“Other stuff,” Maria replied with a smile.

  Beth couldn’t help but grin.

  She switched on the radio as she made a right on Indian Brook Road. Maria immediately started singing along to Ariana Grande as Beth followed the winding route into the pine forest that surrounded Garrison.

  As they passed the Mullers’ house, Beth noticed a black-and-gold police cruiser parked on a track to their right. She wondered what the State Police were doing out here and glanced in her rearview to see the car pull onto the road behind them.

  A moment later, there was a flash of blue and red. Beth glanced back to see the officer in the passenger seat was signaling for her to pull over.

  Beth was religious about vehicle maintenance, but had one of her brake lights blown?

  “What do they want, Mom?” Danny asked, craning around to see the cop car.

  “Probably nothing,” Beth replied, but her stomach was tightening into a knot.

  She turned off the radio and pulled to the side of the road.

  “Are we in trouble?” Maria asked.

  “No, honey,” Beth assured her as the police car rolled up behind them.

  Suspicion kicked in the moment the two men stepped out of the car. They didn’t move like cops, and the driver, a tall man with paper-white skin and a thick black goatee, kept glancing up and down the otherwise deserted road. His passenger, a blond-haired man, had his hand on his holstered gun, which was nickel, like an old Smith & Wesson or maybe a Walther P88—both extremely powerful firearms, and neither permitted for state troopers’ use.

  Beth’s mind conjured up her darkest fears. She had lived in dread of this day ever since she and her husband had first planned for it.

  “Have you got your seat belts on, guys?” she asked.

  The men were a few yards from her vehicle.

  Danny and Maria nodded.

  “I’m going to need you to switch off the engine, ma’am,” the blond man said loudly, drawing his pistol.

  Beth threw the Yukon into drive and stepped on the gas. She watched in the rearview mirror as the two uniformed men ran back to their car. Beth turned her eyes on the road as she built speed.

  “Mommy!” Danny cried as the Yukon flew around a bend.

  Beth glanced at Maria, who gripped her seat belt fearfully.

  “It’s OK, kids,” Beth said. “We’re going to be OK.”

  She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the police car gaining, but speed wasn’t the only advantage out here.

  The first gunshot startled her, but it sailed harmlessly past. Danny started crying, and Beth glanced back to see her son’s bright eyes shedding tears.

  She swerved across the road, aiming at a gap between the trees. It marked a logging trail they’d walked a few times in summer. Beth didn’t slow as the road gave way to rutted track, and she kept her foot on the gas as the Yukon hit frozen mud. The big SUV bounced around violently as it climbed the steep track and threw chewed-up mud and slush into the air behind it.

  Maria yelped and squealed but Beth kept going, pushing the Yukon to the limit. The suspension crunched and groaned, and the engine growled, but the large car roared on. Beth checked behind her to see their pursuers weren’t so lucky. The patrol car made it about ten yards before getting stuck on the steep slope.

  They soon crested a rise that took them out of sight of their pursuers, and Beth eased off the accelerator.

  “It’s OK,” she said, reaching around her seat to squeeze Danny’s leg. “It’s over. We’re safe. Is anyone hurt?”

  “No,” Maria replied.

  Danny shook his head.

  “Those weren’t real police, were they?” Maria asked. Her face was rigid with worry.

  “No, honey, I don’t think so,” Beth replied. She kept stroking Danny’s leg and his crying turned to shuddering, uneven gasps. “But it’s OK. We’re prepared for this, remember?”

  Beth hoped the children wouldn’t connect the dots and realize what this meant for their father. She could hardly bring herself to think about it either.

  Maria nodded uncertainly, and when Beth glanced back she saw Danny doing the same. She was so proud of her kids. Their father would be too.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE SUN WAS touching the horizon by the time they reached Lake Waramaug. Beth turned left off Preston Hill Road onto the track that led toward Mount Bushnell. The snow was thick up here, and the Yukon growled and grunted its way through deep drifts. The mountain was covered in pines that were so tightly packed they were like bristles on a toothbrush.

  The track was kept in good condition by the folks who lived at Marks Hollow, but it didn’t look as though it had been plowed for a while. Beth climbed a steep turn. When she looked to her left she saw the lake a mile or so away, shimmering gold in the sunset. Danny had fallen asleep, but Maria’s eyes were on the water.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Beth remarked, and her daughter nodded.

  About half a mile further on, Beth turned right down a trail that was covered in packed snow. The SUV’s wheels spun and slid around, but the snow tires found enough purchase to make slow progress and propel the vehicle forward in uncertain bursts. They turned west, the red sun flickering through the trees, blinding them both. Beth glanced in the rearview and saw Danny’s eyelids tremble in the bright light.

  “Nearly there,” Beth told Maria, who smiled wanly.

  The Yukon skated and spun its way along the trail for a little over half a mile until the dense forest thinned and then fell away. Beth drove into a half-acre clearing. A small cabin stood in the center, its tiled roof covered with sparkling snow that was tinted pink in the dying light.

  “Here we are,” she said, and sensed Maria’s relief.

  The kids knew and loved this place. Maria called it Gray Havens, which Beth didn’t particularly like, but if it helped her daughter process the idea of a sanctuary, she was prepared to put up with the nickname.

  Beth stopped the SUV in front of the cabin, and Danny stirred at the sudden loss of momentum. Beth turned to look at her son and saw the familiar bewilderment that marked the transition from sleep to waking. He took in their surroundings, and after a moment, Beth sensed him relax.

  “I’m hungry,” he said, and she smiled with relief. Hunger was a run-of-the-mill problem that could be solved by her snack-making skills.

  “We’ve got food in the cabin,” she said. “Lots of it.”

  “How long will we have to stay here?” Maria asked.

  “Until we figure out what’s happening.”

  “Will we get in trouble at school?” Her daughter frowned.

  “No. I don’t want you to worry about anything like that,” Beth replied.

  “Is Dad OK?” Danny asked.

  Beth bit her lip. She never lied to her kids. “I hope so. He’s never not been OK.”

  That seemed to satisfy them, and Beth didn’t expand on the subject. She stepped out of the car and opened the rear door to help Danny down, but he brushed her hand away with “I’m not a baby, Mom,” and jumped into the crisp snow.

  He followed his sister, who skipped toward the cabin. The two of them made little puffball clouds of hot breath in the icy air, like a pair of steam engines.

  Beth went after them, but she hesitated as she neared the wooden deck that ran around the cabin. She sensed something wasn’t right, and froze.

  “What is it, Mom?” Maria asked.

  “Shush!”

  Danny glanced fearfully from his mom to his sister, and the three of them stood still as Beth strained to listen. She heard the rush of wind through the trees, the creak of branches, the brush of pine needles. Then there was something else—an insectoid sound, like a swarm of bees.

  Beth felt a wave of nausea as she looked up and saw a drone hovering above the trees near the track.

  “Move!” she told the children, and ran across the deck to the tiny key locker beside the front door. She punched in the code, grabbed the key from inside, and opened the door. She hustled the children into the rustic living room and ran to the window box. She pulled the cushion off, lifted the hinged lid, and took a fabric cover off the gun safe concealed inside. She spun the combination lock to the correct sequence of numbers and turned the thick metal handle. Inside were a couple of pump-action shotguns and an AR-15. She grabbed the rifle and a box of ammunition.

  “Stay here,” she told the children breathlessly, loading the rifle as she strode through the living room.

  Beth opened the front door, pressed the rifle stock to her shoulder, and sighted the target. A hundred, maybe a hundred and twenty feet. Light wind. She squeezed the trigger and the crack of the shot echoed through the cabin. The bullet struck true, sending the drone spiraling into the trees.

  Beth knew what was coming next and didn’t waste a moment. She ran inside, slamming the door shut.

  “Mom?” Maria said uncertainly.

  Danny was crying again.

  “We’ve got to go,” Beth told them. “Grab our winter coats.”

  Maria nodded and ran to the rack beneath the stairs. She got coats for all three of them as Beth watched the track through the living room window.

  Maria froze first. A moment later, Beth heard it too. First one, then multiple car engines.

  Beth ran to Danny and crouched down. She held his shoulders gently. “Dan. Danny,” she said, and her heart broke when she saw her son trying to be brave and fight to control his sobs. He was desperate not to let her down. “It’s OK,” she assured him. “I’m scared too. But we’re going to have to leave, and we’ve got to do it quietly. Do you think you can be quiet?”

  Danny took a long, shuddering breath and nodded.

  “Good boy,” Beth said. She stood up and turned to Maria. “Let’s go.”

  Beth grabbed a long down coat from her daughter, picked up the rifle, and put the box of ammunition in her coat pocket. She led the children through the kitchen and out the back door. They pulled on their coats as they crossed the clearing to the treeline, hurrying through thick forest until Beth was confident they couldn’t be seen.

  “OK,” she whispered, pulling the children to a halt. “We should be safe here.”

  Maria and Danny looked petrified, but Beth couldn’t console them yet.

  “Wait here,” she said.

  Danny whimpered and Beth stroked his hair. “I promise I’ll come back.”

  She crept toward the cabin. As she neared the edge of the forest she was able to peer through the thickly laden branches and see three black Cadillac Escalades emerge from the mouth of the track and stop in front of the building.

  The two men who’d pulled her over jumped out of the lead vehicle. They had ditched their police uniforms and were now dressed all in black. They were joined by five others who emerged from the cars behind.

  Beth took her phone from her pocket and checked to see whether she had a signal: nothing, meaning she couldn’t send anyone any pictures, which was a disappointment because she knew she couldn’t take the device with her either. There was too much risk they’d be able to track it. So she dropped it in the snow, and when the men had all congregated on the other side of the cabin, she hurried back toward the children. She stopped at the sound of the front door being kicked in, and glanced back to catch a glimpse of the men through the cabin’s rear windows. They were turning the place over, searching for them.

  She reached the children, who were stiff with fear. They breathed sighs of relief when they saw her. Beth ushered them forward, leading them deeper into the forest.

  CHAPTER 4

  RECENT EVENTS IN Moscow had a huge impact on Private. The organization I’d founded had been labeled a Russian front, and I’d been branded a traitor, but we’d come through it to universal acclaim—it had been a swift and life-changing turnaround. Since then, business had boomed, but Moscow hadn’t only changed things for me professionally. Justine and I had started seeing each other again. I knew there were risks in having a relationship with a colleague, but we were good together. My experiences in Moscow had reminded me of the fragility of life, and the need to value the things that are truly important.

  Justine and I weren’t living together, but we were spending a few nights a week at each other’s homes. I wasn’t sure she was ready for a serious commitment. We’d hurt each other before and were taking our time so we could avoid making the same mistakes.

  Justine had gone to see some friends last night, so I’d spent the evening alone, reviewing case reports from around the world. With numerous offices on five continents, I had to rely on the heads of those branches to manage their own caseloads, but I still liked to be kept well-informed. I ran Private like an intelligence agency, and each office had a great deal of autonomy. Success had temporarily taken me away from frontline detective work in order to focus more on overarching strategy. At least I thought it was success… maybe it was fear? Perhaps Moscow had left me with more than superficial physical scars? I dismissed the thought. The Moscow investigation had led to a degree of infamy that would fade with time. That and the growth of the business were the real reasons I hadn’t been doing any genuine detective work recently.

  I’d been spending more time in Los Angeles than I had for a long while, and I was enjoying it. Private Los Angeles was where everything had started, and for that reason it would always be special to me. I would always think of it as home.

  I slowed my Mercedes SLS, an extravagant gift from a grateful client, and turned into the entrance to the parking garage beneath our building on Wilshire Boulevard. I stopped at the bottom of the ramp to give the sensor time to recognize my license plate, and the gate rose to allow me inside.

  A brief minute later, after sliding the Mercedes into my parking space, I took the elevator up to Private’s offices on the fifth floor and emerged into the lobby, where Michelle and Dewayne, Private’s two receptionists, sat at their shared desk. Both were on the phone, but they smiled and waved when they saw me. Michelle, a bright young woman in her twenties, signaled something behind me, and I turned to see a tall, muscular man in his early fifties rising from one of the seats in our waiting area. He wore a navy blue suit and had salt-and-pepper hair and a matching beard. He was deeply tanned, his wrinkled skin covered in blemishes and liver spots—the marks of prolonged sun exposure.

  “Mr. Morgan?” he said. “I’m sorry to intrude on your day, but I need your help.”

  His accent was Southern: Georgia or Louisiana.

  “I tried to tell him to make an appointment,” Michelle said, shielding the receiver.

  “This can’t wait,” the man said.

  He drew closer and offered his hand.

  “My name is Donald Singer and I need your help finding my daughter. She and my grandchildren disappeared yesterday.”

  “I don’t…” I began.

  Singer cut me off. “I know who you are, Mr. Morgan, and I know what you’re capable of. I’ll pay whatever it costs. I need you to bring my daughter home.”

  CHAPTER 5

  MY WORK MEANS I’ve made a lot of enemies over the years. I’ve taken on the Mob, former Soviet spies, assassins, and a great many more dangerous individuals and organizations besides. I knew better than to take walk-ins, so, after listening to the basics, I left Donald Singer in reception and retreated to my office, where I did some background research on the guy. I was coming to the end when Justine knocked and entered. She was always elegant, even when casually dressed as she was now, in jeans and a thick turtleneck sweater. Her eyes shone with intelligence and as ever her smile brightened my day. As Private’s resident psychologist and profiler, she supported a wide range of investigations, but always started and ended every day in my office.

  I got up and crossed the room to kiss her. I ran my fingers through her jasmine-scented wavy brown hair.

  “Jack,” she whispered. “This is definitely blurring the line.”

  We’d made a deal to try to maintain professional boundaries in the office.

  “So step away,” I suggested.

  Instead, she pulled me close and kissed me.

  “Now who’s blurring the line?” I asked.

  She pushed me away playfully.

  “How was last night?”

  “Fun. Sarah had too much to drink and I had to drive her home,” Justine replied. “Did you survive without me?”

  “Just about.”

  “Michelle said the guy in the lobby is waiting for you.”

  She missed nothing.

  “His name’s Donald Singer. I was just running background. He’s the founder and CEO of Singer Investments, an East Coast property fund. Wife died twenty years ago, leaving him to raise their only child, Elizabeth Singer. She lives in upstate New York with her two children, Daniel and Marianne. They went missing yesterday and he wants me to find them.”

  “Why you?” Justine asked.

  I feigned offense. “He wants the best, of course.”

  “Well, he can’t have you. You’re mine.”

  There was a slight edge to her teasing tone. Things had been great between us while I’d been in LA these past months. Justine wanted to keep it that way, and so did I.

  “We do have a New York office,” she said.

  Justine was right, of course. Our New York office was one of our largest, and the team there were more than capable of handling this case.

  “OK,” I said. “But if I have to let him down, you’re sticking around to help me do it.”

  I returned to my desk, called Michelle, and asked her to bring in Donald Singer. Minutes later, she showed him into my office.

  “Mr. Singer, this is Justine Smith, our chief psychological profiler,” I introduced them.

  They exchanged greetings and we made ourselves comfortable in the seating area by the windows. Los Angeles spread toward the green hills north of the city. White buildings shone and cars gleamed in the morning sunshine.

  “Well?” Singer asked.

  “We’ll be happy to take your case, Mr. Singer,” I said. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to handle the investigation myself, but we have a fantastic team in our New York office who I’ll assign this to.”