by Kira Peikoff
Isabel sprang to her feet, her heart thudding.
“Someone followed her family when they moved last week,” he continued, oblivious to her panic. “Someone who’s watching their house as we speak. If she refuses to comply or if they attempt to leave, the feds will be tipped that el Cubano’s been squatting here for years.” He paused to let the news sink in. “So I have a feeling she’ll be there—unless she wants to see him deported.”
CHAPTER 34
Joan
New York
Strangely, all the lights were off when Joan got home from the gym. But Greg was supposed to be there—this was his night off from the ER.
“Honey?” she called from the hallway as she pulled off her gloves. Her left ring finger remained starkly bare. Even though the diamond had managed to bring in a cool thirty grand, she couldn’t shake her sadness over its loss. She chastised herself for mourning over a mere thing, with so many real problems mounting—like the fact that her quest to track down the investor was at a dead end. But every time she caught sight of her naked finger, she felt her heart constrict.
“I’m here,” Greg called from inside the apartment. “Come on in.”
“Then why are the lights off?”
As soon as she walked into the living room, her depressed mood lifted. Their bland place had been utterly transformed. Dozens of flickering votive candles decorated the living room, the kitchen table, the bookshelves. A fresh bouquet of pink dahlias, her favorite flower, stood in a glass vase on the coffee table. And in the center of the floor, down on one knee, was her smiling husband.
She blinked at him, unsure if she was seeing correctly. He hadn’t been romantic in ages, ever since the whole crisis began. A slow grin spread across her face.
“What’s going on?”
He produced a small box from his pocket. “I’ve been feeling terrible that we had to sell your ring. But then I thought of something else you could wear.”
He opened the box. Inside lay a dazzling oval ruby surrounded by glittering white gems, set in a thick gold band. “It was my mother’s. I’d forgotten about it in the safe. My dad gave it to her for one of their anniversaries.”
“Oh my God, it’s gorgeous!”
She held out her hand and he slipped it onto her left ring finger. It felt surprisingly solid. “How could your dad have afforded this?”
Greg’s father had been a post office worker in Nebraska whose idea of luxury was going out to dinner once a month.
“Oh, it’s not real. It just has sentimental value. He even had their wedding date engraved.”
She wagged her finger so the scarlet stone reflected the candlelight.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “You could’ve fooled me.”
PART THREE
CHAPTER 35
Isabel
The full moon hung low off the river, illuminating the pier fifteen feet below. A chilly breeze whipped at Isabel’s cheeks. She was alone on the top deck. She needed to get off the ship—and fast—but there was no way to deploy the general access ramp without waking everyone aboard. So she’d thought of another way.
She eyed the thin metal staircase affixed to the port side in case of an emergency evacuation. In one breath, she climbed over the edge of the deck and gripped the cold railing. Her feet tentatively connected with the first step. The wind hissed in her ears and whipped up the inky black water below. Little eddies swirled and lapped at the rotting wooden pier. If she lost her nerve now . . . Don’t look down.
Her rubber-soled shoes squeaked as she made her white-knuckled descent. No one tried to stop her. Because no one, not even Richard, knew what she was doing.
It was 11 P.M., exactly one hour before her deadline to show up in the Harlem projects. Per Robbie Merriman’s instructions, she wore no earpiece, no GPS, no camera. This time, she was completely, woefully alone.
It didn’t matter that Galileo had promised to protect her family. It didn’t matter that he was “working on a solution” and had emphatically told her to stay put on the ship. As much as she wanted to lean on him, she kept circling back to his mistake about Chris and his flippant dismissal of the truth. How could she trust a man like that with the people she loved most?
All it took to make up her mind was an image of Andy getting wrenched from her poor mother’s arms; Andy getting sent back to Cuba, to a life of privation and misery . . . because of her own failure to act. The horrific thought spurred her on as she hopped down to the pier and scrambled past the other docked ships. No, she would rather confront evil than sacrifice her brother to it—and he was her brother, in all the ways that counted. She ran through a deserted parking lot to the West Side Highway, where an empty cab pulled over for her waving arm.
“I have two stops,” she told the driver. “First, two-fourteen West 104th.”
According to Galileo’s GPS, the ruby ring had been stopped at that address for a whole day now. But since Robbie’s call last night, Galileo had disappeared into his private cabin with the ship’s only phone, Chris remained holed up in his lab, and she and Richard tolerated three more blood draws. The other personnel, meanwhile, were caught up in their own all-consuming drama about whether the X101 could be salvaged. No one volunteered to go out and investigate the ring’s address.
But someone had to. Since she was sneaking out anyway, she decided to make a pit stop there on her way to the projects. If this was actually the last night of her life—and she viscerally recoiled at the thought—then every move had to count. If she died tonight, her murderer couldn’t get away with it—twice.
Richard would be devastated. But at least she knew he would champion the cause in her absence. He was just as angry, just as hell-bent on justice. As the cab zoomed uptown, she felt a pang of sadness over leaving without saying good-bye. She hadn’t even left a note, in case someone found it and tried to stop her. He was the only reason that life on the ship was bearable. Now that she was away, she realized how much she relished his companionship. A sideways glance or a wry smile was often all they needed to exchange a whole conversation.
As the cab zoomed uptown, she found herself missing his face. At first glance, his slightly hooked nose, floppy hair, and pointed chin had seemed terribly average. But since he’d quit smoking and shed a few layers of cynicism, his whole look had transformed, too. A renewed vitality shone through. His smile was warmer, his hazel eyes more earnest. Every day he was regaining more strength. Once he reached peak recovery, his trim body would be pretty sexy after all. She was sorry she had never told him so.
At least, if something did happen to her tonight, he was safe behind. Plus, with him on board, the X101 still had a shot. With his blood, they didn’t need hers, so she didn’t feel too guilty about deserting the critical research. And she didn’t feel guilty at all about deserting Chris. Her heightened senses were starting to fade, anyway, which meant the drug’s concentration in her blood was weakening. Richard’s was stronger and thus more useful, since he’d received his dose a few days after hers.
If Robbie Merriman’s thugs thought she was going to show up and hand over a map to the drug, well, it wasn’t that easy. She just hoped she could escape their retaliation. What if they tried to kill her?
She waited for a bolt of fear that didn’t come. After a minute, she realized why. Death itself was peaceful, she now knew. It was total deliverance from suffering. She involuntarily thought of her dad’s death in the context of her own, and for the first time, felt a degree of comfort. She imagined him sliding out of his panicked agony into that welcoming blackness. Now that she grasped how complex it was to effectively resuscitate someone, she realized how pointless it was to blame herself for failing to do CPR on her dad. Even if she’d acted sooner and gotten him to a hospital, it would still have been a conventional hospital without the Network’s cooling protocol and the X101. So his heart attack would have still likely been fatal. There was nothing she could have done. If only Galileo had been there the way he had for her.
When the cab stopped in front of 214 West 104th Street, she asked the driver to pull over and wait until she returned. With the meter running, she ran up to the stout brick townhouse. It was about six stories high, sandwiched between a dive bar and a smoke shop on a poorly lit street. As she walked toward the front door, she noticed that a window of one of the ground-floor apartments had been smashed in. Its hole was patched over with silver electric tape.
There was no doorman. She pushed open the glass front door and entered a small foyer. Trampled old takeout menus littered the floor. Ahead was another door, this one locked and shielded with a wrought iron security gate. On the left wall was a row of narrow mailboxes and a panel of twelve buzzers corresponding to various apartments. Next to each buzzer was a name.
She skimmed the list: Slattery, Eisenberg, Chen, Hughes, Wilcox . . .
No Merriman. Not that she expected it. She knew it was a pseudonym. But someone on this list was connected to him. How could she figure out who? A quick idea wormed into her head. It might never work, but it was worth a try. She rushed out to the waiting taxi and asked the driver for a pen and paper. He scrounged in his glove box and produced a crumpled sheet of yellow legal paper and a black Sharpie.
“I’ll be right back,” she promised him.
He shrugged. The meter was still running. “Take your time.”
She thanked him and raced back. As she entered, a trendy couple in their forties walked out of the building holding hands. Isabel scurried past them into the foyer as though she belonged there. She ripped the piece of paper in half and secretly copied down all the names next to the buzzers as fast as she could. The couple paused in the doorway, watching her. She heard them murmuring to each other.
Then the man cleared his throat behind her. “Can we help you with something?” His tone was cold.
She spun around and smiled sheepishly. “Um, thanks, but I’m okay.”
“Do you know someone here?”
“Sort of. A friend of a friend. I lost my favorite ring here the other day, so, um, I was just leaving a note for the whole building.” She held up the pen. “In case anyone spots it.”
She scrawled out a quick message and showed him:
Lost costume ruby ring, oval stone in plated gold band. Reward $$. If found, please call 413-919-8020.
It was Galileo’s satellite phone number.
“Oh,” the man said. “Well, good luck.” He lost interest and turned to leave, but his wife’s attention perked up when she read the note over his shoulder. Isabel was pressing it to the wall, trying to find something to pin it up.
“Is it a big stone?” she asked. She curled her forefinger and thumb into a sizeable circle. “With little diamonds around it?”
Isabel blinked at her. The woman was decked out in a chunky gold necklace, emerald stud earrings, a diamond ring, and a wrist full of metallic bangles. She stared back openly, as though she had nothing to hide.
“How did you know?”
“Our new neighbor was wearing it today,” she said. “I even complimented her on her good taste.”
“My wife is obsessed with jewelry,” the man added with a grimace. “In case you couldn’t tell.”
She smacked his arm playfully and all her bracelets jingled together.
“Which neighbor?” Isabel asked.
“Oh, I don’t know her name,” the woman said, “but she’s in 1B. Do I get the reward?”
“Katie,” her husband groaned. “Come on. You don’t need this young woman’s money.” He pulled her out the door. “Good luck,” he said again to Isabel, more sincerely this time.
They stepped out arm in arm, leaving her standing there with her heart slamming against her ribs. She scanned the panel on the wall for apartment 1B.
Hughes.
It was 11:25 P.M.
Far too late to call on a stranger. But her midnight deadline loomed—and after that, who knew if she’d have another chance to come back?
She drew a breath, pressed the buzzer, and waited.
CHAPTER 36
Joan
Joan frowned when the buzzer rang. It was late and she was alone. She disliked being by herself in the apartment, but Greg was working the night shift at the ER and wouldn’t be home for several more hours. She waited for the unexpected visitor to go away, but then the noise came again—an insistent second buzz.
She got out of bed, slipped into her velour robe, and trudged to the intercom.
“Who’s there?”
Surprisingly, a woman’s voice answered. “You don’t know me, but . . .” She sounded nervous. “Can I talk to you? It’s important.”
“What? Who are you? What is this about?”
“I lost something I think you have. A ruby ring?”
Joan inhaled a sharp breath. She looked down at her left finger, where the rich red stone sparkled in the hallway’s dim light. The fact that it was a legacy of Greg’s mother made it all the more special.
“Sorry,” she said into the intercom. “You must be mistaken.”
But the strange coincidence jarred her—how in the world did some random woman know about her ring at all?
“Please, just for a minute? I don’t have long.”
Joan hesitated for a beat until her curiosity won out. “Okay.”
She pressed the buzzer, and through the peephole watched a slender, dark-haired woman approach her door alone. She had an honest face. Something about it seemed vaguely familiar. Wide eyes, a delicately sloped nose, pale lips. Her features conveyed the sensitivity of someone who had a soft touch, but her eyes seemed troubled. Joan noticed that she wasn’t carrying a purse like most women did. All she had on was her clothes: a faded pair of jeans, sneakers, and a blue Windbreaker zipped up to her chin. A crease deepened between her brows before she knocked.
Joan opened the door. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she said. She looked young, no older than thirty. Her gaze shifted instantly down to Joan’s hands. When she saw the ruby, she gasped.
Then she looked up with a mixture of shock and dismay. “That’s it.”
Joan shook her head. This poor girl was clearly confused and in the throes of some kind of distress. “I don’t think so,” she said gently.
“No, that’s it, I’m sure of it.” She stared at Joan with blatant astonishment, as if trying to make sense of something inexplicable.
“Sorry, but you’re mixed up.” Joan twisted the band around her finger. “This belonged to my husband’s mother.”
The woman’s eyes grew large. “Your husband—he told you that?”
Her disbelieving tone piqued Joan’s annoyance. “Yes, why?”
“What’s his name?”
“As if it’s any of your business?”
“Mr. Hughes? I saw it on the mailbox.”
“Dr. Hughes,” Joan retorted.
“Is he home?”
“No, he’s at work. Who are you, anyway? And how did you know I had a ruby ring?”
“He’s lying,” the woman declared. “That ring was bought a week ago in Florida for a very specific purpose.”
Joan laughed uneasily. “Okay, you’re nuts and I’m closing the door.”
“Wait!” the woman stuck her foot in the doorframe. “I’m not crazy, I swear. My name’s Isabel Leon and I’m telling you the truth. Hear me out.”
Her name with the face suddenly clicked. Joan peered through the crack at her.
“Hang on, you’re the one on that show. Wild Woman or something on cable?”
“Yes! That’s me.” She smiled proudly. “On the Outdoor channel.”
“I saw one episode over the summer . . . Peru, was it? In the rainforest?”
“Bolivia.”
Joan opened the door a little wider. So she wasn’t necessarily nuts—though appearing on reality TV wasn’t exactly the mark of sanity. She was just sorely mixed up.
“What are you doing here? How did you get to me?”
“I’m sort of on a hiatus from the sh
ow.” She paused as though considering what more to reveal. “I can’t really say much, but I’m working on another project right now . . .” she trailed off.
“Also a survival show?”
She grimaced. “You could say. Listen, I have to run, but you should know: That ring didn’t come from your mother-in-law. It’s a tool to catch a violent investor who goes by the name Robbie Merriman. He buys up life insurance policies and then goes after victims for their death benefits. I was one of them, and now he’s put my whole family in danger.”
Joan let out a cry. “Oh my God! You too?”
“What do you mean, too?”
“My husband also sold his policy, and then we heard the rumors . . . We’ve been so afraid . . . I was doing everything to track down the perp, but I’ve had so little to go on . . .”
Isabel stared at her. “But he gave you that ring?”
“It was a surprise last night.”
“I’m sorry, but he’s definitely lying. He must have something to do with Robbie Merriman.”
Joan crossed her arms. “You have some nerve, coming here and accusing—”
“July sixth, 1957,” Isabel cut in.
“What?”
“It’s engraved inside, isn’t it?”
The words felt strangled in her throat. “How could you know that?”
“I told you.” Isabel pointed to Joan’s paralyzed hand. “That ring was mine.”
CHAPTER 37
Isabel
Isabel checked her watch. It was already 11:35 P.M. Less than a half hour to go.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I really have to leave now.”
The woman in the doorway was fretting at her ring as though it were an alien specimen. “I just can’t . . .” she muttered. “How . . . ?”
Isabel couldn’t be sure if her bewilderment was genuine. It was possible, of course, that she knew more than she was letting on. But it didn’t seem that way. Maybe it was the jaunty blond curls framing her face, or the elegant way she held up her neck, or the warmth in her eyes that projected care and concern—but the sum added up to an air of integrity. Her age and look reminded Isabel of a teacher she’d had in grade school whose uncompromising standards concealed her tender core.