The Book of Lies - Brad Meltzer [54]
“The video store—we walked from the park—though I didn’t realize that was a reason to call out the entire Customs Service,” her mother shot back.
“Where’s Lucas?”
“Right next to me. He wants one of those Star War movies—those are okay, right? No nudity or anything?”
Naomi doubled back into the hallway and quickly checked both bedrooms . . . closets . . . bathrooms . . . All empty. Back in the living room, she studied the carpet, the sofa cushions, even the slight sway of the vertical blinds that led to the backyard. Nothing was out of place. The back door was still locked. But something still . . .
“Mom, go to the back of the video store,” Naomi said into the phone. “There’s a bathroom there—”
“Wait, what happened?”
“Just find the bathroom—they’ll let you use it if you ask nice—then lock the door and wait there for me, okay? I don’t care who bangs on that door, you don’t open it, you don’t let Lucas out, you don’t check on anything until I’m there. Only me.”
Naomi pulled out her GPS device, clicked back to Scotty on her cell, then began to search for the red triangle.
“Nomi, don’t click off like that!” Scotty scolded. “I thought you were—”
“Shh.” It took a moment to reorient herself. On-screen, the tiny crimson triangle stood completely still. So did Naomi. She was rushing so fast, she never even saw it. According to the screen, the beacon was now coming from behind her.
Naomi twisted around and dashed up the main hallway, rammed her shoulder at the front door, and crashed outside, back into the bright sun.
Outside, her front yard was empty. There was no breeze. And no sound but the shrieking sirens that finally turned onto her block.
“He’s gone,” she whispered.
“You sure?” Scotty asked. “If he came there— No note? No message?”
On-screen, the crimson triangle overlapped almost perfectly with the white, elongated triangle that represented Naomi’s location. Overlapped . . . Looking straight down, Naomi stepped off the exploding-fireworks-shaped doormat she still hadn’t removed since July Fourth and took a peek underneath. On the ground was a tiny and familiar flat oval disk.
“Oh, he definitely left a message,” Naomi said, pinching the transmitter with two fingers. Ellis didn’t come here just to leave it under the mat. If her son had been home, Ellis would’ve— A boil of anger bubbled up the back of her neck. The last time she was this mad was during her repo years. The victim sued for the cost of the hospital bills. And won. Four figures.
“You okay there?” Scotty asked.
Naomi let go of the welcome mat, and as it slapped against the concrete, a swirl of dust cartwheeled out the sides. For a moment, Naomi just knelt there, thinking about her son, and her mom, and everything that might’ve happened if something might’ve happened. But it hadn’t. And that’s what made it so damn easy to focus back on Ellis. And Cal. Especially on Cal. The former agent . . . the one who was at the port last night . . . and the one who could’ve easily given her family’s address to—
“You’re plotting their deaths now, aren’t you,” Scotty said.
“I want the next flight to Cleveland.”
“Yeah, and I want to eat cream sauce without feeling puffy after.”
Naomi didn’t say a word.
“I was joking, Nomi. (Kinda.) Now do you want the bad news or the really bad news?”
“Bad news.”
“You just missed one of the flights to Cleveland; you’re on the next one.”
“And the really bad?”
“I got Ellis’s full file from the prosecutor, like you asked. They got everything in here: psych profiles, behavior reports, even identifying marks.”
“I thought you said this was really bad?”
“Hear that noise? That’s the other shoe falling, Nomi. Because that tattoo on Ellis’s hand? You’re not gonna believe what it stands for.”
41
Cain? As in Cain Cain?” I ask Roosevelt through my newest disposable cell. As we whip down the highway, I scour the buttons on the dashboard, searching for—
“Here,” my father says from the passenger seat. He clicks a switch, and