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“Look into a travel agency called Elite Voyages,” Peter told Clinton. “We’ve got a tip Neal might have been there.”
“On it.” Clinton sounded as if he were already typing. “When can we expect you back?”
Peter checked his watch. “I’m on my way now.” He rang off and turned back to El and Mozzie. “Hon, I need to talk to you. Alone.”
Mozzie narrowed his eyes and spluttered about government machinations and the NSA, while Peter and El went out onto the patio and closed the door.
“What’s up?” asked El.
“Neal’s in trouble.” Peter allowed himself to be blunt, to let his worry show. El already knew that much. “We’re trying to find him, and this is a good lead, but I have to get back to the office.”
She nodded gravely. “I know. So?”
“So I arranged to meet Kate at two this afternoon, and I can’t contact her to reschedule. If I don’t show up—”
“—she won’t trust you,” El finished for him, nodding. “I’ll go. I can reschedule my one-thirty.”
“I wouldn’t ask, but it’s important. It might be our only chance to find out what’s really going on.” Peter took her by the shoulders, looked down at her, beautiful and brave, and felt the stir of misgivings. “It could be dangerous. She has a gun.”
“Don’t worry, hon. She won’t hurt me,” said El. “She must know if she did you’d come after her.”
Peter ran a hand over his hair. El was right—if anything, a meet between the two women would be less volatile—but even so, it didn’t take much for things to go south when there were firearms involved. “I wish there was someone I could send with you, but it’s all hands on deck right now.”
El raised an eyebrow, then looked over her shoulder, and Peter followed her gaze through the window to where Mozzie was rearranging the knickknacks on their mantelpiece. “I don’t have to go alone.”
“Mozzie isn’t protection.” If anyone could inflame a situation, it was Mozzie. He was raising Peter’s blood pressure right now, just by existing!
“We’ll be fine,” said El. “Mozzie knows Kate, remember? They probably ran together, back in the day. Between us, we’ll persuade Kate to tell us what she knows. Now, go and save Neal, please.” She gripped his lapels, her face clouding with worry. “Bring him home.”
Peter bent and kissed her. “Be careful. Don’t let Mozzie do the talking. God only knows what kind of conspiracy theory he’d spin.”
“Trust me.” El smoothed his lapels back down. “Go.”
*
The rendezvous was the downtown platform of the B/C stop on west eighty-first, under the Museum of Natural History. “Kate loves the classics,” said Moz, when El informed him of this, and El didn’t ask whether he meant there was a tradition among con artists or fugitives to meet at subway stations, or if there was some particular significance attached to this one.
Other than that, Moz was tight-lipped. If he was looking forward to seeing Kate, he kept it to himself. Maybe he was entertaining the same doubts about her loyalties that Peter had after his last meeting with her. El decided not to probe; Moz probably wouldn’t tell her, and it was better if she made her own judgements anyway.
They were five minutes early. The platform was freezing. Clusters of tourists stood around talking, looking at the mosaics of frogs and kangaroos and consulting their travel guides and phones. A party of grade school children tested the acoustics, making El wince. She pulled her coat more tightly around her and looked for Kate among the confusion but couldn’t see her.
A rumble turned into a roar, and a train arrived in a blast of dirty air. People surged on and off, and within a minute or two, El and Moz were alone at one end of the echoing space. The half dozen souls at the other end seemed to all be men and to know each other.
Mozzie’s phone rang, the electronic tone thin in the chilly air, and Moz answered it with an apologetic grimace. “The airport?” He frowned. “That doesn’t sound good. No, I’m with El. I’m counting on you, Suit.” He hung up, looking grim.
“Is it Neal?” Worry clutched El’s insides. She didn’t know much about what was going on—Peter always tried to spare her feelings—but Neal was in danger, and it was serious enough that Peter had foregone this meeting. And it was already ten minutes past the designated time. “You know, Moz, it doesn’t look like Kate’s going to show. If you need to go and help Neal…”
Mozzie cast her a guilty look, then turned 360 degrees, scanning the platform carefully. A few people had drifted down to wait for the next train; a few chatted with their companions, most were absorbed in their phones, one was reading a book. No Kate. “If you’re sure.”
His anxiety was contagious. El nodded. “I’m sure. Go.”
“If you need anything, call. I’ll send help.” Mozzie held up his phone.
“I’ll be fine.” El watched him hurry upstairs. She should leave too, or at least go somewhere warmer and strategize. She glanced around one more time, and as she did, Kate emerged from a corner that El could have sworn was empty a minute ago.
Kate had barely aged from the file photos, taken years ago, before Neal went to prison. She was wearing a hoodie and jeans under her coat, and heavy boots. Her hands were in her pockets, and maybe a gun too. It was impossible to tell, especially given how wary she seemed, young, beautiful and so hard that El felt bruised just looking at her. There was none of Neal’s charm in her manner, none of his kindness. She came right up to El. “Mrs. Burke?”
“Elizabeth.”
“I was expecting Peter.”
“Something urgent came up, something to do with Neal.” El tried not to think about that, to focus on the woman in front of her, but she couldn’t keep the tension out of her voice. “Peter sent me.”
Kate studied her. “You’re worried about Neal.”
“Yes,” said El, automatically, speaking from the heart. She covered with a smile, all too aware she was talking to the woman Neal loved, the one for whom he’d broken out of prison, risked everything. “Yes, of course. He’s our friend. We’re worried about you too.”
Kate gave a humorless laugh.
There was no point trying to convince her, and going into the details of Neal’s kidnapping wouldn’t help either. El cut to the chase. “How much do you know about Fowler?”
“Enough.” It was a verbal eye-roll, as if Fowler wasn’t worth wasting breath over.
Which didn’t make sense, if he was the one controlling her. El followed her instincts, took a leap. “How about whoever’s behind Fowler, pulling his strings?”
She asked it mildly, but Kate’s reaction—a flash of surprise, followed by fear—was anything but. Her voice lowered. “He’s dangerous. You shouldn’t—you shouldn’t be here.”
“Peter can protect you,” said El. “Tell us what you—”
“No one can protect me, least of all Peter,” interrupted Kate, hunched inside her coat. She glanced over her shoulder, as if out of habit. “I have to get him what he wants. Tell Neal it’s the only way.”
It was time for the truth. Kate needed to know what she was really asking Neal to do—assuming Peter and Mozzie rescued him from his current predicament, but El couldn’t think about that right now. “Kate, Neal doesn’t have the music box.”
Kate stared at her blankly. “What?”
“I’m sorry.” El’s heart went out to her, and she moved to touch her arm, but Kate took a step back. El let her hand fall, reaching out with her voice instead. “Peter didn’t take it from him; Neal never had it. Let us—let Peter help you. Please, Kate.”
Kate had paled, but now her eyes flashed. “Why? Why would you risk getting involved? Did you not hear the part where it’s dangerous?”
“We’re already involved.” In more ways than El could admit. She spread her hands. “Fowler’s going after Peter on someone else’s say-so. We don’t even know who we’re dealing with.” And Neal was desperate with worry, was prepared to risk everything—again!—and would likely end up back behind bars, breaking everyone’s hearts, including El’s own. “Just talk to Peter, okay? He’s a good man. You can trust him. Do it for Neal.”
Kate was so white she looked like a ghost, but her jaw tightened at the invocation of Neal’s name. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” she muttered. The rumble of an inbound train began to build in the tunnel, and the small crowd that had been accumulating stirred behind them. Kate heaved a breath and searched El’s face, and whatever she saw fractured her resolve. “All right,” she said. “For Neal. You can tell Peter I’ll be in touch.”
Just then, a trio of small children tore onto the platform, shrieking with laughter and moving so fast that for a moment El feared they might not stop, might fall in front of the train. She watched them veer safely away from the edge and vanish back into the crowd.
It was only a second or two of distraction, but when she turned back, Kate was gone.
END