liked the ponies, the roulette wheel, the blackjack table. He liked action. His idea of a quiet time was a Tony Bennett concert at the Sands.

Jessica got out of the car. Myron followed. Her posture was arrow-perfect. So was the walk, something Myron had always loved to watch in the past. But there was an unmistakable teeter in her step, as though her legs were not sure they could sustain the lovely torso over the long haul.

Their footsteps creaked on the steps of the wooden porch. Myron spotted plenty of dry rot. Jessica unlocked the front door and pushed it open.

“Take a look,” she said.

He did. He said nothing. He could feel her eyes on him.

“I checked his charge card,” she said. “He spent over three thousand dollars at a place in the city called Eye-Spy.”