The Chain(29)

“Whatever I can in fifteen minutes.”

“OK, so that would be eight thirty.”

“Yeah.”

“What does it mean if you’re not back by eight thirty?”

“It means I’m compromised somehow. I won’t talk, of course, but you should move on to target B or, better yet, make a completely new target list that I don’t know anything about.”

“I’ll call you if there’s trouble in the street.”

“OK, but if things are looking hairy, just get out of here.”

Pete puts his backpack over his shoulder, checks to see that no one is looking, and runs to the fence between the Dunleavy house and a little patch of wood sandwiched between the beach and the road. Rachel sees him climb over the fence into the Dunleavys’ backyard.

She listens for the sound of screaming or crazy Uncle Kevin firing his shotgun, but there’s nothing like that.

In the rearview, she watches the little girl across the street play on her trampoline. There doesn’t seem to be anyone supervising her. The front door of her house is firmly closed. It would, in fact, be easy to walk over there and take the child.

Jesus Christ, who thinks things like this? What the hell have you become, Rachel?

She turns on her phone and looks at the time: 8:22.

She closes her eyes and thinks about Kylie. Has she been able to sleep? Knowing Kylie, she was probably thinking about her mom and dad the whole night, worrying about them.

Oh God, Kylie, I’m coming for you. I’ll get you back. Never let you out of my sight. Be a better mom. Keep you safe. Kill social media. Trust nobody. Full tinfoil hat.

She looks at the phone again: 8:23.

A white van drives slowly along the street, the kind of beat-up white van that’s always up to no damn good. The driver, however, pays no attention to her, and the van keeps going.

She rummages in her coat pocket for Marty’s cigarettes, but she can’t find them. A dog is barking like crazy somewhere.

Barking where? The Dunleavys do not have a dog. Rachel would know.

Maybe their neighbors? Maybe a dog next door saw Pete go into the house and recognized him as a stranger?

The phone reads 8:28.

She puts on the radio. It’s one of those endless reruns of Car Talk. One of the two brothers is ranting about the VW microbus.

Now it’s 8:31.

Where’s Pete?

The dog is barking louder now.

The little girl gets off the trampoline, picks up what seems to be a can of soda, and gets back on the trampoline.

Not a good idea, sweetie. Not in your nice dress, Rachel thinks.

It’s 8:34.

A black-and-white from the Beverly Police Department appears in her rearview mirror. “Oh no,” Rachel mutters. She turns the key in the Volvo’s ignition and the reliable old engine roars to life.

The police car starts driving slowly down the street. There are two officers inside. They’re coming right toward her.

And now it’s 8:37.

The dog’s barking gets louder still.

The police car gets closer.

She slips the Volvo into first gear, her left foot on the clutch, her right ready on the gas.

The little girl on the trampoline does the inevitable and manages to upend the soda all over herself. She starts screaming. The two cops turn to look at her.

Pete appears on top of the Dunleavys’ fence. He drops down to the little patch of woods, runs to the Volvo, and gets in the back seat, panting heavily. “Go!” he says.

“Everything OK?” Rachel asks, alarmed.

“Yeah. Fine. Go!”

Rachel lets the clutch out and drives away. She heads east toward Manchester and then north to Ipswich and Route 1A. The cops are not following her. Pete is in the back, fiddling with his phone.

“Is everything all right?” she asks again.

“Yes, fine.”

“What happened in there?”

“Nothing. It was a breeze. The back window was open, so I was in in two seconds. I found a desktop PC in a downstairs study that was still on. I loaded a worm on that. I couldn’t find the home phone, so I couldn’t load a bug there, unfortunately. Lot of people don’t have a landline anymore. But as soon as they fire up the desktop, I’ll be able to read their e-mail, Skype, FaceTime, and iMessage passwords.”

“Holy crap,” Rachel says, impressed.

“Yeah,” Pete replies.

“Your buddy Stan taught you all of that?”

“Most of it. I always had a bit of an outlaw mind-set.”

“Yes, Marty told me about you stealing a car and driving to Canada when you were eleven.”

“Nah, I didn’t make it to Canada. And I was twelve,” Pete says with false modesty.

“You went past the fifteen-minute time limit in there.”

“I know. I found Toby’s room. I did a little investigating. Normal kid. No health issues that I can see. Likes the Red Sox, the X-Men, and a TV show called Stranger Things. Totally normal kid.”

“So he’ll do?” Rachel asks miserably.

“Yeah, he’ll do.”

They drive over the bridge and onto Plum Island.

Rachel yawns when they arrive at the house.

“When was the last time you slept?” Pete asks her with concern.

She brushes off the question. “I’ll make some more coffee. We’ve got work to do.”