Run Away(91)

Elena clicked back over. “I know where you two live. I can drive—”

“No!” the young-sounding woman said in a panicked hush. “They’ll follow you! Don’t you see?”

Elena actually put up a calming hand, which of course made no sense when you’re on the phone. “Okay, sure, I see.”

“They’re watching you. They’re watching us.”

The woman sounded more than a little paranoid, but then again, at least three people were dead.

“No worries,” Elena said, keeping her tone even and casual. “Let’s make a plan. Something you two are both comfortable with.”

It took about ten minutes for them to come up with something that seemed to pacify the caller. Elena would take an Uber to the Cracker Barrel Old Country Store near Route 95. She would stand out front. Stephanie—she finally said her name out loud—would flash her lights twice and drive up.

“What kind of car will you be driving?” Elena had asked.

“I’d rather not say. Just in case.”

Elena would then get in the car and be taken to see Alison at a “secret location.” Yes, Stephanie actually used the phrase “secret location.”

“Come alone,” Stephanie said.

“I will. I promise.”

“If we see someone is following you, we’re calling it off.”

They agreed that Stephanie would “call and ring once” as a signal that she was “set up” at the Cracker Barrel. When they were off the phone, Elena sat on the bed and Googled Stephanie Mars. Nothing much came up. Elena changed into her other blue blazer, the one with a little more space for a holster and gun. She thought about calling Simon back but chose instead to send a text letting him know that she hoped to meet with Alison Mayflower soon. Her phone was charging. She let Lou know that she’d be going out for a meet. Lou had put a high-end tracker on her phone, so the home office could know her location if need be 24/7.

An hour passed before the blocked number called again. Elena waited. One ring and a hang up. The signal. Elena had been constantly checking her ride-share apps. One showed a car eight minutes away. It arrived in fifteen.

The Cracker Barrel in South Portland had the same faux rustic exterior that they all did. The front porch held a plethora of rocking chairs, all empty. Elena stood and waited. It didn’t take long. A vehicle flashed its beams at her. Elena surreptitiously took a photo of the car, making sure she got the license plate, and sent it to Lou.

Just in case. You never know.

When the car pulled up, Elena opened the passenger door and looked inside. The driver was an attractive young woman wearing a Red Sox baseball cap.

“Stephanie?”

“Please get in. Quickly.”

Elena wasn’t the most agile, so it took a little time. As soon as she was seated, even before the door was fully closed, Stephanie Mars hit the accelerator.

“Do you have a phone?” Stephanie asked.

“Yes.”

“Put it in the glove compartment.”

“Why?”

“This is just between you and Alison. No recordings, no calls, no texts.”

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with giving up my phone.”

Stephanie hit the brake. “Then we call this off right now. You’re carrying a gun, right?”

Elena didn’t answer.

“Put your gun in the glove compartment too. I don’t know if you work for them or not.”

“Who is them?”

“Now please.”

“One of the adopted boys is missing. I work for his father.”

“And we’re just supposed to take your word on that?” The young woman shook her head in disbelief. “Please put your phone and gun in the glove compartment. You can have them back after you talk to Alison.”

No choice. Elena took out her phone and gun. She popped open the glove compartment in front of her, dropped them inside, and closed it again. It wouldn’t take long to retrieve them if there was an emergency.

Elena studied Stephanie Mars’s profile. She had red-to-auburn hair, probably cut short—hard to say for sure with that baseball cap on—and was, in a word, beautiful. High cheekbones. Flawless skin. She kept both hands on the wheel at ten and two, focusing hard on the road as though she were new to driving.

“Before I let you see Alison, I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Okay,” Elena said.

“Who exactly hired you?”

Elena was going to say that she was not at liberty to divulge, but her client had already told her that it would be okay, that he didn’t care who knew. “Sebastian Thorpe. He adopted a boy he named Henry.”

“And Henry is missing?”

“That’s right.”

“Any clue where he is?”

“That’s what I’m working on.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?”

“How old is Henry Thorpe?”

“Twenty-four.”

“How could his adoption have anything to do with his life now?”

“It might not.”

“She’s a good person, you know. Alison, I mean. She’d never hurt anyone.”

“And I don’t want to hurt her,” Elena said. “I only want to find my client’s son. But that’s the thing. If Alison did do something illegal—”