Chương 8
“Already in place.”
Roman looked at the library door.
“If she leaves the apartment, I want to know.”
“That conflicts with invisible.”
“Call me, not her.”
“Understood.”
Roman ended the call and stood alone in the dark library.
For several seconds he considered going upstairs and confronting Sabrina.
The desire was physical.
He could feel it in his shoulders.
He could picture the conversation too clearly.
He would tell her he had heard everything.
She would deny the context.
He would demand the name of the person on the phone.
She would either lie or stop talking.
Then whoever was watching Elena would know Roman understood enough to become dangerous.
Elena’s letter sat inside his jacket pocket.
Watch first.
He hated being told what to do.
He hated more that she had been right about what he would want to do.
Roman went back to his office.
He opened a bottle of water and forgot to drink it.
He opened the old freight brokerage records instead.
Daniel Cross had not merely stolen from a business tied to Anthony Marino.
The lawsuit showed he had worked inside it.
Accounts payable.
Twenty-six years old.
Three separate transfers routed through nonexistent vendors.
The case had settled before trial.
No criminal referral appeared in the public file.
That was the part Roman found strange.
His father had not been merciful.
Anthony Marino had once spent three years destroying a former partner over a dispute involving less money.
Roman searched the archived company emails he had inherited after his father’s death.
Most were badly indexed.
Some existed only as scanned printouts.
He found Daniel’s name twice.
The first was routine.
The second was not.
A message from Anthony to Vincent, dated six years before Anthony died.
Keep Cross away from the kid until I decide how much he actually saw.
Roman read it again.
The kid.
At that time, Roman was thirty-eight.
Anthony had still called him that when he was furious, nostalgic, or afraid.
Roman forwarded the email to a private archive and searched for replies.
Nothing.
He searched Daniel’s surname.
Nothing useful.
Then he searched the freight brokerage name.
A dozen old messages appeared.
Most concerned invoices.
One referred to an internal audit that had never been completed.
Another mentioned a ledger.
Roman leaned closer.
The message was from Vincent.
We have the corrected ledger, but Cross copied pages before we recovered it.
Anthony’s response was one sentence.
Find out who else has them.
Roman sat back.
A knock came at the office door.
He locked the computer.
“Come in.”
Sabrina entered.
She had changed again.
Jeans now.
A navy coat folded over one arm.
“I’m going out.”
Roman glanced at the clock.
It was after nine.
“Where?”
“My mother’s.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She picked up her purse from the chair where she had left it earlier.
“I just don’t feel like staying here.”
Roman watched her.
“Because of me?”
“Partly.”
“Fair.”
She looked at him more carefully.
The answer had unsettled her.
“You’re not going to ask me to stay?”
“No.”
Her fingers tightened around the purse strap.
“Okay.”
Roman turned toward his computer.
She remained near the door.
“What?”
He looked back.
Sabrina gave a small, frustrated shake of her head.
“Nothing.”
Then she left.
Roman waited until he heard the front door close.
He checked the estate camera.
Sabrina’s car moved down the driveway and passed through the main gate.
He called Luis.
“Can you spare someone?”
“For her?”
“Yes.”
“Follow only?”
“Follow and report.”
“I thought Elena was the priority.”
“She still is.”
Luis paused.
“You’ve got two separate fires.”
“No.”
Roman watched Sabrina’s taillights disappear from the screen.
“I think it’s one.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Luis called back.
“Sabrina’s not going toward Connecticut.”
Roman stood.
“Where?”
“South.”
“Toward the city?”
“Yes.”
“Keep following.”
“My guy says she’s driving like she knows how to check mirrors.”
Roman looked at the dark reflection of himself in the window.
“She does.”
“Then if she spots him—”
“Let her go.”
Luis hesitated.
“You sure?”
“I need her comfortable more than I need her caught.”
“Now you sound like yourself again.”
Roman did not enjoy the observation.
His phone vibrated with another call.
Vivien.
He answered.
“Mom.”
“Elena is having contractions.”
Everything else disappeared.
Roman gripped the edge of the desk.
“How far apart?”
“Not regular.”
“Is she at the hospital?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because her doctor told her to hydrate, lie down, and monitor them unless they become regular or she has other symptoms.”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
Roman closed his eyes.
“Do not start.”
“I’m not starting anything.”
“I’m coming.”
“Elena asked you not to.”
“She’s thirty-five weeks pregnant.”
“I know exactly how pregnant she is.”
Roman grabbed his coat.
Vivien’s voice hardened.
“If you arrive here with people following you, you could make whatever is happening worse.”
His hand stopped on the doorknob.
The photograph.
Keep watching the apartment.
Roman let go of the handle.
“How is she?”
“Angry.”
“At me?”
“At her uterus.”
Despite everything, Roman almost laughed.
His mother continued.
“She ate half a grilled cheese sandwich, complained that the cheese was wrong, and is currently timing contractions on her phone while pretending she isn’t frightened.”
Roman sat down.
“Put her on.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“She doesn’t want to speak to you.”
“I need to hear her voice.”
“That need belongs to you.”
The sentence cut cleanly.
Roman looked at the baby shoes on the desk.
“Tell her I’m staying away.”
Vivien was quiet.
“Tell her I got her message.”
Another pause.
“And tell her she was right.”
“About what?”
Roman looked toward the locked office door.
“Just tell her that.”
Vivien did not ask again.
“I’ll call if anything changes.”
The line ended.
Roman remained seated for several minutes.
Then a message came from Luis.
Sabrina had stopped at a twenty-four-hour diner near Yonkers.
Roman stared at the location.
It made no sense.
Another message followed.
She went inside alone.
May you like
Roman typed, Stay on her.
Luis responded with a single thumbs-up.
