Her friend Clara. She didn’t have a friend named Clara, and no one she knew was in the hospital. What was this—and then she remembered. It was their code, something her husband had made her memorize, along with emergency plans, in case anything happened. The meaning of the message was vivid in her mind: Danger! Get away! She had always thought this business with secret codes was a bit ridiculous, but now that she had gotten the call, she didn’t feel ridiculous. She felt afraid.
She walked into the living room, where her daughter was still on the couch. “Alex,” she said, “do you trust me?”
Alex looked at her quizzically, appearing slightly worried. “I . . . guess?”
“I’m serious, Alex. If I ask you to do something without asking me why, would you do it?”
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Alex asked, alarmed. “You’re scaring me. Are you okay? Did something happen? Is Dad okay?”
“As far as I know, your father is fine, and so am I. But I don’t have time to explain. I need you to pack a suitcase as quickly as you can. We need to leave home for a few days. Pack warm.”
Alex laughed in disbelief. “What’s going on? What is this about?”
“I don’t know. But please, Alex, trust me, and do it now. We could be in danger.”
The fear must have been obvious in Jenny’s voice, because Alex’s demeanor became completely serious, and she didn’t raise any further objections. She just asked, “When do we leave?”
“Right away.”
“Okay,” she said. “Are we taking Neika?”
“I’ll take care of Neika,” said Jenny. “Just hurry.”
Jenny rushed to the master bedroom and tossed together a bag as quickly as possible, filling it with comfortable clothes, a jacket, and some winter items in case the cold returned. She rummaged through her sock drawer and found the stun gun that Dan had given her years ago, which she hadn’t felt comfortable carrying around with her. She picked it up, checked the charge, and dropped it into her purse.
Just then, the doorbell rang, and her heart sank with foreboding.
Jenny breathed deeply as she walked downstairs, trying her best to calm her nerves and appear normal. Whoever it was, it would be better to dispatch them quickly and coolly, without arousing suspicion. With one more deep breath, she turned the doorknob. Standing at the door were two men in black suits.
“Mrs. Morgan?” said one of them, stepping forward. “I’m Agent Baird, and this is my partner, Agent Pace. We’re with the FBI.” They held up their badges. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about your husband.”
Their badges looked legitimate enough, and if she had any doubts, she would have asked to examine them closely and take down names and numbers. But she knew immediately and instinctively that it wouldn’t have helped, because these men weren’t really from the FBI. “Is he in trouble?” she asked, hoping that her feigned apprehension was convincing.
“Not as far as we’re concerned, ma’am,” said the one who called himself Pace, who was skinny, had a shaved head, and spoke in a Texas drawl. “We’d just like to talk to him. And you might be able to provide us with information about an ongoing case.”
“Is this about the cars?” she said, doing her best impression of a worried, naïve housewife.
“No, ma’am,” said Pace.
“He isn’t in trouble, is he?” she asked again, wide-eyed.
“That’s not what we’re here for, Mrs. Morgan,” said Baird, who was short and stocky and had eyes that seemed too close together for his face.
“I don’t know what I could help you with, then. Dan’s the one you really want. I’m afraid he’s out of town, but I’ll certainly let him know you came by next time I talk to him.”
The two men exchanged a look. “Actually, Mrs. Morgan,” said Baird, “you’re the one we want to speak to. May we come inside?”
She hesitated before saying, with all the cordiality she could muster, “Yes, yes, of course. Come in.” She stepped aside to admit the two men into the foyer. “Can I offer you gentlemen anything to drink?”
“No, thank you,” said Pace.
“So how can I help you?” she asked, obligingly. “I don’t know what I could possibly tell you that might be of any—”
“Mrs. Morgan,” Baird cut in testily, “do you know the whereabouts of your husband?”
“Yes, of course!” she said. “He’s in Seattle, advising a client at a car show.”
“Is that a fact?”