Juliet coughed. “Well, hell.”
“It’s not that much to the Carhills.”
“Does Mia O’Farrell know?”
“She was never in touch with them.”
“Meaning no, she doesn’t know. And presumably the Carhills didn’t contact their local FBI agent. Is that how they found out about the kidnapping—from the ransom demand?”
“We didn’t get that far. Faye’s not one to dwell on the past. Right now, she just wants her son back home safe.”
Juliet was still on the ransom demand. “Tatro? Was he the one who called?” She ran that one through in her mind and shook her head. “I just don’t see Bobby Tatro calling up the Carhills of Texas for five million. I sure as hell can’t see him breaking into my apartment thinking he’d find it under my futon. But he was looking for something.”
“Maybe Ham can answer some of these questions when we find him.”
Juliet regarded Ethan with as much objectivity as she could, considering she’d slept with him twice since he’d handed her the doctored picture of herself. He wasn’t spinning tales, and he wasn’t holding back much, if anything. He hadn’t been playing by the rules in the year since his wife’s death, but that didn’t mean he’d done anything unethical or illegal.
“Juliet, Ham’s a romantic,” Ethan went on. “An idealist. If he thinks he did something to cause your doorman to get killed and your niece—”
“You’re worried about him,” Juliet broke in.
“Yes.”
“Any reason anyone would think he’s a traitor?”
“The way I see it, people don’t need much of a reason to think anything.”
“These gonzo mercenary vigilantes—”
“I rousted a group of American vigilantes in Afghanistan a couple years ago. Before Char’s death. If Ham got mixed up with anything like them—” Ethan’s eyes darkened perceptibly. “Let’s hope that’s not the case.”
“All right.” Juliet rolled to her feet, realized she’d only had a couple of sips of coffee, but, after last night, she was still energized, as if every nerve ending was alive, sensitized, on alert. Ethan had an effect on her—she didn’t always like it or understand it, but he definitely had an effect. “I need to head back to NewYork. I’ll get Wendy up and tell her about Tatro and bring her out to the shed with Sam until Joshua gets back. I don’t want her waking up to an empty house and turning on CNN.”
Ethan followed her to the door. “Ham thinks his parents wished I were their son instead of him.” He kept his voice level, but Juliet could sense the guilt he felt. “One way or another, I’m the reason he ended up using his genius-IQ for the government. He looked up to me. He wanted to be me.”
“Ethan—”
“I’ve made a few enemies along the way, Juliet. More than a few. If one of them decided to play Ham to get to me—”
“Then that’s one very nasty person.”
“If I’d stayed home in Texas,” Ethan said quietly, “Ham Carhill would be teaching physics at MIT and working on a Nobel Prize.”
“He may yet.” Juliet took a gulp of her coffee, knowing she should regret not getting more sleep last night—but she didn’t. “I don’t know, Brooker. I probably shouldn’t have let you into my tent last night, knowing you were pals with one of the richest families in the country.” She tossed the rest of her coffee over the porch rail into the grass. “You and the Carhills don’t buy five-pound cans of coffee on sale, do you?”
“Juliet—”
“We’ll find your friend, Ethan.”
“Ham’s brilliant, but I never pictured him getting mixed up in anything involving national security. I want to help him. That’s all.”
She pointed her coffee mug at him, trying to dissipate some of his seriousness, his guilt. “What you want to do, Brooker, is not meddle in a federal investigation. Bobby Tatro’s a federal fugitive. You hold back vital information, someone’s going to toss your ass into jail.”
He smiled at her suddenly, catching her off guard with the spark in his black eyes. “Do you ever mince words?”
She smiled back. “That was mincing words.”
She led the way up the narrow, steep stairs and knocked on the door to her niece’s corner bedroom. “Wendy? Time to get up.” Juliet waited a moment, and when there was no answer, banged on the door. “I’m leaving for NewYork in a few minutes. I need to talk to you.”
Again, no response. Ethan tried the knob. “It’s locked.”
“What? She never locks her door—” Inexplicably worried, Juliet gave it a kick. “Wendy!”
“She could have on headphones—”
But Juliet leaned her shoulder against the door and put all her weight into a single, hard push, springing it open.
Wendy’s bed was unmade, torn pieces of paper were scattered on the floor. Lace curtains—her mother’s addition after the boys had moved out—fluttered in the window.
There was no sign of her niece.