“Tell me who this is, or I’m hanging up now.”

“I’m here to help you, Ellis. I know what you’re searching for. I want it, too.

But you need to know: Calvin doesn’t have the Book yet. He has the Map.”

“You’re the shipper of the package, aren’t you?” Jerking the steering wheel

to the left, Ellis turned onto A1A. “The one who hired Calvin’s father.”

“All that matters is that neither of us is getting what we want if Calvin grabs

it first.”

“I’m already taking care of Calvin,” Ellis insisted.

“No. You’re not. If you were, you’d already be here by now.”

“Be where?”

“You know the history, Ellis. Where do you think he’s going? We’re in the

airport, waiting to leave for Cleveland. If you hurry, you can still make the

flight.”

“You’re sure about this?” Ellis asked.

“Of course. That’s why they call me the Prophet.”

And with a click, the voice was gone.

33

“Who were you talking to?” Scotty asked through Naomi’s earpiece.

“Run this badge for me,” Naomi insisted, her voice flying as she raced for her

car.

“Just text it and I’ll—”

“Write this! Edward Belasco,” she said, repeating the name she’d memorized

from his credentials. “Though he called himself Ellis. Michigan State Police.

Badge 1519.” As she heard the clicks on Scotty’s keyboard, she added,

“Sorry, Scotty — once old age hits, memory fades quick.”

“Naomi, you’re thirty-four.”

“Actually, I’m thirty-three. No . . . wait . . . you’re right — I’m thirty-four.”

She stopped for a moment as she slid into her car. “Why do you know my

age?”

“I was at your office party.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I was. After everyone left. And by not shutting off your phone — which I

admire and appreciate — you’ve now let me know you have a Tweety Bird on

your tush. I have a GoBot on my ankle.”

“What’s a GoBot?”

“Like a Transformer. But . . . more pathetic.”

Naomi grinned as she tugged the car door shut. “Was that you sharing a

moment with me?”

All she heard was the furious clicking of his keyboard.

“Scotty, you’re gonna make a helluva sidekick yet.” She stuffed the key in

the ignition and took what looked like a calculator from her purse. Flicking a

switch on top, she pulled out of the parking spot and waited for the screen to

come online.

GPS link . . . searching . . .

. . . searching . . .

Link activated.

“He’s headed toward the airport. He knows Cal’s there,” Naomi said, making

a left on US-1 as a small crimson triangle inched across the digital map onscreen.

“Who’s headed toward—? Wait,” Scotty said. “You put a tracking device on

Roosevelt?”

“I planned to. But then when I went in there — Cal knows our magic tricks.

They’re too smart for our James Bond nonsense.”

“So who’re you tracking?”

“I told you: Ellis/Edward Belasco. Badge 1519.”

“Naomi, to GPS someone’s car, you need a warrant, as in court order, as in

probable cause. You didn’t even ask him if he saw Cal.”

“First, he’s a liar. Said he walked his dog on the beach, but there wasn’t a

grain of sand in his backseat. Second, the fancy wallet and the manicured

hands? He’s treating himself far too well. Third, his eyebrows are the devil’s.

Fourth, back to his wallet — all his dollar bills were right side up and facing

out. Again . . . devil’s. And finally, who says I GPSed his car?”

Scotty stopped. “You didn’t GPS his car?”

“Couldn’t get close enough — but then that durn dog of his was sniffing my

hand so hard — and whoof — ate that GPS device right outta my poor

defenseless fingertips. Bad dog. Very bad.”

“You fed the dog the device.”

“No . . . I fed the dog one of my son’s old gummy worms, that just

happened to be in my pocket, and just happened to have a miniature GPS

device shoved inside it. What luck, eh? Couldn’t believe it myself.”

“If you hurt that dog—”

“Me?” she asked, pointing to herself as she slammed the gas and raced

toward the airport. “Dog lover. Big dog lover. Believe me, Benoni’s fine — it’s

the same technology they put in pets in case they get lost or—”

“Uh-oh.”

“What’s uh-oh?” Naomi put her hand to her earpiece. “They find Timothy?”

“I put in your Michigan cop with the GPS dog. And from what it says

here . . . well . . . looks like liar isn’t the only thing on Ellis’s résumé.”

34

“Whattya mean, the feds are on their way?” my dad asks, sitting straight up

on the floral sofa.

“She. Naomi. She knows we’re in an airport,” I tell him.

“But all those fake reservations—”

“Will hold her off for ten minutes. She’s smart. She knows Lauderdale is

closest. We need to go,” I insist. “And you need to leave,” I bark at Serena.

“Th-That’s not possible. I know I’m meant to help him,” she says, standing

from her seat.

“And I know I’m meant to escort you outside and save your loopy life,” I

shoot back, gripping her by the elbow.

“Please . . . your father needs to settle his spirit,” Serena begs, trying to pull

away.

“Cal, let go of her!” my dad growls.

Once again, a nearby TSA employee turns toward us. But it’s not half as bad

as the flat black box that I spot over his shoulder, hanging in the corner.

Another camera I missed. Staring directly at us.

Following my eyeline, my father freezes when he sees it. He knows what it

means. He knows Naomi’s on her way. And he knows what Ellis will do to

Serena when he finds out she’s been seen with us.

“Calvin, how much cash do we have left?” my father asks.

“That’s smart — no, good thought,” I tell him. “If we hide her in a motel,

she’ll be safe until—”

“I’m not getting her a motel. I’m getting her a plane ticket.” He turns to

Serena. “You’re coming with us.”

“Wait . . . what?” I ask.

“Don’t argue with me, Calvin. Not about this. I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, that’s right — I forgot how good you were at saving the women you

love.”

My father stops right there, burning me with the kind of glare that should

come with medical attention. Serena starts to scratch his back. It doesn’t help

at all.

“Enough with the subtext, Calvin. Where’s all the anger really coming from:

that I’m looking out for Serena, or that I didn’t look out for your mother?”

“Didn’t look out for? Lloyd, you killed her. You pushed her and killed her.”

“That’s not what happened!”

“You kidding? I saw it!”

My father falls silent, like he’s surprised I remember.

We’re both breathing hard, but he’s the one to break the quiet. “Why’d you

follow me after the hospital, Calvin? Was it to help me, or just to remind me

of my life’s greatest regret?”

I shake my head. “You have no idea how much you don’t know me.”

He studies me carefully, unsure of whether to fight. But he also knows that if

we don’t move quick, we’re not going anywhere.

“Lloyd, if this is the journey — between you and Cal . . .” Serena begins

behind him, “maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’m not meant to be on this trip.”

“She’s right,” I shoot back.

“She’s not,” my father insists. “We can’t just leave her here.”

“We’re not leaving her. If we get her someplace safe . . .”

“Where? In what time?” my dad challenges. “You said they’re already on

their way. And then when they pull the video from those cameras — you saw

what happened to Timothy. Once Ellis shows his badge and sees that Serena

was with us, he’s gonna track her down, leap for her throat, and . . .” He

looks over at Serena, refusing to say the words. “Tell me you think I’m wrong,

Calvin. She knows what flight we’re on. Tell me if we leave her here you really

believe Ellis will walk away peacefully and leave her untouched?”

I stare at Serena, knowing the answer. The last thing I need is another death

on my conscience. Besides, I heard her ask about the package last night. At

least this way, I’ve got my eyes right on her.

“The moment we get to Cleveland, we’re checking her into the first hotel we

see,” I say.

“That’s fine,” my dad says, rushing back to the airline counter.

Behind him, Serena makes a quick pit stop in the restroom.

And I’m left alone by the floral sofas, staring through the tall plateglass

windows, studying the arriving cars and taxis, and praying Naomi and Ellis

aren’t as close as I think they are.

35

“First of all, his name’s not Ellis.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that from his ID saying Edward,” Naomi replied as her

blue lights swirled and her car whipped across the bridge on Sunrise

Boulevard. Glancing down at her GPS device, she eyed the small crimson

triangle, which was almost at Griffin Road. Ellis was definitely going for the

airport. Now it was making sense. That explained him spying at the building.

He was working with Cal. “How’s he check out otherwise? He really a cop?”

“Was a cop. Stepped down about a year ago.”

“Like Cal.”

“No. Very much not like Cal. First of all—”

“You already did first of all.”

“Excuse me?” Scotty asked.

“You can’t say first of all more than once. You already said it.”

Scotty paused, stewing in silence. “Second of all . . . this guy Edward

Belasco,” he said through her earpiece. “He’s bad news — and worst of all, he

knows the system. Never been arrested, never been caught.”

“Just tell me what he did,” Naomi said with yet another glance at the GPS’s

glowing crimson triangle. Still on target.

“See, that’s the problem, no one can prove he did anything,” Scotty

explained. “It goes back to when he was seven years old and he and his mom

got into this mess of a car wreck in some schmancy neighborhood in

Michigan.”

“You’re joking, right? Another broken bird with parent issues? I thought you

said he wasn’t like Cal.”

“Trust me, this is far from Cal. Anyway, Mom gets slammed in the car wreck,

young Edward is untouched, and as a result, he gets sent to live with his

recently divorced dad for two weeks while the mom recovers. Two weeks.

Instead, a few days into the visit, his father tells him that his mom has

suddenly died. Young Edward never went back home again.”

“Oh, boy. And Edward believed him?”

“Dad said it, didn’t he? Of course he believed him. Until one rainy day when

now fully grown Officer Edward, who’s moved back to Michigan, opens up the

morning newspaper and sees his mom’s obituary staring back at him. With a

few phone calls, he tracks down the lawyer for his mom’s estate, who tells

him his mom had spent decades, and most of her money, searching for him.

And that’s the first time in twenty years that he hears his real name: Ellis.”

“Real candidate for Thorazine, huh?”

“Candidate? We’re talking spokesmodel,” Scotty said.

“How’d you even get all this info?”

“It’s in his file.”

“His personnel file has this?”

“Personnel? No, no, no. This is his case file. That’s what happens when

there’s a murder investigation,” Scotty explained. “A few days later, the estate

lawyer reports a break-in at his office, with Mom’s books and papers suddenly

gone, including an old Missing Child flyer that was in the files. Two weeks

after that, Edward’s dad is found floating facedown in a lake behind his house.

With no one to blame, it gets labeled as a boating accident.”