5

Ann Falcon rang the doorbell at the Bishop home in Chicago shortly after four p.m. on Saturday, aware that security would have called the house to announce her arrival when she pulled into the driveway. Bryce Bishop opened the door with a smile before the chimes had finished. “Ann, welcome back from Atlanta. I’d ask how the trip went, but first tell me—did you get to see anything other than the airport and the inside of the hotel?”

She laughed. “Not much. Does Charlotte have a minute?”

“For you? You don’t have to even ask. She’s in the studio. Head on back.”

Ann set her bag on the kitchen table and walked through to the sunroom that Charlotte used as her art studio. She was sitting at the drawing board, her attention focused on a large piece, working in colored pencil.

“Am I interrupting?”

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder, and a smile lit her face. “Never. Hi. Welcome back from the conference.”

Ann crossed the room to see the work in progress. The kindergarten-classroom scene had added definition since she’d last seen the work. The teacher was now fully in place, as were most of the children. “I like it. A lot.”

“Not too cute?”

“That age, you want the innocence of childhood still showing through,” Ann replied, moving to the couch.

Charlotte began slotting pencils back to their places in the trays around her, which spanned all shades of the color spectrum. “What brings you by? I figured you would be curled up with a book with the phone shut off, trying to catch up on some rest.”

“The perfect description of where I’m headed after this. Paul needed a couple hours at the office to move some voicemails and paperwork, so we went our separate ways until dinner. Something came up that I need to talk with you about.”

“Sure thing. And a nice break for me.” Charlotte went to one of the comfortable chairs facing the couch.

Where to begin, how to approach this, wasn’t a simple matter. The weight of having worked homicide for years that Ann carried with her, the dark past Charlotte dealt with, were both deliberately left to the side so their friendship could be forward-looking. They made a point of keeping things lighthearted and positive, a safe zone where they could both flourish. This coming conversation would be pushing against that unspoken agreement.

Ann knew who Charlotte Bishop really was—Ruth Bazoni—and knew her history. They didn’t talk about it often because it didn’t need to be said. Charlotte had been at the center of the most famous kidnapping in Chicago history—four years and three ransom demands before cops had shot the two men and rescued her. Buried inside that crime lay another even deeper tragedy and the death of a child. And that past was why Ann was here this afternoon. She hoped, though, their friendship could handle what she was going to ask. “I need to tell you about something that happened at the conference.”

“All right,” Charlotte said, looking both curious and a little guarded.

“Do you remember my mentioning Matthew Dane?”

“The guy from Boston you dated for a few months, back when his daughter was still missing?”

“That’s the one. Matthew was at the conference. I was able to introduce him to Paul. My husband has decided he likes the guy anyway.”

Charlotte laughed. “From those I’ve met whom you dated, you had good tastes. They all seem to share a streak of honor and . . . I guess chivalry, for want of a better word.”

“That probably describes Matthew better than most.”

“I hear a story coming. Let me get us something to drink,” Charlotte offered, getting to her feet.

“Ahead of you, honey,” Bryce said, stepping into the room carrying two glasses. “Ann, I wasn’t sure what you might like on a day like this, so I made it lemonade.”

“That’s perfect, Bryce,” Ann said. “My voice is still hoarse from trying to carry on conversations in crowded convention hallways.”

He handed her a glass and napkin, the other to his wife. “I’ll leave you two ladies to chat. Swing by my office before you leave so I can hand off some nonprofit information for Paul.”

“Actually, Bryce . . . would you mind staying for a few minutes? What I need to speak with Charlotte about she’ll want to run by you later. It might be easier if you both heard it now.”

Bryce’s gaze narrowed a bit at the careful but casual way she said it. He changed directions to take the chair beside Charlotte. “Of course.” If it affected Charlotte and referenced the past, Ann knew he was going to do everything he could to be the wall between his wife and that news. He ran his hand down Charlotte’s hair as he sat down, an affectionate gesture Ann had seen many times. “What’s the topic?”

“Matthew Dane’s from the Boston area—I’ve mentioned him to Charlotte in the past. He moved over from cop to private investigator when his daughter went missing at age eight so he’d have more time and resources for the search. Becky was recovered at age sixteen. She’s doing well, is in college this year. Anyway, he was one of the speakers at the conference this week, talking about best practices in the dialog between the police and victims’ families.”

Charlotte leaned over against her husband’s shoulder. “Ann used to date him, for a few months during the years his daughter was missing.”

“I see.”

Ann felt a faint blush. “You’d like him, Bryce. Paul does. You’re all of the same type. Men of integrity, for want of a better definition.”

He grinned. “Compliment appreciated.”

Ann pulled out a copy of the newspaper article Shannon had shown Matthew; she’d found the same AP story in the Chicago Tribune archives. “A woman is on her way back to Chicago today. She tracked down Matthew at the hotel in Atlanta last night. This lady.” She handed across the article for Charlotte and Bryce to read.

Charlotte’s smile faded, and her hand trembled a bit as she read. Then she wordlessly handed the clipping on to her husband. “Tell me the rest of it.”

“She’s asked Matthew to bring her home. She hasn’t said much about what happened yet.”

“How long has she been free?” Bryce asked.

“Seventeen days.”

Bryce flinched. Charlotte closed her eyes.

“Have you met her?” Bryce asked, his voice husky.

“Not yet. The timing worked better for Paul and me to return to Chicago on schedule and put some things in motion here in preparation for her arrival.”

“The last name Bliss,” Charlotte said, looking back at the article, “her brother is running for governor. He’s spoken often about his missing sister.”

“That’s the family. She’ll have some unique challenges simply returning home.”

Charlotte reread the article before folding it carefully and offering it back. Ann looked at her friend, and took a big risk. “Would you be willing to meet with her?” she asked carefully.

Bryce shifted, leaned forward, clearly not liking the question. Ann kept her focus on Charlotte.

Her friend took a long breath, gave an obviously forced shrug. “I’m not a counselor, Ann. There must be others—”

“I think it might help her to know you’ve now got a worthwhile profession you love, that you’re married to a good man, that you have friends around you who you can trust. She needs to see hope—to see what her future can be once the pieces get fit back together. It’s going to be a rough couple of months coming up for her. I think it might help her to meet you, to speak with you.”

“Ann—” Bryce tried to intervene.

She shook her head, not disagreeing with his concern but wanting to make her case as best she could. She kept her focus on Charlotte. “I’m not asking you to tell Shannon details of what you went through, but of your life now, and how it’s going with you and Bryce. You love him. He loves you. That’s what you can show her. She needs a friend, someone who can understand her and what she’s been through. That’s all.”

“Your all is a pretty big word in this context,” Bryce put in.

“Ann . . .” Charlotte struggled to find words.

“I will understand if you want to say no, Charlotte. This is going to be raw pain for her for quite some time, and it likely would push memories of your own back to the surface.”

“It’s not that.” Charlotte slid her fingers through her hair. “She’s going to need . . . a lot of time. A good doctor. A best friend.”

“Matthew will find the right doctor to help her. I don’t know if there’s a best friend in the picture or if she will have to identify a new one. Eleven years is a long span to bridge.”

Charlotte bit her lip and turned toward her husband. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Bryce.”

“I agree she’s going to need a lot of help. I think you and I are both more than ready to help her get that help, be it financially or through influence with medical doctors and psychologists we know. But I’m not sure if you’re the right person to be involved in personally providing that help.”

Charlotte looked curious. “Because?”

“You’re at present in a fight with your own memories. I can see the progress you’re making, but we both know every step since our wedding day has been a hard-won fight. You’d be adding her memories on to your own, even if it’s simply listening sympathetically to a few comments she might let slip in an otherwise light conversation. They would reverberate through you in a way they would not with Ann or me. They would feel alive and real and devastating to you because they would echo your own memories. I don’t think you’re ready for something that could possibly be very intense.”

Charlotte considered him and his words for a long moment. “Maybe it would help me to put my own memories in perspective. You know, try to help someone going through the early stages . . . a way to see for myself how far I have come in this journey,” she said thoughtfully. “I feel the stress of wondering if I’ll ever get better because progress is so slow, maybe all I see is how much there is still yet to recover, and I miss seeing how far I have come. It might be good to have that perspective.”

“I’m not opposed to you helping, Charlotte,” Bryce responded, laying his hand on hers. “The opposite. I think you’ve got something to offer Shannon that no one else could bring to the table. But when and how that happens—there’s virtue in moving slowly. Six months from now, a year from now, there’s firmer ground. The woman made contact—” Bryce looked quickly over at Ann—“Friday night? Late yesterday?” After her confirming nod, he continued, “There’s been no time for Shannon to process what is happening in her life, for cops to begin a debriefing. This is too early, Charlotte. She needs time to get her bearings.”

“Bryce.” Charlotte reached over and put her other hand over his, offered a small smile. “Ask me tonight about my first days. Those very first days in the hospital before my sister hired John to be my bodyguard. I am remembering what it’s like to figure out how to ‘get your bearings’ when freedom is abruptly there, when you doubted it would ever come—it’s because of that I’m inclined to say yes to meeting Shannon this early.” Charlotte tightened her hand on his. “You’ll have my back. You won’t let this get to be too much for me. And for that I’m very grateful. I can count on it.”

Charlotte looked over at Ann. “Two casual meetings, maybe three, over a couple of months,” she offered, “if she wants to meet me. But I’d ask that you first give Shannon a copy of the book Gage wrote. The one thing I don’t want to have to do is tell her my story. It’s enough to be willing to say I’m Ruth Bazoni. I’d like to be able to leave it at that.”

“I can do that.”

“And I’d need you to show that article to Ellie before then. Talk with her so that she’s aware of the same details I am.”

“I can do that too,” Ann agreed. It was with Ellie Dance, her closest friend as well as business partner, that Charlotte had shared the most difficult memories of what those years had been like, far more than she had shared with her husband. Ellie had her own dark history, and it was one of the reasons Charlotte and Ellie were so close—it had formed a bond that those who hadn’t been in that place couldn’t share.

Ann looked at Bryce. She knew how hard he was trying to help his wife get back to full health—body, soul, and spirit. She didn’t want to undercut him. “Are you okay with this, Bryce?”

“I’m comfortable with opening the door and assessing how it’s going as things progress, if that’s what Charlotte wants to try. How do you propose we do this, and when?”

“I was thinking a casual meal to introduce Shannon to some people she needs to know, that I would intentionally make it a small gathering of people who know each other so she doesn’t feel like she has to do a lot of interacting if she isn’t ready for that yet. Matthew and Shannon. Paul and myself. You and Charlotte. John and Ellie. Theodore Lincoln, one of the cops on the case, and his date if he’s currently seeing anyone. Rachel and Cole, because I’m hoping Rachel might be able to step into that best-friend role and fill that void if it’s necessary. All safe people, unrelated to her family, ones Shannon can turn to in Chicago when she needs something and not worry about how they’ll react. The evening itself should be casual fun, good food, friends catching up with each other.”

Bryce considered the suggestion, then nodded. “It’s a good approach. I propose we have that meal here—a cookout on the back patio. Charlotte can show Shannon this studio, and I’ll try to have a couple of conversations with her over the course of the evening. She has to be comfortable with both of us if this is going to play out as you hope.”

“If she wants to spend some time here as the summer unfolds, I won’t mind the company in the studio,” Charlotte offered. “Security is good, the press won’t be a problem here once that begins to be a factor. What I can offer might simply be a quiet, non-stressful place to read a book, but sometimes that’s enough. Knowing there’s a place where you can disappear for a while can be a lifesaver.”

Ann looked at their clasped hands. They had a common concern in meeting Shannon, facing the memories it would stir up. It might be just what Charlotte and Bryce could use themselves without even realizing it. Ann raised her gaze to meet theirs, offered a smile. “Thank you, both of you. I’ll give you a call when I’ve spoken with Matthew, keep you updated as I learn more. I’ll see what date might work for them.”

“Is there anything we can do to help in a practical way to smooth her return to Chicago?” Bryce asked.

“I’ve already asked John to arrange a secure place for Matthew and Shannon to stay when they reach town. Paul’s going to make arrangements for Shannon and her brother to meet at our home—neutral territory, so to speak. A lot of what unfolds after that is going to depend on what Shannon is able to reveal. I’m hoping we can have this gathering maybe Tuesday or Wednesday evening.”

Bryce looked at Charlotte, then back at Ann. “Our schedule is free this week,” he confirmed. “We’ll leave it open and wait to hear from you.”

“What about this one?” Ellie Dance asked, stepping out of the dressing room in an elegant short-sleeve, knee-length blue dress.

John Key thought his fiancée had never looked more beautiful. “The dress is stunning. If you don’t get it to wear on our honeymoon, I’ll be buying it for you shortly thereafter.”

“It is lovely, isn’t it?” Ellie spun around to show him the full effect. “You’re going to have to take me to some very fancy places to take advantage of all these items you’re talking me into buying.”

“I’ll just add days to the length of the honeymoon,” John replied, perfectly content to do just that. It had taken years for Ellie to reach the point she would say yes to marrying him. He didn’t mind their yearlong engagement while she planned the wedding she wanted. It gave him time to have days like this one with her, hanging out together, doing some shopping, letting her enjoy being beautiful and loved. He truly enjoyed romancing his future wife. A long honeymoon would be a nice beginning to their marriage.

He waited in the chair provided while she slipped back into the dressing room and returned in her street clothes. “I’ve decided I’d like to tell Bryce about Marie before the wedding,” she said, the blue dress hanging over her arm. “I think it’s time he knows.”

Her comment surprised him. They had discussed Marie a few times, but they’d made no decisions. “There’s no urgency, Ellie, but yes, it would be good if he had the details. You’re comfortable with him knowing?”

“Charlotte knows. Bryce needs to know too. If there’s a concern after the wedding, you’re going to need a friend. I’d prefer to be the one to tell Bryce rather than leave it for you in what could be difficult circumstances. But I was wondering if you would talk with him first, sort of prepare the way?”

“I’ll do that for you—and be with you when you tell him, if you like.”

“I was thinking maybe a conversation at the gallery would be appropriate.”

John held out his hand, and she slid hers into it. “He’s going to be fine with what you tell him,” he reassured her, standing. “It’s going to be interesting to see what question he asks first, if he even asks one. I suspect he’s simply going to offer one of those all-encompassing okays of his and give you a hug.”

John’s phone interrupted them with the emergency tone. They both tensed. His primary security clients were Charlotte and Bryce Bishop, and no one was closer to Ellie than Charlotte. The caller ID was blocked. “John Key.”

“Sorry! Sorry, it’s not an emergency. I’m just . . . sorry, John.”

“Relax, Ann.” He gave Ellie a reassuring smile. “It’s no problem. You’ve still got this number in your speed dial.”

“Which I realized after I hit the call button. Though I guess this is sort of an emergency in order to pass on a message. I just told Charlotte and Bryce about Shannon Bliss. Ellie needs to be in the loop on this for Charlotte’s sake.”

“Ah. Yeah. I figured that was coming. Can I deliver the news? It’s been awkward sitting on it for the last few hours.”

“Please. I’ll send you the link to the newspaper article.”

“I’ve still got it on my phone. How did Charlotte react?”

“She got very quiet, but she’s open to the idea of meeting Shannon. Ellie should give her a call, do a better debrief than I could.”

“I’ll make sure that happens.”

“Any problem on finding a secure place for Matthew and Shannon to stay?”

John pulled out his wallet to retrieve a credit card, offered it to Ellie, nodded toward a clerk waiting nearby—taking advantage of the fact he faced less argument over who was buying this addition to her honeymoon wardrobe when he was on the phone. “None. It’s been arranged. Our favorite diplomat is in Eastern Europe trying to put volatile tempers back on simmer; he said he’ll be out of the country another six weeks and we’re welcome to use his place. The unit across the hall is being renovated, and I’m taking that as well. I’ve got a couple of guys a phone call away if it’s necessary to add security when they are out of the place. We’re set. They’ll be secure while they’re in Chicago.”

“I’m guessing they’ll arrive Monday, midafternoon.”

“I’ll make sure food is laid in for them. Have you heard anything else?” he asked, watching Ellie as she stood at checkout with the dress.

“Shannon was passing photos and locations of abducted kids to an FBI guy in Virginia—eighteen kids over the last six years.”

He felt pleasant surprise at the news. “Good for her.”

“She’s a survivor. Another item she mentioned: when this started and her kidnapping went bad, they put out to sea, tossed her in the ocean, and waited for her to drown.”

John felt a stillness slow his heart rate, the trained response to wanting to take on an opponent. His hand clenched around the phone. “We’re going to make the next few weeks calm and peaceful for her, or we don’t know how to do our jobs. And we’re going to put people in cuffs.”

“Paul’s sentiment too. What’s on your schedule?”

“Nothing I can’t delegate,” John assured Ann.

“I’m going to put something together so she can meet you and Ellie, Charlotte and Bryce, a few others. She needs safe names and faces outside of her family in Chicago, people she can trust.”

“Just let me know when and where. Ann, is her brother, this Jeffery Bliss, is he a good guy?”

“I’m hoping he is.”

“Same here. Call me if you need me.”

“Thanks, John.”

He ended the call.

“What’s going on?” Ellie asked, returning with a garment bag holding the dress.

He scrolled back to the article link, brought it up, and handed her the phone. “Shannon Bliss is coming home.”

Paul Falcon heard the elevator security faintly chime as a key was used to stop it on the fourth floor. They were owners of the entire floor, and the elevator opened into the entryway of their home, where the first sight to greet their guests was a large sculpture of a horse and rider beloved by his grandfather. Paul tugged a clean shirt off a hanger as the dog lying at the foot of the bed startled upright to race away and greet Ann. Paul smiled as he finished changing his shirt. It felt good to be home.

He heard the rumble of a low growl come from the living room as Black found his favorite toy, then the unmistakable sound of the dog’s feet skidding on the polished floor of the entryway. “Yes, I’m delighted to see you too, Black,” his wife crooned to her dog. “And I’m glad to see poor bear is still in one piece.”

Paul listened to the familiar interactions, relaxed just hearing them. There had been years in this home where the only sound had been the music he put on to break the silence. Having a wife and her dog around suited him just fine. His phone buzzed. He paused, picked it up, scrolled through the text message. Shannon Bliss and her situation was only one of four hot items on his plate right now. He’d moved on the most urgent items during a few hours at the office, then packed up a briefcase of work to bring home with him. He sent a reply. He had good people working the problems, and nothing was in particular crisis. This could wait an hour. He went to find his wife.

He found Ann in the kitchen, looking in the refrigerator. She’d fed the dog. Black had his paws on either side of his bowl, holding it in place while he practically inhaled the contents. Paul paused to ruffle the dog’s ears, then joined his wife.

“Need some help?” He slid his arm around her waist, leaned over to offer a lingering kiss. “Glad you’re home.”

“I never want to leave it again.”

He smiled, understanding the sentiment. “What have you decided?”

“Hamburgers.”

She handed him a new jar of dill pickle slices to open. He did so and set it on the counter. “I’ll handle dinner. Sit. Keep me company.” He turned her toward a stool. Ann gave it her best effort, but she wasn’t much of a cook, and he rather enjoyed fixing meals for them.

She took a tapioca cup with her and sat on the stool while he pulled out hamburger and cheese, found wax paper to help make the burgers ultrathin. He got the meat sizzling in a large hot skillet, put on the lid to cut down spatter, found the last of the German potato salad his sister had sent home with them from her restaurant. It was better warm, so he put the bowl in the microwave, turned the hamburgers and adjusted the heat to low, took the potatoes out of the microwave, then slid onto a stool next to his wife, carefully sampled the potatoes. Not so hot they would burn the tongue. He held out the fork with a bite to share with his wife. “How did Charlotte take the request?”

Ann borrowed the fork to take another bite of the potatoes, gave it back. “She’s open to meeting Shannon. Bryce has some reservations, but he offered to host the casual get-together. Unsaid is that he knows Charlotte will find it easier if it’s a first meeting on her own turf. It would be good if you scheduled a run with him, sound out what he didn’t tell me.”

“Already on my short list for the next few days,” Paul agreed.

“Did you hear anything more from Matthew?”

He summarized the latest call.

“Shannon made a good choice approaching him,” Ann said.

“She did.”

Paul liked this guy Ann had once dated years before she had met him, liked how he briefed details on the phone, liked how he handled a very important victim without appearing to be managing her. The information she was sharing wouldn’t be coming if Matthew hadn’t established that elusive, subtle line of trust with Shannon. “I think she wanted to talk and knew she could only handle telling the story one-on-one, so she deliberately selected who it would be. A smart move on her part, and one that helps us. She’s not shutting down like many victims in her place would do. She’s simply being deliberate. A week, I think, and this will be a case with some rapid, unfolding movement. It’s going to feel good to make arrests on Shannon’s behalf. Theo echoes that sentiment. We’ve put together space to work this on the director’s floor to keep it quiet for now.”

“Good. Theo needs a case like this, something that turns out positive. He spends a lot of time on situations that end up with only recovered remains.”

“I know.” Paul slid off the stool to check the hamburgers, found them almost done. He split the buns and put them on top of the hamburgers in the pan to warm, took another close look at his wife as he worked. She looked content. Relieved to be home. She also looked drained. She’d enjoyed herself at the conference, but was paying a price. Even before Matthew had tapped her shoulder with Shannon’s situation, the trip had been taking a toll. “How are you feeling, Ann?”

She hesitated before she answered. “I’m just tired.”

He set down the towel, stopped beside her, put his hands on either side of her face and tipped it up to study. She’d hide it all with most people, but she was learning not to do so with him. “I think exhausted is the word you’re looking for,” he said gently. “Bad enough the nausea is setting in, given what you chose to eat first.”

“Too many people. Too much noise.”

Three days at a conference, travel on either side of it, was her physical limit now. She was an introvert, and time with a lot of people drained her. She’d had more reserves when she was single, when most of her time was spent alone. Marriage had changed what she could manage now. Moved things in closer. Solitude was a precious commodity when part of a couple, and she wasn’t getting enough of it. He had known before he married her that solitude would be nearly as critical to her well-being as sleep, and the two years since the wedding had only reinforced that.

He rested his hands on her shoulders to rub his thumbs against her collarbone. “I think you should disappear and go paint for the next week,” he suggested. She had a studio attached to their apartment with its own private bedroom suite—his wedding gift to her, a place to hibernate and get a big dose of time alone.

“I’ll be fine—”

She started to tell him it wasn’t so bad, and he shook his head, stopping her words. The timing for it wasn’t ideal with Shannon arriving in town, with Matthew needing help, but it was necessary. “That was our deal, Ann. I want my wife, not a shell of who you are. You can’t be what you need—what I need—when you’re exhausted. You can disappoint other people for the next week to please me. We’ll host Shannon’s meeting with her brother here. You can come to the cookout when that gets arranged. Talk with Matthew when he calls. Otherwise, silence the phone, get some solitude and some rest. Do some painting. I’ll step in and handle matters regarding Shannon.” He tipped up her chin to kiss her. “If I’d been thinking, I would have gone to see Charlotte and Bryce today on your behalf.”

“I needed to do it. She’s my friend, and it was a lot to ask.”

“Charlotte’s been a good friend to you and you to her,” Paul agreed. “You’re brutally tired, Ann. You can’t ignore that, wish it away.”

She conceded the point. “I’ll go paint—five days, starting tomorrow after we get back from church. What about Black?”

He smiled. “Black and I could use some guy time to reconnect. No one fussing when I share my breakfast with him or wondering why we pause on a walk to watch a nice poodle stroll by.”

She laughed, rested her hands on his arms. “Thank you. More than you can know—most guys wouldn’t get me, but you do. It’s no wonder I love you. But could I make one change to that plan?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Let me go talk to Theo, look at the case board, and pose some questions. I’ve spent since Friday night pushing case-file information into my brain, and I can be useful to him for a few hours. You know I can.”

He leaned in to softly kiss her again. “I’m not questioning your usefulness, only the timing. Spend Monday afternoon with him. Sort out whether things are going the right direction. Then leave it to Theo and me for a few days, all right?”

“All right.”

“Good,” Paul replied with a nod of his head. “Now, what do you want on your cheeseburger? The works?”

“No onions.”

He smiled. “For either of us,” he decided. He finished the meal prep and set their plates on the counter where they often ate.

He knew others wondered at the way he guarded his life with Ann, the privacy they maintained, the quiet schedule they kept most of the year. He knew something they did not. In her element, Ann was one of the best thinkers he had ever met, able to make intuitive leaps and see connections that even seasoned investigators missed. She’d been an excellent homicide cop, she was a good writer, and had a relationship with God he envied. Those facets of who she was had developed because of the time she’d been able to spend thinking. He’d married her wanting to share that life, not push her into being a different person after adding the title wife. It mattered to him that he cared for her well, that the woman he’d met and fallen in love with would still be found in his wife. The trade-off of some solitude for her was a rich marriage for himself—he knew how to protect what mattered.

The cheeseburgers tasted delicious. Still, Ann passed over half of hers and got herself another tapioca.

“Did you ever meet Adam York?” he asked her, curious.

“The one who’s been catching those missing-kid packages from Shannon?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been trying to place where I’ve heard his name. I don’t think I’ve met him, but a case out of Ohio crossed with one of his, I think. The cop thought the FBI was being pushy, so I tucked away the name.”

“Ideally, Shannon has only one contact with the FBI other than me, and it doesn’t sound like York is the right agent. I’d go with Rita as my first choice, but she’s involved elsewhere. While Sam would be able to set the right tone, I think we need a woman.”

“Shannon’s better off if it’s Matthew Dane and only one cop,” Ann suggested. “I’d choose Theodore Lincoln for the conversations. He knows her case, he has history with her family, he’s thorough and careful and the right mix of patient cop and calm detective—he’ll work the case and stay out of the press limelight until his boss sends him to a podium. I predict Shannon is going to meet Theo and be very comfortable with him. Let the FBI sit back in the information flow. You want Shannon to give you details, you need to keep her initial world small—under five people if possible. Matthew Dane, Theodore Lincoln, a good woman doctor, her brother, and maybe Charlotte. Make that the inner circle she deals with for the next several weeks.”

Paul thought Ann’s read of the situation was solid, and he had no problem with the FBI drafting behind Theo for the details. “I’ll keep the case on my desk for now, haul in Dave and Sam as the next additions. They get along well with Theo. Once we get the information suggesting the geography this case is going to cover, I’ll reassess who we need.”

The dog was pushing his bowl around the kitchen in a not-so-subtle reference to the fact it was empty. Paul got up to take plates over to the dishwasher. “Would a walk help, Black?”

The dog’s head came up, and he abandoned the bowl to dart into the entryway. His leash was draped over the saddle of the sculpture, and they heard it hit the floor. Black trotted back into the kitchen, trailing the leash behind him. Ann was laughing as she leaned down for it. “Thank you, Black. One long walk coming up.” She glanced over at Paul. “We need to send him up to the ranch with Quinn for a couple of weeks so he can stretch his legs and chase things, burn off some energy.”

“You know he slept the entire time we were gone,” Paul pointed out, as Black fidgeted impatiently while Ann clipped his leash on. “I’ll take him.” Paul took the leash, and the three of them headed out. Black didn’t love the elevator, but he’d learned to tolerate it. The animal was the first one on. Paul was glad the dog had transitioned to the concrete of living in downtown Chicago as well as he had. Ann and her dog had walked a lot of miles together before he’d met her, and Paul was beginning to appreciate the joy this animal brought to their lives. Black never failed to entertain. “Two miles tonight?” he asked as the elevator opened. And with Ann’s agreement, he turned them south so they’d pass by one decent-sized park during the walk.