Kitabı oku: «They Disappeared»
A loving family, fracturing under pressure…
Jeff Griffin, a mechanic, and his wife, Sarah, travel from Montana to Manhattan to give their nine-year-old son, Cole, his dream vacation as they secretly face the heart-wrenching turmoil that has them teetering on divorce.
In the wake of their heartbreak, a mother and son disappear…
While sightseeing near Times Square, Jeff steps into a store to buy batteries for their camera—but upon returning to the street he finds that Sarah and Cole have vanished.
A frantic father searches for clues as time ticks down…
Battling his anguish and police suspicions, Jeff fights to rescue Sarah and Cole. He knows now that the love he and Sarah have is worth saving. But he could lose the chance to tell her amid growing fears that they have become entangled in an unfolding plot that could have global consequences.
Praise for the novels of Rick Mofina
THE BURNING EDGE
“All of the great thriller elements are in abundance: a terrifying villain, a woman in the wrong place at the wrong time and a reporter seeking answers at all costs. A winner in every aspect, and a must-read.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Rick Mofina’s tense, taut writing makes every thriller he writes an adrenaline-packed ride.”
—Tess Gerritsen, New York Times bestselling author
“The Burning Edge kept me up into the early morning hours—the plot is so well written that I could not put the book down!”
—www.ReadertoReader.com
IN DESPERATION
“A blisteringly paced story that cuts to the bone. It left me ripping through pages deep into the night.”
—James Rollins, New York Times bestselling author
“Hell hath no fury like a mother wronged. In Desperation is a superbly written thriller that plumbs the depths of every parent’s nightmare. Timely, tense, and terrifying, this book is sure to be a big hit!”
—Brad Thor, #1 New York Times bestselling author
THE PANIC ZONE
“Taut pacing, rough action and jagged dialogue feed a relentless pace. The Panic Zone is written with sizzling intent.”
—Hamilton Spectator
“Mofina’s on top of his game, pulling together a wickedly complicated plot with great skill and assurance. Genuinely chilling.”
—RT Book Reviews
VENGEANCE ROAD
“Vengeance Road is a thriller with no speed limit! It’s a great read!”
—Michael Connelly, New York Times bestselling author
“A gripping, no-holds-barred mystery…lightning paced…with enough twists to keep you turning pages well into the wee hours. Vengeance Road is masterful suspense.”
—Allison Brennan, New York Times bestselling author
They Disappeared
Rick Mofina
This book is for
Margaret Slavin Dyment
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Epilogue
1
New York City
This trip is going to change us forever, Jeff Griffin thought as the jet descended into LaGuardia.
He looked at his son, Cole, age nine, excited to be on his first plane and marveling at Manhattan’s skyline poking through the clouds. Then Jeff glanced at his wife, Sarah, at her hand, her wedding ring.
Until a year and a half ago, they had been living a perfect life in Montana, where Jeff was a mechanic and a volunteer firefighter and Sarah was a schoolteacher. They’d come to New York for Cole because he’d always dreamed of seeing Manhattan. It seemed like the best thing to do, given all that they’d been through.
“It’s always going to be hard for us, Jeff,” Sarah had told him. “But we just can’t give up.”
While Sarah lived in hope, Jeff couldn’t help but think that this vacation to New York was a requiem for the life they once lived.
The landing gear locked into position with a hydraulic thud.
Jeff exhaled slowly and turned to Cole.
“Wow, Dad, this is so great! I can’t believe we’re really doing this!”
Jeff looked at Sarah. She gave him the promise of a smile and he held on to it, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he should reconsider.
After their plane landed, the Griffins moved through the arrival gate and joined the rush of passengers heading to the baggage claim area.
The air smelled like industrial carpet cleaner and pretzels.
Cole was energized by the bustling terminal as they made their way to the crowds at the carousels. Sarah went to the restroom while Jeff and Cole got their bags.
Jeff shouldered his way to the conveyor, plucked Sarah’s red bag from it, then his own. Cole had followed him and hefted his backpack from the carousel. Sarah had bought a new one for him, for the trip.
“Looks like the one.” Jeff gave it a quick inspection, black with white trim and mesh side pockets. He glanced quickly at the blue name tag without really reading it; blue was the right color for the tag. Then he helped Cole get his arms through the straps.
As they waited for Sarah, Cole tried counting all the carousels in their area but there were too many. He loved the blurring pace as people jostled to heave their luggage onto trolleys before wheeling them out through the main doors.
“I wish Mom would hurry up, Dad. Can we see the Empire State Building from here?”
“Maybe on the cab ride to the hotel—there’s Mom.”
“All set.” Sarah smiled, joining them.
They left the terminal through the automatic doors.
Jeff spotted a row of news boxes. They reminded him that the travel agent had mentioned that a major event would be taking place when they were to arrive. The headlines shouted about it. UN: Whole World in the City Again! said the Daily News. Tighter Security for World Leaders Means Gridlock for All! blared the New York Post.
As they queued up for a taxi in the ground transportation pickup zone, they didn’t notice that among the throng of arriving passengers, one man had taken an interest in Cole.
He was in his late twenties, a slender build with wild blond hair. His face was void of emotion. He looked European, a youngish student bohemian traveler. As he walked by them, slowly and unseen, his attention locked onto Cole’s bag.
The man hesitated.
The Griffins got into their cab. He stopped and watched, his face suddenly darkening with concern as they drove off.
His backpack was black with white trim and mesh side pockets.
It was identical to Cole’s backpack.
2
New York City
Their taxi merged onto the Grand Central Parkway and the driver lifted his head to his rearview mirror, which had a rosary hanging from it.
“Welcome to the capital of the world. Where are you coming in from?”
“Montana,” Jeff said.
“Cowboys and land spreading out to the mountains,” the driver said.
“That’s right.”
“Is this your first time to the Big Apple?”
“No, I’ve been here for a few conventions over the years, and—” Jeff glanced at Sarah. “We were here together, a long, long time ago.”
“Well, you picked a good time to return.”
“Why’s that?” Jeff asked.
“We got the president and about one hundred world leaders coming into town over the next few days for the UN meeting. Lots of security, sirens and helicopters. Messes up traffic.”
“Yeah, we saw that in the newspapers.”
“The president and helicopters, wow,” Cole said.
“It’s a huge show and a glorious pain.”
The road clicked under the taxi’s wheels as they moved onto the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. Sarah looked out her window at the endless flow of apartment buildings, warehouses, factories and billboards. One showed a laughing baby’s face next to a smiling young woman in a graduation cap and she thought of their daughter, Lee Ann.
They were moving west toward the Midtown Tunnel when they came to a gently sloping segment. The tip of the Empire State Building emerged in the haze ahead as Manhattan’s skyline rose before them.
“Look at that! I gotta take a picture!” Cole said. “Oh, no, Mom, I put my camera in my backpack and it’s in the trunk. That was dumb, oh, no!”
“Here, use mine.”
Sarah fished her small digital camera from her bag. Cole, a technical master, clenched an eye, took a photo and showed his parents.
“Oh, this is awesome!” Cole said.
Moments later the taxi slowed. An overhead freeway sign guided three lanes to the great stone mouth of the Midtown Tunnel. Lines of traffic moved through the tollgates. The tunnel gleamed in brilliant orange and yellow as it curved under the East River to Manhattan.
Cole took more pictures until they surfaced somewhere near Fortieth Street and Third Avenue. As they looked at the skyscraper-lined canyons and the shining high-rise condos, Jeff’s cell phone rang. The call was a 646 area code with a number he didn’t recognize.
“Hello?”
He heard nothing and after several seconds of static he hung up.
“Who was that?” Sarah asked.
“Wrong number, I guess.” Jeff shrugged.
The sidewalks were a bazaar of action with streams of people hurrying, waving at taxis amid sirens, horns. Steam plumes curled from the hot dog stands. People panhandled and street merchants argued with delivery truck drivers while motorists screamed at jaywalkers who blocked streets.
They were a world away from Laurel, Montana.
Their hotel, the Central Suites Inn, was on West Twenty-ninth Street in the two-hundred block, not far from Madison Square Garden. They checked into their twelfth-floor room. It was large with two double beds.
“I need to freshen up,” Sarah said.
“All right, Cole and I will unpack and get changed,” Jeff said. “Then we can go out for dinner and maybe walk to the Empire State Building.”
Cole claimed the bed nearest to the window. He unzipped his backpack at the foot of it and dumped its contents. T-shirts, shorts, a chocolate bar, a bag of potato chips, maps of New York, a hoodie and socks fell out. All of it was unfamiliar, especially the man’s shaving kit.
“Uh, Mom, Dad?” Cole said.
Sarah set her things down and surveyed the heap. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, he’s got the wrong bag.” She inspected the backpack. The luggage claim bar code was torn. The blue name tag was faded and smudged. “I thought you guys checked this?”
“It looks exactly like Cole’s bag.” Jeff looked it over.
“A little, but the zippers are different.”
“What are we going to do, Mom?” Cole said. “I need my stuff.”
“We’ll call the airline, don’t worry, honey.” Sarah pulled a printed page from her bag and went to the room’s desk. “See, I put this paper inside all our bags. It has our hotel and cell phone numbers, so whoever has your bag can call us.”
While Sarah and Jeff searched their airline tickets for a lost luggage number, Cole turned to the strange belongings. One item drew his interest.
A tiny plastic toy jet.
He pushed a small button on top of it, lights flashed and it made a jet engine sound. Cole loved it. He moved behind the curtains, pressed the toy against the window, taking it on a flight over Manhattan’s tall buildings.
“I can’t find a claim number on my part of the ticket,” Sarah said just as Jeff’s cell phone rang.
“Hey.” Jeff looked at the display before he answered. “It’s the same number that tried to call me when we were in the taxi.”
“Mr. Griffin? Jeff Griffin of Laurel, Montana?”
“Yes.”
“This is Hans Beck, I tried calling you earlier. I got your number from your backpack. I have it, there was a mix-up at the airport and I was hoping you’d have mine? It looks just like yours—it has some clothes, snacks, maps and my razor inside.”
“Yes, we have it.”
“Good, can we trade them as soon as possible? I am running late for a train. According to your information, you’re at the Central Suites that’s near Penn Station?”
“Yes, we can exchange the bags now if you like.” Jeff nodded to Sarah, who smiled with relief and indicated that she would take a quick shower. After a few more minutes Jeff had worked out the bag trade with the caller.
“Cole! Let’s go get your backpack, son!”
Startled by his dad, Cole, who’d been running the plane up and down the curtain, let the toy slip to the lower end as he pushed the curtain aside.
“Really?” Cole stepped from the window. “Now?”
“Yes, really, yes, now. So put all that stuff back in the bag. Everything and let’s go.” Jeff had unfolded a map on his bed and studied it. “The guy who’s got your backpack is going to meet us now, so move it!”
Overjoyed at getting his possessions back, Cole forgot about the plane and gathered all the items as fast as he could, shoving them hastily into the backpack while his dad glanced at the map.
This Hans Beck had a German-sounding accent. Maybe he was a student, Jeff thought as he and Cole walked toward Madison Square Garden with his backpack.
They were to meet in front of a diner on Thirty-third Street across from Penn Station. Beck said he was twenty-nine, five foot eleven with blond hair. Jeff gave a description of himself and Cole, noting they would also recognize each other by the backpacks.
About twenty minutes after Beck had called, they spotted him on the street at the appointed location. Beck’s hair was unkempt, his clothes disheveled. He was dragging anxiously on a cigarette, his face taut.
This guy’s either on drugs or under some sort of pressure, Jeff thought.
“Are you Hans Beck?”
Beck blew a stream of smoke skyward and nodded.
“Jeff and Cole Griffin.”
They traded handshakes, then backpacks.
Immediately Beck began rummaging through his.
“Everything’s in here, right?” Beck said, snapping his head around at the sound of car horns from the traffic.
“Sure. We didn’t take anything, if that’s what you mean,” Jeff said.
“No, no, man.” Beck focused on Cole, then winked. “Because you’re too young to use my electric razor, right?”
“That’s funny,” Cole said. “The airplane you have in there is cool.”
“What airplane? You looked inside?”
“Sorry.” Cole glanced at his dad, then at Beck. “It was when I thought it was my backpack. I saw the little toy plane.”
“Everything’s in there,” Jeff said.
“What? Okay. I’m really late.” Beck looked around to the street, closed the bag, then hoisted it onto his back. “Yes, I packed it so fast, I’m not sure what I put in there. Well, I have to split. Thanks.”
Beck disappeared into the crowds entering Penn Station. Jeff’s attention followed him with a ping of unease before he turned to Cole.
“Let’s get back to the hotel, son.”
3
New York City
Hans Beck gripped his backpack and pinballed through Penn Station.
For a fleeting moment he considered boarding a train, any train, and getting away.
No use. They’re watching, waiting. And I need the money.
Beck had lied to Jeff Griffin about having to catch a train. Instead, he had to meet his contact and complete this delivery.
He’d nearly blown this job.
How could he have been so stupid to have picked up the wrong bag? In his time as a courier he’d never screwed up like this. His customers were enraged. He’d never had contacts so intense. He didn’t know who they were, or what they were involved in.
He didn’t want to know.
When he’d given them the Griffin backpack in error, they took no comfort in his assurance he would retrieve the misplaced bag.
Well, he did it, just as he said he would.
So everyone should relax, he told himself. We’ve got the right bag now. Soon this would be over and he’d be on a plane to Aruba awaiting a large deposit in a numbered account.
Beck left Penn Station and hurried by the post office and deep into the heart of the Hudson Yards. He moved quickly beyond the Long Island Rail Road maintenance tracks, where Thirty-third Street dipped into a wasteland near the Hudson River.
He was nearly jogging now as he hurried along a chain-link fence that surrounded a site where a massive foundation, reaching down several stories, was under construction. The sun had set, the entire area was deserted. He heard the hum of a motor, then brakes, and a panel van stopped suddenly beside him.
A side door slid open and he got in. It was crowded inside because several men were in the back working. A couple of them were talking on cell phones. Two others were working quickly on laptops.
The men had already acted on the information sheet they’d found in Cole Griffin’s bag and had quickly searched the family. They’d also taken pictures of Jeff and Cole on the street, making the exchange with Beck.
Everything had unfolded with urgency.
The men seized his backpack, dumped its contents, probed them, then tore through the empty backpack.
Whatever they needed was still missing.
For the first and last time in his life, Beck had failed to make a delivery.
His final thought was that a plastic bag had swallowed his head and his struggle against the forces holding him was in vain.
Everything went black.
His corpse was wrapped in a plastic sheet and hefted into the construction site. It was concealed under a layer of gravel at the base of a footing that would be filled with fifty cubic yards of concrete the next day.
4
New York City
The next morning the Griffins went down to the lobby for breakfast.
The dining area was crammed but Sarah spotted a table for them. Jeff and Cole moved with the crowd along the breakfast bar, loading their trays with sausages, eggs, cereal, fruit, toast, juice and coffee.
Jeff saw Sarah at the table with her phone, reading, then responding to a text message.
Who is she talking to?
It consumed him as they ate and discussed options for the day but he’d have to deal with it later. Cole was wearing a New York Jets T-shirt and ball cap they had bought the night before, along with his new souvenir New York key ring bearing his name. He’d clipped it on the belt loop of his jeans. After flipping through his guidebook, Cole decided he wanted to take a tour bus down to Ground Zero, then a ferry to the Statue of Liberty.
“But can we go to Times Square first?” he asked. “There’s a giant screen there that takes your picture and a toy store with a Ferris wheel inside. Can we go there?”
Jeff consulted his map of New York.
“Are you up for the walk?”
“You bet! And every time I see the Empire State Building I’m taking more pictures. Can I go back for another juice, Mom?”
“Sure.”
When they were alone, Jeff nodded to Sarah’s phone.
“So who were you talking to?”
“Valerie, back home. She was asking if we got in okay.”
“Valerie. Anybody else?”
“Jeff, please don’t do this.”
“Who, Sarah?”
Her face reddened; she was on the verge of losing it with him. Instead, she seized her phone, cued the message, then thrust it at him.
“Valerie. See? Valerie.”
“Sorry.”
Sarah put a hand to her mouth, blinking back tears. She looked toward the food bar to see Cole waiting his turn to fill his glass at the juice dispenser. She looked at Jeff.
“On our way in from the airport I saw this billboard and—” She halted, shifted her thought. “I don’t want a divorce and I don’t think this is the time or place to tell Cole that you want one. We can’t break his heart, Jeff. We have to hang on and work this out.”
He noticed she was twisting her wedding ring.
“I never blamed you for what happened,” she said. “I was out of my mind, we both were. I was angry but I never blamed you for what happened. Get this through your head. I love you. We have to fight to hold this family together, not tear what’s left of it apart, please.” Upon seeing Cole returning, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Why in God’s name can’t you see that?”
Jeff looked at her without speaking, his mind racing with a million thoughts before Cole returned, sensing unease.
“Are you okay, Mom?”
She touched a tissue to her eyes.
“Just a sad memory, sweetie.”
“All right.” Jeff cleared his throat and stood with his tray to clear the table. “Let’s get going.”
They walked east to Seventh Avenue, then Broadway bound for Times Square. The city pulsated under a clear sky with the thud of a passing helicopter, the ever-present wail of sirens and traffic, telling him that he had to come to a decision. It weighed on him as they moved north along Broadway. Here, amid the whirlwind, he considered Sarah’s words.
We have to fight to hold this family together. We have to hang on and work this out. Was she right?
“Dad? Are you going to get in the picture with Mom now?”
Cole’s question pulled Jeff from his thoughts and he took an immediate assessment, estimating that they were somewhere around Forty-fourth and Forty-fifth Streets near Seventh Avenue. The streets were crowded, traffic was heavy. Not far from where they stood, massive neon signs soared in spectacular glory, exuding an air of controlled chaos. News reports flowed nonstop in electronic ribbons of light that wrapped around several buildings.
They were at the edge of Times Square.
Sarah had just taken Cole’s picture and returned her camera to him.
“Over there, Dad,” Cole said from behind the viewfinder. “Get next to Mom. I want to get that big flashy sign behind you—then we’ll go down to the center of Times Square, hurry!”
Jeff put his arm around Sarah, then felt her arm solidly around his waist. It felt good, it felt right, and a bittersweet sensation rolled over him. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d touched each other, held each other. This was not easy. They both made an effort to disguise the emotional turmoil churning under the smiles they’d manufactured for Cole.
Finally, he took the shot.
“All right,” he said. “Can we get one of us all together?”
“Let me ask somebody,” Jeff said.
He took the camera from Cole and went a few yards down the crowded sidewalk to an older man wearing a Yankees ball cap taking photos of two women, likely his wife and daughter. Jeff asked him if he would mind taking a Griffin family photo with Sarah’s camera.
“Be happy to.”
The man took the picture but when Cole requested he take one more, nothing happened with the camera. The man looked at it. “Looks like your batteries are gone.” The man handed it back. Jeff thanked him and turned to Cole and Sarah.
“I forgot to put in fresh ones,” Sarah said.
“It’s okay.” Jeff glanced around, spotting a suitable store behind them. “I’ll go in there and get fresh batteries. You stay right here, don’t go anywhere.”
“All right,” Sarah said. She and Cole began inspecting the jewelry, statues, artwork and T-shirts on a vendor’s cart. Jeff stepped toward the store but was stopped.
“Sir, could you spare any change for a veteran?”
A man with bushy dark hair and a beard flecked with bits of something white held up a hand in a dirty worn cyclist’s glove. He was in a wheelchair and missing his right leg. He wore torn jeans, a filthy John Lennon T-shirt and a tattered raincoat. His chair was reinforced with metal coat hangers and had a U.S. flag affixed to it. Jeff looked into his leathery weatherworn face, his brown eyes, and figured him to be in his early thirties. Guys who’d served deserved better, Jeff thought.
“How’d you lose the leg?”
“IED in Afghanistan. I ain’t had a decent meal in days, sir.”
Jeff thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out two crumpled fives.
“Here.”
The man stared at the cash.
“Thank you. God bless you and your beautiful family, there, sir.”
Jeff went to the store—Metro Manhattan Gifts and Things.
It had a narrow storefront of soot-streaked stone and a large window cluttered with a galaxy of tacky items. Discounts on jewelry, T-shirts and posters were listed on the chalkboard sign outside.
Inside, rock music throbbed from a radio station. The walls were jammed with T-shirts, ball caps, trinkets, posters, knickknacks. A young man was on a ladder, pulling down a cardboard box overflowing with scarves for two women. Racks filled with chips, chocolate bars and snack cakes bordered one side of the store, next to coolers filled with soda, juices and water.
Compact video recorders, cell phones and other electronics covered the wall behind the counter near the cash. A mounted security camera watched from above. Jeff took his place in line behind half a dozen customers.
As he waited, he saw Sarah and Cole through the window, browsing at the cart. They looked happy and the image sent his mind racing back to that last moment of perfection. Back to that time when he’d sat in his truck in their driveway and watched Sarah with Cole and their baby daughter, Lee Ann, through the window.
The last time they were happy.
And now he’d brought his family here, to the brink of disintegration.
Kransky the Shrink had been right; they couldn’t just overcome the blow of Lee Ann’s death. They had to adapt to it and allow each other to deal with it in their own way.
Throughout their ordeal Cole had been the rock of the family. He’d accepted that God had made his baby sister an angel and took her to heaven first to wait for them. Cole just got on with being a kid and continued obsessing about seeing New York City, the way most kids obsessed about seeing Disney World.
In this way Cole was the calm, healing force, holding them all together against the threat of destruction.
And the threat was not Sarah.
It’s me.
After all this time, Jeff realized that he’d failed to accept how Sarah dealt with her own grief and guilt. She blamed herself for being three hundred and forty miles away when their baby died. Jeff blamed himself for being in the next room asleep. He had been so numbed and blinded by his anger, his guilt, that he let it give way to paranoia, thinking wrongly that Sarah had turned to another man for comfort.
He’d let it all reach the point where it was tearing them apart.
What have I done?
Standing in line, waiting to buy batteries, it dawned on him. Maybe it had started when he felt Sarah’s arm around him, tight. But when the truth hit, it hit him like a freight train. Sarah was not cheating on him. She did not hate him. What he was doing was wrong. The last thing he wanted was to separate. He agreed with Sarah, when their baby girl died they went out of their minds with grief. They’d both been consumed with guilt and anger over losing her.
He replayed Sarah’s plea.
We have to fight to hold this family together. We have to hang on and work this out.
She was right.
They’d been through enough.
Suddenly Jeff felt like a man waking up.
How could I have been so stupid?
It was his turn at the counter and the clerk at the register, a girl in her twenties with a diamond stud in her left nostril, fuchsia streaks in her dyed white hair and tattoos on her arms, smiled as she chewed gum and bobbed her head to an old David Bowie song.
“I need some batteries.”
“What size?”
“Double A, I think. Wait, let me check, sorry.”
Horn blasts from the street competed with the music inside as Jeff opened the battery compartment. It took him three attempts. The clerk snapped her gum and eyed the other customers while she waited.
Patience in New York came at a premium.
“Yes, double A,” he said. “Better give me three of those four packs.”
She slapped them on the counter.
“Here you go.”
Jeff paid.
He returned to the street ready to tell Sarah that he’d come to his senses. This trip would change everything.
For the better.
He went to the vendor’s cart but they weren’t there.
He looked up and down the street.
No sign of Sarah and Cole.
What’s going on?
They must’ve gone into a store, he thought, and entered the nearest one, a crowded retail sportswear outlet. Inside he searched the packed aisles, scanning the shoppers for Sarah and Cole. He glimpsed a flash of green—the back of a boy’s New York Jets T-shirt as it disappeared behind a display of jackets.
There’s Cole.
Jeff hurried after him, ready to scold Sarah for vanishing, but he stopped cold. The boy was not Cole.
Jeff took immediate stock of the surroundings.
No sign of Sarah and Cole.
