Arrived deep in the field at thirty minutes past the call, on the dot.
He stopped by a hayrick. Wilde had said to wait. The money was heavy in the bag. Ethan ground his teeth and said what passed for a prayer in his nonbeliever’s mind. If he gives me Sutton, I won’t kill him. I swear.
Not right away, that is. I’ll wait, then kill him when he isn’t looking for me. And I’ll do it slowly.
Footsteps. He ducked down instinctively, the trench knife out of his pocket, brushing his knuckles, the heavy metal blade open.
A light flashed in his eyes, momentarily blinding him.
“Whoa! What the bloody—”
“Who the hell are you and why the hell are you sneaking around here? This is private property, and you’re trespassing.”
Ethan stood, stowing the knife, though the blade flashed in the man’s light, and he heard a little gasp. “I have a gun, you idiot—”
“Sir, I’m sorry, I’m putting it away. You scared me. I’m supposed to be meeting a friend.”
“In my field? Get the hell out of here.”
Ethan put both hands up. “Right. Brilliant. I’m on my way out. Sorry for the confusion.”
He hurried toward the road. The old farmer stood, watching impassively, until Ethan could no longer see the lights behind him, could hear the whiz of the cars on the pavement.
He couldn’t go back into the field without being shot, or at least reported. He had no way of contacting Wilde without heading back to the house. He was scared and angry and carrying fifty grand in a sack and he decided, Fuck it, I’m going to get a drink.
THE TIES THAT BIND
Two hours later, hopped up on excellent old-fashioneds from Grays, he found his way back to the house. His phone lay untouched on the counter: no calls, no messages, no texts. Wilde had been screwing with him. Playing the same sort of games he always had.
Ethan called the number back, but it was blocked. Of course it was.
He put the money back in the safe, went to his office, tripping a little as he walked down the hall. He was very tipsy. He felt safe again in his lair, but the feeling fled when he turned on his computer. The New York Times piece had run, despite Bill’s assurances he’d get it quashed, and the internet was abuzz with the news about the sudden runner of Sutton Montclair.
Ten minutes of peace, and then Ethan’s mobile started ringing again, nonstop, reporters from all over trying to get a quote. How did they find his number? It was unlisted, and he and Sutton had always been so careful about giving out their numbers, but someone had found it and passed it around, and they were hunting him now. Bill. He’d bet Bill gave it to them, hoping for a juicy quote and a backlist sales bump. Or Wilde, torturing him, posted it somewhere.
He didn’t know which was worse.
It was all too much. He couldn’t take it. He felt the familiar chest squeeze, the worry and concern turning into a monster of anxiety. The media encamped on his front lawn, the police driving by, Wilde calling and threatening to blackmail him, Sutton’s friends shrinking away from him—Dashiell’s ghost, don’t forget your boy—it was too much.
He felt the desperation creeping in, the walls in his office getting close. He needed to leave. He needed to get on a fucking plane and depart for environs unknown, like Sutton, and not for the first time, the anger redirected toward her, at her selfishness. For leaving him to clean up her mess.
Maybe he needed to go for a run. Yes, that was the right thing to do. He’d wave to any reporters lurking in the shadows and run in the moonlight, the liquor sloshing in his stomach, then hole up again and ride out the storm.
If only. Ethan from another world would do that. Ethan now would sit quietly and let the panic overtake him, pour a fresh drink, and wallow while obliquely staring out the windows.
What to do about Wilde? He would call back, Ethan knew that much. He’d probably been scared off by the farmer with the gun, too. Paying him off would be a mistake, he knew that in his bones. How could Wilde really know where Sutton was? It was a ploy, he was sure of it, and Wilde would simply come back again and again and again until the well was dry.
And yet, Ethan had trotted out to the field with the money in the bag to see.
Isn’t that love, wife? The risks I’m taking for you?
And then it hit him.
The missing $50,000, the money Sutton had taken.
It was the same amount Wilde asked for.
He stopped moving, sat down hard. Thought it through.
Wilde, claiming he knew where Sutton was.
Wilde, asking for money in order to share that information.
Wilde, threatening him not to go to the police.
Wilde had already hurt Sutton. It wasn’t hard to imagine him doing it again.
With a sigh, Ethan went to the phone and called Officer Graham.
She answered on the first ring. “Have you heard from her, sir?”
“No, I haven’t. I’ve been searching through our financials again, though, and I think I’m missing some money. It’s well disguised, but Sutton has withdrawn $50,000 from our accounts over the past three months.”
He could hear Officer Graham blow out her breath. “You’re sure? We’ve been running your financials and nothing stood out.”
He let that go for the moment. Having strangers poking around in his world made him more than uncomfortable. But he had to find Sutton. He knew now this wasn’t a stunt. This was a cry for help. She’d run from Wilde. Not from him.
“I’m sure. The withdrawals are coded, and each one has a T in it. T is her tax code for travel.”
“If your wife was trying to take money out of your accounts unnoticed, why would she bother coding them? Wouldn’t that give her away?”
“Yes and no. Withdrawals without a code, though, would set off all the alarms. She’s simply following her usual pattern, hoping it will cover her tracks.”
“Has she not been traveling, Mr. Montclair?”
“No, she hasn’t. She hasn’t been on the road at all since our son died. Nor have I.”
“T could stand for something else.”
“It could. Certainly. But my wife is a meticulous person. It’s almost as if she wanted me to find this and not be worried about her.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Montclair. Especially in light of this new information, perhaps we should just let things play out. Perhaps she has just removed herself from the marriage for a time.”
“Or perhaps she was pressured to remove the money, in payment of some kind, and when she couldn’t satisfy the demands of her kidnapper, she was killed.”
“That’s entirely possible.”
Ethan stopped breathing for a moment; his heart thumped once, hard, then ceased to beat. It took him a minute to catch his breath. “What are you saying? Have you found something? Do you know something you’re not telling me?”
“No, sir. But my job is to look at all the angles. I appreciate this information, and I’ll keep in touch. As soon as I have something, I’ll let you know.”
And she hung up.