Sunday
When Luke and I got home, we tumbled into bed, both of us exhausted. I didn’t even try to make sense of what had happened in Lake Forest. Like Scarlett, I’d think about it tomorrow.
After breakfast the next morning, Luke said, “I think I should stay here for a few days.”
“I thought you had a meeting up in Lake Geneva tomorrow.”
“I do, but given what happened last night, I’m going to reschedule it.”
“That’s not necessary. I’ll be all right. I’ll put on my big-girl pants.”
“I don’t know.”
I walked him to the door. “Luke…I can survive without you for a day or two. Really.” Still, I stayed in his arms longer than usual, fear and loneliness already setting in. I felt like Janis Joplin; he was taking a little piece of my heart with him.
“You know something?” he said.
I shook my head.
“I think I’ll come back Tuesday.”
I looked up at him. How could he read my mind like that? “That would be wonderful.”
“In the meantime, I want you to call or at least text twice a day so I know you’re safe.” I nodded. “And do not use your landline, unless it’s just to order a pizza. Use your cell. The encryption app I uploaded is pretty secure. But just to be certain, be sure you block your caller ID.” I nodded again. “And don’t use your computer, either.”
“Unless it’s to order a pizza,” I said.
He grinned. “I love you, Ellie Foreman.”
“Me too you.” I gave him a smile and a fierce hug.
After he left, I decided to trace the license plate of the SUV that had staked out my house and materialized at Hollander’s the previous night. Despite the risk of someone finding out that’s what I was doing, I had to know. In fact, I should have done it days before, but every time it crossed my mind, something else seemed to require my immediate attention. I trudged upstairs to my office and went online. Several websites proclaimed they could identify every license plate in every state of the country. But when I entered “W80-6939,” a plate from Illinois, they suddenly wanted money, and I knew better than to give them my credit card number.
I got up and called Georgia Davis on my cell. As a former cop and now a PI, she had better resources than mortals like me. She called me back ten minutes later. There was no record of the plate. Not in Illinois, or anywhere else.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It could mean a lot of things. With no registration, it could be a stolen car. Or someone who wants to fly under the radar.”
“The SUV looked like it was well maintained.”
“How do you know? You said there was a dense fog.”
She didn’t miss anything. “That’s true. Tell me something, Georgia. Could an unregistered vehicle like that be used by corporate security people? Or intelligence operatives?”
A long silence followed. “Ellie, what exactly are you involved in?”
“I really can’t—I wish I could—I just need an answer.”
Another silence. Then: “Let me put it this way. If I was working for the FBI or the CIA or one of the ABCs, I’d do one of two things. Either use a dummy corporation to register the car, or have it registered in so many overlapping jurisdictions you’d never find out who it belonged to.”
“But it would be registered.”
“Listen. You know how the mayor keeps getting all those tickets?”
The mayor of Chicago’s motorcade was well-known for running red lights and driving well over the speed limit.
“Well, he’d have even bigger problems if his cars weren’t up-to-date with tags and insurance.”
“So the SUV I’m talking about was probably stolen?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re confusing me.”
“I don’t mean to. But a lot of so-called private security consultants do fly under the radar. Who knows what equipment they have or how they got it?”
“So you’re saying—”
She cut me off. “I’m saying that just because the SUV isn’t registered doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot.” Another pause. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”
I heaved a breath. “I never thought I’d be saying this, but sometimes I wish I wasn’t a video producer. I just seem to keep running into problems that turn out to be—well—dangerous.”
“How dangerous”?
“I’ll tell you. But it’s all off the record, okay?”
She laughed. “It always is.”
I told her about Gregory Parks, Delcroft, and Charlotte Hollander. When I got to Parks’ subway accident, she cut in.
“I heard about that. People I know aren’t convinced it was a suicide.”
“Yeah, well, they have a point. He could have been pushed. Delcroft thought he was a spy for the Chinese government.”
“Does the flash drive you called me about have something to do with all this?”
“Uh-huh.”
She let out an exasperated breath. “Ellie. These people do not screw around. What can I do?”
“Nothing at the moment. But I’ll let you know.”