34

CHAUTAUQUA INSTITUTION

Will had done many hard things in his life—even more so lately. But a glimpse of the resignation and pain on his mother’s face when she greeted Bill almost broke Will. He and Laura were the only ones who knew the true depth of her pain and why her heart was doubly breaking.

Ava sat in the porch rocker, awaiting their arrival. Will lingered at the driver’s side of the vehicle as his father moved toward her and up the stairs. Then, uncharacteristically, Bill didn’t say anything. He simply gathered Ava into his arms and held her as she started sobbing.

Will left his father’s luggage in his Land Rover and headed down the cobblestone path toward the lake. He sank onto a nearby rocker, his gaze flicking from the house to the lake. He felt torn in two. This day would change everything for their family. Will had no idea which direction it would go.

In the midst of his pain, the still small voice spoke. It is when you are weak that true strength comes.

Yes, he felt weak. It was a quality he would never have assigned to himself in the past. But the recent events had revealed how weak he was when his family was threatened.

Will needed that true strength. For the first time in his life, he realized he couldn’t make himself strong. Perhaps his Bible-banging sister was right. Maybe he did need help from above, from the God who had seemed elusive, out of reach, and unnecessary to his life.

He gazed at the horizon. It was a gray day—both sky and water—with a hint of moisture in the air. A day as morbid and heavy as his thoughts.

Will closed his eyes. “God,” he breathed, “if you are there . . .”

He sighed—the kind of long, drawn-out sigh that released years of weariness. Calm settled over him like a lightweight but warm blanket. He rested in its enfolding embrace.

Will had no idea how long he sat there in the rocker on the cobblestone path. But when he opened his eyes at last and looked skyward, a shaft of gold-white light pierced the cloud over him.

LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

The man paced the length of his large study, thinking. His source had checked with Canada immigration. No one named Sean Worthington or matching his description had passed over the Peace Bridge and through the entry point on the Canadian side. It was highly unlikely he’d been able to slip through unnoticed, since every visitor had to show ID once they’d passed over the bridge in order to get into Canada. Then again, Sean was a Worthington. Anything was possible with his type of high connections.

Perhaps he bribed someone to let him through, the man thought. Still, that didn’t fit Sean’s profile. Then again, neither did a suicide attempt.

He’d had his source circle around again to interview the cab driver. No new information there.

No one could confirm Sean’s whereabouts one way or the other if he wasn’t dead. It was unnerving and exasperating.

The man evaluated the information his contact had gathered.

If Sean had jumped over the Peace Bridge, his body would have floated down the river toward Niagara Falls and gone over the falls. The body might be trapped under the 3,000-plus tons of water flowing down the falls every second. That meant it could never be discovered or retrieved.

The other option was that it could float downriver from the falls. The swift river currents averaged 7.5 to 12 miles per hour. Four of the five Great Lakes drained into the Niagara River before emptying into Lake Ontario. That meant if the body had gone over the falls, floated downriver, and somehow managed to make its way into Lake Ontario, weeks could pass before it was discovered—even if it was located. By then the body would be in such rough shape it couldn’t be identified, except for dental records.

Not knowing what had happened was disconcerting. The man had to know.

His plan couldn’t be ending this soon, and certainly not like this.