Page 42 of Home (Myron Bolitar 11)

She turned left on Seventh Avenue and started uptown. Myron followed. She headed all the way up to Fifty-Ninth Street and turned right on Central Park South. They passed the Plaza Hotel and turned north on Fifth Avenue. The teenager walked steadily and confidently and with no hesitation. Myron assumed from this observation that she had made this journey before and probably lived in New York City.

Myron Bolitar, Master of Deduction. Please don't shun him for his gifts.

She turned east on East Sixty-First Street. When she crossed Park Avenue, Myron saw her reach into her bag and ready her key. The town house in front of her had a wrought-iron gate. She unlocked it. Then she moved down two steps and vanished inside.

A town house near Park Avenue, Myron thought. The girl probably came from money.

Again: Myron Bolitar, Master of Deduction. If you prick him, does he not bleed?

He stood outside and debated his next move. First, he texted Big Cyndi. Update?

Big Cyndi: PATRICK IS ON THE BUS. ASSUME HE'S HEADING BACK HOME.

Myron: I'll be the Master of Deduction, thank you very much.

Big Cyndi: WHAT?

Myron: Never mind.

He stared at the door and hoped it would open so he could . . .

So he could what?

Was he going to approach a teenage girl on the street and ask about her relationship with the boy she just met up with at Ripley's Odditorium? Myron wasn't a cop. He wasn't licensed in any way, shape, or form. He would just be a creepy middle-aged stranger approaching a young girl. He didn't know her name. He didn't know anything about her.

No, that would be the wrong move here.

He picked up his phone and called Esperanza.

"What's up?"

"I have an address near Park Avenue."

"Well, la-di-da. I live in a one-bedroom in Hoboken."

"That was funny," Myron said.

"Wasn't it, though? Give me the address."

Myron did. "I followed a teenage girl here."

"Aren't you engaged?"

"Ha-ha. She met up with Patrick. I need to find out who she is."

"On it."

When he hung up again, his phone rang. He saw from the caller ID it was Terese.

He answered the phone saying, "Hey, beautiful."

"God, you're smooth."

"You think so?"

"No," Terese said. "In fact, I think it's your lack of smoothness that makes you so damn sexy. Guess what?"

Myron started walking back. He had parked his car in a crowded theater lot by Times Square. "What?"

"The network sent me home on their private jet."

"Whoa, big-time."

"I just landed at Teterboro."

"Did you get the job?" he asked.

"I'll hear soon."

Myron stopped on the corner. Should he walk back to his car or catch a taxi? "Are you on your way to the apartment, then?"

"I am."

"Wanna do the nasty?" he asked.

"Wow, I take it back. You are smooth."

"Is that a yes?"

"It's most definitely a yes."

"You can't see," Myron said, "but I'm sprinting to the car right now."

"Faster," she said, before hanging up.

*

Myron parked his car in the underground lot behind the Dakota. When he started up the dark ramp, three men appeared. The one in the middle he recognized. It was Rhys's dad, Chick Baldwin. The other two wore jeans and flannel shirts. They were big and trying to look bigger. One carried a baseball bat.

"I told you to let it go," Chick said.

Myron sighed. "Are you for real?"

"I warned you to forget those texts, didn't I?"

"You did."

"Well?"

"And I didn't listen," Myron said. "Can we move this along? I kinda have plans. Big plans."

Chick used his hand to slick back his hair. "Did you think I was, what, playing with you?"

"I don't know, Chick, and I really don't care. So what's your next step?" Myron pointed out the two men in flannel shirts. "Are these two monkeys supposed to rough me up?"

"Who you calling 'monkey'?" asked Monkey with the Bat.

"Yeah," Batless Monkey chimed in. "You're the monkey, not us."

Myron tried not to sigh. "Do you gentlemen see that up there?" He pointed above their heads. When the two monkeys looked up, Myron kicked the one holding the bat in the balls, snatching away the bat before said monkey folded like a beach chair. Myron looked at Batless Monkey. Batless Monkey thought that this might be a good time to retreat and did so with gusto.

Myron looked at Chick.

"You didn't have to do that," Chick said.

"Why did you bring them?"

"To make you pay attention, I guess."

"I'm paying attention now."

Chick moved to the former bat-carrying monkey and bent down to help him. "You're more like Brooke's psycho cousin than I realized."

"Chick?"

"What?"

"I'm on my way somewhere very special," Myron said. "I will definitely and without hesitation whack you with this bat if you don't move out of my way."

"Just go," Chick said.

Myron studied his face for a moment and realized something. "You're mad because I talked to Nancy Moore about your texts."

"I told you not to, right? I practically begged you."

"That's not the point, Chick."

"What is?"

"Only one way you could know I did that. Nancy Moore told you."

Myron Bolitar, Master of Deduction, strikes again.

Chick said nothing. Myron moved toward him and helped the former bat wielder to his feet. Myron told the man to skedaddle. He did as requested, albeit with a bit of a limp. Myron turned his attention back to Chick.

"And that means"--Myron was on a roll now--"you two are in contact about the texts. And that means there was something really significant between the two of you."

Chick's voice could not have been more crestfallen without an actual crest or fall in view. "You have to leave it alone, Myron. I'm begging you."

"Even if it's the key to finding your son?"

"It's not. If I thought it had anything to do with Rhys, I would be shouting it every day from the rooftops. But it doesn't. Why can't you believe me?"

"Because you're too close to it. You're not objective."

Chick closed his eyes. "You won't let this go, will you?"

"I won't, no. And let me give you a little push here, Chick. If you don't tell me, I'm going to ask Brooke about them."

Chick winced as though the words had formed a fist and threatened to punch him. "You have to understand one thing first."

"I don't have to understand, but go ahead."

"I love Brooke. I always have. I always will. Our life isn't perfect. I know that psycho Win--"

"Chick?"

"What?"

"Stop calling my friend names, okay?"

Chick nodded. "Yeah, whatever. Win hates me. He thinks no one is good enough."

Myron checked his watch. Terese would be in the apartment by now. "You told me this already."

"Not really," he said. Again Chick gave him the crestfallen look. "You need to know how much I love my wife and family. I ain't a perfect man. I've done some really questionable things in my time. The thing that gives me humanity--the only thing that really matters--is my love for my family. For Brooke. For Clark." His chest started to hitch, and the tears started to flow. "And for Rhys."

Chick broke into a sob. The real thing. No faking, no trying to hide it. Oh man, Myron thought. Stay strong, stay focused, but remember: This guy is searching for his lost son.

When Chick was back in control, Myron pushed him again: "Why were you two texting, Chick?"

"We didn't have an affair."

"What, then?"

"We were going to. That was the thing. We didn't do it. But we were going to."

"I thought you loved your wife."

"You're not married, are you, Myron?"

"Engaged."

Chick wiped the tears. He managed a smile, but there was no joy there. "We don't have time to get into it. But you're old enough to know that life isn't black-and-white. It's lived in the gray. We get older, we think we're going to die, we reach for something, even if it's stupid. So that's what we did. Me and Nancy. We started flirting. It went too far. We started to make plans because that's how these things are. Like everything else in this horrible world, it gets worse, not better. You reach a stage where you either go through with it or it dies."

"So what happened, Chick?"

"It died."

"You didn't go through with it?"

"We stopped in time."

Myron thought about that. "Who stopped it?"

"Mutual."

"It's never mutual, Chick."

"We both eased into it," he said. "And then we both eased out of it."

"When?"

"What?"

"When did you both ease out of it?"

"I don't know."

"How long before your son disappeared?"

"I told you. It had nothing to do with that."

"How long?"

"I told you. I don't know."

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