41

EN ROUTE FROM CHAUTAUQUA INSTITUTION TO NEW YORK CITY

Will was driving and nearly halfway back to New York City when Drew phoned.

“I’m afraid I have some news. A body matching Sean’s description was found.”

“Where?”

“Lake Ontario.”

Will felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. He pulled the Land Rover over onto the shoulder.

“Are they sure?”

“There’s no positive ID. But the clothing and hair color match. Even found a Nike shoe. Do you want me to call Sarah and give her the news? Or your dad?”

“No. That’s something I need to do.”

NEW YORK CITY

It wasn’t even Sarah’s lunchtime yet, and already Jon had been able to track down Justin’s former agent.

No wonder Jon and Sean had hit it off, Sarah thought wryly. They both had the most extensive networks she had ever seen—well, except for Drew.

“Caustic,” Jon told her on the phone. “Too busy and angry to give me the time of day, especially about someone like Justin Eliot, he said. Told me the kid could have been somebody but blew it on drugs. Got flaky. Didn’t show up for gigs or showed up late. Too many complaints from key clients, so the agent dropped him. He hasn’t contacted Justin in over two years, doesn’t care, and good riddance. I didn’t tell him Justin was dead, or that he’d become the Polar Bear Bomber. I’m glad the FBI and NYPD didn’t release his name since they haven’t been able to find a next of kin yet.”

Sarah agreed. “Guys like that agent would sensationalize the news of being the former agent of the Polar Bear Bomber—and make a boatload off it somehow.”

“Yes, they would. Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. He could’ve helped a kid in need not go down the wrong trail. Instead, that agent took advantage of him.”

There it was again—the sweet, caring side of a veteran reporter who had seen a lot of awfulness in his career. Yet Jon stood immovable in the middle of any maelstrom. She’d seen it multiple times now, had admired it. Such a contrast to the men Sarah usually met, including the self-focused TV producer she’d been stupid enough to date for a year. Why it had taken a full year for her to see the light, she had no idea.

“Sarah?” Jon asked. “You okay?”

Jon was proof there were still some quality men left.

“Yes, I’m okay. Just had a weak moment there.”

“Hey,” he said softly, “it’s not weak to love your brother.”

Tightness clogged her throat, and she couldn’t respond. She knew Jon would understand.

Ten minutes later, her cell rang again. She was expecting Kirk Baldwin’s call, so she answered without checking caller ID. “Hey, Kirk.”

“Sarah,” a male voice said.

“Will! Are you on your way home or . . . ?” She wobbled and lowered herself into her chair.

“I just got a call from Drew.”

She gripped the edge of her desk. “And?”

“They found a body in Lake Ontario. The clothing and hair color is a match to Sean. The man was still wearing one athletic shoe.”

She gasped. It can’t be. It just can’t be. “But was it Sean?”

There was a long pause, then a pained, “Don’t know. The body’s in rough shape.”

How could they confirm or deny it? Waiting for a positive ID through DNA testing and dental records would be agony.

Then an idea hit. “What color was the shoe?” she demanded. “And what specific kind?”

“All I know is that it was an athletic shoe. I don’t know the color. Didn’t think to ask.”

“Find out what kind and color it was,” she insisted. “Then call me back. I have an errand to run.”

Minutes later she was hurrying out the door of the DOJ building. She caught a cab to Sean’s flat.

EN ROUTE FROM CHAUTAUQUA INSTITUTION TO NEW YORK CITY

Will, still roadside on the way back to the Big Apple, was stupefied. Of all the reactions he’d expected from his sister, “I have an errand to run” wasn’t one of them.

He phoned his father next. Bill took the news stoically. “So we get closer to the answer, perhaps,” he said. “I think I’ll wait for a bit more information before I share that with your mother.”

Will would have done the same thing—check out every potential angle first.

Next he phoned Drew about the athletic shoe. Will heard the rustling of papers, as if notes were being flipped.

“Nike Air Force 1 Low Lux Masterpiece Crocodile Edition,” Drew stated. “Brown with a metallic gold, 18-carat.”

Will felt sick. He’d teased Sean about purchasing a pair of those shoes, calling them “downright ugly.” He got out of the Land Rover and stood, sucking air.

“Will . . . Will, you okay?” Drew’s voice sounded hazy, distant.

Will’s ears buzzed. And then the contents of his lunch spilled onto the road.