Chapter 4
Beneath one of his legitimate import warehouses, Toby sat behind three computer monitors in a windowless room.
Twenty-three.
Thin.
Pale.
Hair that looked cut with whatever scissors happened to be nearby.
Victor dropped the prepaid phone on his desk.
“Trace it.”
Toby looked at the phone.
Then Victor.
“Legal?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Thomas stood behind them.
Toby connected the device.
Victor’s personal phone began vibrating.
Sylvia.
He stared at the name.
Twelve hours ago, he had been in her bed.
She had poured champagne.
Told him he looked tired.
Rubbed cherry-blossom lotion over his shoulders.
He had silenced his household phone because Nora had called twice about Leo crying.
At the time, he told himself he deserved one quiet night.
Now the memory made him nauseous.
He answered.
“Victor.”
Sylvia sounded playful.
“You vanished.”
“We’re done.”
Silence.
“What?”
“The condo stays paid through the end of the year.”
“Victor, what happened?”
“The car is yours.”
“Did Nora—”
“Do not say her name.”
Sylvia’s tone changed.
“You came to me.”
“I know.”
“So don’t make me the villain because your wife finally—”
Victor ended the call.
Blocked the number.
For several seconds he sat staring at the dark screen.
Thomas said nothing.
That was another habit of Victor’s world.
Men remained quiet around the boss because truth could be expensive.
Victor had always considered that respect.
Now he wondered how much information silence had cost him.
Toby spoke.
“Got something.”
Victor turned.
“The number Claire called pinged near Milwaukee.”
“Wisconsin.”
“Yes.”
“Time?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
Toby typed again.
“Also, the Volvo from the garage.”
“You have it?”
“Partial visual match through toll cameras.”
A grainy image appeared.
Dark gray Volvo moving north on I-94.
Then another.
Same vehicle entering parking near Milwaukee Mitchell Airport.
Victor stood.
“Get the jet.”
Thomas reached for his phone.
“Wait.”
Toby’s hand rose.
Victor frowned.
“What?”
“The car is parked near the airport, but nobody got out on the terminal side.”
“So?”
“I checked exterior traffic.”
Video appeared.
Snow.
Bus stop.
At 4:10 in the morning, a Greyhound stopped.
A woman boarded carrying an infant seat.
Then another woman carrying a second.
Suitcases.
Victor leaned closer.
“They baited the airport.”
Thomas exhaled.
“Nora knew we’d pull flight manifests.”
Victor stared.
For the first time, something unexpected moved beneath the panic.
Respect.
Nora had once restored antique books for museums.
She could spend twelve hours repairing a binding no one else would have the patience to touch.
Victor had mistaken quiet intelligence for softness.
Again.
“She’s three moves ahead.”
Thomas said, “Then stop treating this like a kidnapping.”
Victor looked at him.
Thomas rarely challenged him directly.
“She knows how we search.”
Another.
“She expects the black cars.”
Another.
“She expects pressure.”
Another.
“If you keep doing what Victor Rinaldi always does, she’ll keep predicting you.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Think like your wife.”
Victor looked at the bus footage.
That was harder than threatening anyone.
They drove north anyway.
The storm turned Interstate 94 into a white corridor.
Victor sat in the passenger seat of the armored Escalade while Chicago disappeared behind them.
For hours there was nothing to do but think.
He remembered meeting Nora in a book restoration studio in the Loop.
She had almond oil on her fingertips.
A pencil behind one ear.
When Victor entered, two employees became nervous because they recognized him.
Nora barely looked up.
“You’re early.”
Nobody told Victor Rinaldi he was early as though he were an ordinary delivery.
He liked her immediately.
Not because she was submissive.
Because she wasn’t.
She had been quiet without being intimidated.
He told himself he wanted that peace in his life.
Then, slowly, he moved her into a world where peace was impossible.
The engagement brought security.
Marriage brought more.
A driver.
Guards.
Private elevators.
Restricted restaurants.
Background checks on friends.
After a threat from a rival crew, Victor refused to let Nora take public transportation.
After another, he had security review her schedule every morning.
He called it caution.
Nora stopped going places alone.
He called that safety.
The twins arrived six weeks early.
Leo spent twenty-two days in the NICU.
Mia twenty-four.
Nora slept in a chair beside them until nurses forced her home.
Victor lasted three nights.
Then business intensified.
He told himself somebody had to secure the family.
What he really meant was that business gave him a place where he knew the rules.
At home, his wife cried.
His babies had monitors.
Machines beeped.
Doctors used words like oxygen saturation and developmental delay.
Victor did not know how to control any of it.
Sylvia was easy.
Sylvia wanted dinner, jewelry, champagne, and a man who left before breakfast.
Victor could succeed at that.
So he did.
Now the memory made him grip the door handle until his fingers hurt.
Thomas broke the silence.
“Bus has a scheduled stop near Eau Claire.”
“How long?”
“We might beat it.”
They didn’t.
The transit depot sat beside a tired truck stop and diner.
The attendant recognized the bus.
“Came through forty minutes ago.”
Victor’s control snapped for exactly one second.
He kicked a metal trash can.
It crashed into a wall.
Sleeping travelers jerked awake.
A little girl started crying.
Victor saw her father pull her closer.
Shame arrived so quickly it felt almost like nausea.
He walked outside.
Thomas followed.
“State police stopped the bus farther north,” Thomas said after a phone call.
Victor looked at him.
“No twins.”
“She got off here.”
They checked the diner.
A waitress named Brenda studied Nora’s photo.
Then Victor’s face.
“I don’t remember.”
He knew she was lying.
Normally, he would have applied pressure.
Money.
Threat.
A name.
Instead, Victor suddenly had no strength for performance.
He leaned both hands on the counter.
“Please.”
Brenda’s expression changed slightly.
“My children were born premature.”
Another.
“They have medication that may not be with them.”
Another.
“If Nora is running from me, you can hate me for whatever you think I did.”
His voice cracked.
“But the babies can’t survive hours in this cold.”
Brenda studied him.
No guards speaking.
No intimidation.
Just a father finally stripped of enough power to sound human.
She sighed.
“They were here.”
Victor closed his eyes.
“Forty-five minutes ago.”
“With another woman?”
“Yes.”
“Babies?”
“Crying.”
His chest hurt.
“They met a man by the diesel pumps.”
“What kind of car?”
“Old blue Bronco.”
“Direction?”
Brenda pointed north.
“County Road M.”
Thomas looked concerned.
“That goes toward the national forest.”
Brenda nodded.
“If they don’t have chains, it’s bad.”
Victor whispered, “Thank you.”
Before he left, Brenda caught his sleeve.
“Finding her is not the same as earning her back.”
Victor looked at the old waitress.
May you like
“I know.”
For once, he meant it.
