Chapter 2 - The Black SUV
I did not tell Renee that the photograph had stopped my heart.
Panic made people predictable, and I had spent most of my adult life learning how not to be predictable.
I asked her for one minute and stepped into the adjoining library.
My first call went to Lily's school.
The office confirmed that she had been signed out by a woman carrying approved guardian paperwork.
The signature looked like mine.
"What woman?" I asked.
"She said she was your sister."
"I don't have a sister."
The secretary stopped speaking.
Somewhere behind her, a bell rang.
Ordinary school noise, the world continuing as if my daughter had not vanished inside it.
I contacted my field supervisor, Major Elena Torres, through a secondary channel.
She answered on the first ring.
"Don't use the other channel again," she said. "We've had an access breach."
"Where's Lily?"
"I don't know."
"Then somebody signed my name to a message saying she'd been moved."
Torres swore under her breath. "There's a recovery unit coming. I need you to stay where you are."
"My daughter is ten."
"I know how old she is, Daniel."
I ended the call before I said something I couldn't take back.
Renee waited by the library doorway, pale but composed. "Something happened."
"My daughter is missing."
She pressed a hand to her mouth. "Oh, God."
"I'm leaving."
"Take my car. And take Owen."
"I won't take Owen."
For one ugly second she looked offended. Then she saw the expression on my face. "You think he works for Claudia."
"I think people in this house answer to somebody who isn't you."
Renee stared down the corridor. "I own every brick."
"Ownership and control aren't the same thing."
She reached for her personal phone. "I'll have my driver—"
"No phones that Claudia has touched."
I gave her the number of an independent attorney, Marisol Vega, whom I knew from a prior witness-protection proceeding. "Call her from the landline in the kitchen, with someone you choose. Tell her you need an emergency independent review of your security contracts."
Outside, a black Lincoln idled near the gates.
Not the same vehicle as the school photograph, but close enough to raise the hair on my neck.
I walked past it, took the side path toward the service road, and borrowed an old groundskeeper's bicycle after explaining that I'd return it.
The man looked at my work boots and my face. "You in trouble?"
"Somebody else is."
Three blocks later, my phone rang from a blocked number.
"Dad?"
I almost swerved into traffic.
"Lily. Are you hurt?"
"No. They told me you sent them."
"Who did?"
"A lady with a blue scarf. We're in a house with a piano."
A muffled voice cut across her.
The line rustled.
"Lily, listen. Look for a window. Tell me what you see."
"There's a big white bridge painted on the wall. And—"
The phone was taken away.
A man spoke. "Mr. Carter, stop hunting ghosts. Come to the place your wife said goodbye. Alone."
The call ended.
Sarah had said goodbye in a hospital room.
But the phrase had another meaning: a small church overlooking the harbor, where we'd renewed our vows after her first round of treatment.
I turned the bicycle toward the water.
An incoming message supplied a deadline.
ONE HOUR.
May you like
NO TEAM.
