Silence on the other end. A block away, past a gravel parking lot and a loop-chained fence, she could see the edges of Boston Harbor, and past that, across the water, beyond a crisscross of sailboats and ferries and the occasional oil tanker, the low buildings of Logan airport. Flying into Boston terrified her every time, the final approach so low over the water that she grasped the armrests, feeling, to her bones, the chill of the inevitable plunge into the icy waters, her head going under, her body tangled in the—
“No,” the voice said. “Perhaps it’s better if we don’t actually—”
“I’m so pleased you sent me the email,” Ellie interrupted, needing to keep him talking. He’d already made a decision to seek her out, and signal he had knowledge and intent. Question was, intent to what? “What do you think about that award?”
“It’s bull.” The man’s voice spat the word. “Those people need to be stopped.”
“From what?” Convinced he was right outside, she stood so close to the window that her nose touched the cold glass. Seagulls swirled above, taunting her.
“We could meet somewhere neutral,” the voice said. “I know what you look like, so—”
“You do?”
“I saw you walk in today,” the voice said. “Black coat, blond hair, red glasses? I’d recognize you.”
Ellie felt a shiver up the back of her neck, a warning. Or maybe a promise. Another call beeped in to her cell phone. She checked the caller. Clicked it away.
“I don’t have long.” She’d risk it. Meeting in public wouldn’t be dangerous. She could gauge his intentions, and nope out if she needed to.
“There’s a coffee shop by the water, the Spinnaker?” he said. “A five-minute walk for you. It has an outside upper deck, with heaters. We can sit by the water, watch the waves. And if anyone tries to eavesdrop on us, the jets into Logan and the sound of the gulls will drown them out.”
“The Spinnaker,” Ellie said.
“I can help you with your story, Ellie,” the voice said. “You’re looking for information. I have it. Up to you.”
“The Spinnaker,” Ellie said again, weighing it. “Okay. Ten minutes.”
She got there in eight. From the sidewalk below, she looked up to a second-floor deck, a gray-washed wooden structure with a flapping green-striped canvas canopy, possibly made of a real spinnaker sail. The place looked like it had been battered by years of salt and wind, and the powerful waves that must have sloshed over it in a lifetime of Boston nor’easters. As Gabe had promised, a bank of shiny metal heaters lined the water-side of the deck, and even from below, Ellie could see the glowing orange coils providing a band of electric heat to the hardy souls who wanted to be outdoors, even—or especially—in challenging weather.
Waves crashed against the sides of the wooden pier beside the restaurant, coils of thick ropes snaked along its edges and a lone dinghy, tethered to a metal standard, bobbled in the rough seas. The snow had ended, and the waning sun struggled to send a wintry shimmer over the harbor.
One person sat on the deck, alone, facing the street. He did not move upon Ellie’s arrival, didn’t stand, or wave, or stride, welcoming, to the edge of the deck. Was he pretending he didn’t see her? Maybe the light was wrong. Maybe the line of fake spindle-leafed areca palms lined up in terra-cotta containers shielded his view of the street. Or maybe her spot beneath him was off just enough to hide her, and give her a chance to see him without him seeing her. Brown boots, she cataloged. Jeans, a black puffer jacket and black watch cap.
The wind picked up, and with a buffeting gust, the imitation leaves on the pretend plants fluttered and shifted. The man turned his head, and she caught his profile outlined by the steely sky.
No, Ellie thought. No.
CHAPTER 11
NORA
Nora’s work cell rang, echoing though the car’s Bluetooth.
Caller ID unknown, the readout said. She pushed the phone button on the steering wheel as she stopped for the light at the intersection. Snow had started to fall, a gentle dusting this Tuesday morning, but the steely clouds looked full, graphite and forbidding. She flipped on her wipers, the slowest speed. “Nora Quinn,” she said into the phone’s speaker.
The light had barely turned green when the driver behind her honked impatiently and swerved his SUV around her, passing on the right, then pulling in front of her, brusque and demanding. Boston drivers, Nora thought. Men.
A white silence came through the open Bluetooth line as Nora blended her car into the traffic. She was headed from her morning appointment to a bustling sandwich shop in the impersonal retail chaos of the Shoppers World mall, a short-order short-term respite where she could catch up on paperwork and then phone in her morning report to P-X, another worker bee in the buzz and hustle. And the place was near her next meeting. Google Maps had shown she could see the office building from there.
“Hello?” she answered again. Maybe a wrong number? Or a robocall. She frowned, poised her finger to disconnect.
“It’s Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn Armistead? From yesterday morning?”
“Oh, hi, Kaitlyn. Of course.” Nora’s brain spooled out the possibilities, almost getting ahead of itself. She reminded herself of who she was and what she wanted. “How’s it going?”
Silence again. Nora kept silent too, allowing Kaitlyn her emotional space. If she had gotten good news, no doubt she’d have yelped with delight, the words pouring out. Silence meant disappointment, and it made Nora feel guilty.
Nora heard Kaitlyn sniffle, choke back a sob or a wail. “It’s … not good.”
Nora steered her car into the tangle of the shopping center, trying to concentrate on the parking place hunt without getting bashed by texting teenagers or grocery shoppers in oversized SUVs. She slid into a spot close to the highway, no one on either side of her, and left the car running. She didn’t want to have this conversation and drive at the same time. But maybe she wasn’t going to stay here.
“Where are you, honey?” Nora asked. Flakes of powdery snow began to dot the windshield, each a unique treasure melting in an instant. Nora stared through the thickening flurries and out onto the highway, the swish and flash of traffic and flapping windshield wipers, the changing lights muddled by the quickly intensifying white. Squalls, they called them around here, snow-in-an-instant on a previously sunny day. Nora watched the cars in front of her blur into a blurred stream of motion and counted her blessings she’d pulled into the parking lot. And that her next appointment was within walking distance.
“I—I don’t know what to do. I can’t stand it,” Kaitlyn’s voice buzzed over the car’s tinny speakers, like there was sudden snow in the transmission too. “I had to go back to Dr. McGinty again today for my final-final results. Can you believe it? As if I wasn’t just there, just yesterday, with you. And it got my hopes all up again, like maybe there had been a mistake, but no, it’s still awful, still horrible, still the worst thing ever. And still their fault. And today it’s like oh, we know we told you yesterday, but now we need to tell you the bad news again.”
Nora heard the tears in Kaitlyn’s voice. The sorrow. “Are you driving, Kaitlyn? Where are you? Is it snowing? Maybe pull over and then we’ll talk?”