COME BACK THIS TIME

The taps did not tell them where Claire had gone.

For a while, Noah wished they did. He watched Brooks move between the tablet and her phone, answering questions, asking others. A man came in with a printed photograph of one of the drivers. Another brought coffee nobody drank.

His small piece of recognition sat among all those larger things.

Ethan stayed beside him.

"Do you think she did it for me?" Noah asked.

"I think she wanted us to know she was aware of the camera. And maybe she hoped you'd recognize it."

"You can say you don't know."

Ethan nodded.

"I don't know."

Noah leaned against the couch. His body hurt in places he hadn't noticed before. His scraped knee throbbed through the bandage. There was a tender spot where the sweatshirt had pressed into his throat.

Brooks came back just after seven.

The men beside Claire worked for a security company that did private jobs for Grant Mercer. Noah knew Mercer from signs on lawns, a smiling man with rolled-up sleeves. His school had put a photograph of him in the newsletter when he donated library books.

Victor had begun talking when investigators asked whether Mercer knew he was in custody. He gave them the address of an old farm used for private meetings. Cameras on a nearby road had recorded the sedan heading in that direction.

"They're moving a team now," Brooks said.

Ethan stood.

Noah's hand closed around his sleeve before he knew he had moved.

His father looked down.

"They need me nearby," he said. "Not inside. There's a person on the team Claire knows through the contact, but she may trust my voice if they need to speak to her."

Noah kept hold of the fabric.

"You're going there."

"To their command location."

"That's still there."

"Yes."

Rachel turned toward her brother. Something passed between them. Noah was tired of adults having whole conversations over his head.

"How far?"

"About forty minutes."

"Where do I wait?"

"Here, with Rachel."

"Who's going to tell me things?"

Brooks pulled a chair closer.

"Agent Diaz. You've seen him at the door. He'll stay in this building. He'll have the updates we can share."

"When will you call?"

Ethan looked at his watch.

"When I get there. Before eight. Then at nine, even if there's no news."

"And if you can't?"

"I'll ask someone to call."

Noah let go of his sleeve.

His father crouched in front of him.

"Would you like a hug?"

Noah almost said no. Not because he didn't want one. Because wanting it seemed to put him at a disadvantage neither of them had yet agreed to stop using.

He leaned forward.

Ethan held him carefully around the bruised arm.

"Come back this time," Noah said into his collar.

His father did not answer with a joke or a promise about fishing.

"I'm coming back to you."

After he left, Rachel found Noah a clean sweatshirt from an emergency clothing cupboard. It was too big and had a college logo on it. He changed in the bathroom and stared at the bruises on his upper arm.

Four dark shapes. A thumb on the other side.

He pulled the sleeve down.

At 7:51, Ethan called.

"I'm here."

Noah sat up on the couch.

"Can you see her?"

"Not from where I am. The team is checking the buildings."

"Are you outside?"

"In a vehicle. It's warm. I've had coffee."

Noah could hear somebody speaking in the background. A radio. His father covered the phone briefly, then came back.

"I need to listen. Nine o'clock, okay?"

"Okay."

Rachel brought breakfast from a diner downstairs. Noah tried to eat an egg sandwich. The paper wrapper was louder than it should have been.

At 8:26, Diaz came in and told them Claire had been seen in an outbuilding with Mercer. She was standing and speaking. They could not yet say more.

"Is she hurt?"

"We don't know."

"Does she know they're there?"

"We don't know that either."

Noah nodded, though the answers made him angry. He set the sandwich down.

The wall clock clicked.

At 8:43, Diaz returned to the room but only to ask whether Rachel needed anything. Noah wanted to throw something at him for coming in without news.

At 8:58, he stood by the blue door across the hall, where his father had said he would be earlier. The room was empty. There was a paper cup on the desk and Ethan's old coat over a chair.

He touched the coat and went back to the couch.

Nine o'clock came.

His phone did not ring.

Rachel watched him watch it.

"It may be busy."

"He said someone would call."

At 9:03, Diaz went to make an inquiry.

At 9:06, Noah opened the message with the toolbox. Still here, buddy. He had read it so many times that the words no longer looked like words.

At 9:09, footsteps stopped outside the room.

Diaz entered holding a phone.

Noah couldn't make himself stand up.

"Your dad," Diaz said quickly.

Noah took it.

"Dad?"

There was wind on the line. A door banged. Then Ethan said, "I'm here."

"You're late."

"I know. I'm sorry. Things moved very fast. I should have asked—"

"Is she dead?"

"No. Noah, no. She's alive. They're taking her to the hospital."

Noah bent forward until his forehead touched his knee.

Rachel put a hand between his shoulders.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"A cut on my hand. Nothing serious."

"Did you go inside?"

"After the team secured it. There was broken glass. That's all."

Noah breathed through his mouth.

His father's voice softened.

"She's asking for you."

They drove to the hospital in Rachel's car with Diaz following behind. Noah had to sit in the back because Rachel said rules still existed even when the entire world had gone mad.

He almost laughed.

Almost.

During the drive, he asked the questions he could manage. Rachel relayed what Diaz had told her. Mercer had threatened Claire, trying to find the missing originals. She had kept him talking about where the documents might be, although the originals were already with investigators. When he learned officers were outside, he had tried to use her to get out.

They had reached her before he could.

"Did he shoot her?"

"No."

Noah rested his head against the cold window.

At the hospital, his father waited beside a vending machine. There was a white dressing around one hand. He looked as though he had aged since breakfast.

Noah walked straight into him.

Ethan bent over his head.

"Nine o'clock," Noah said.

"I know."

"You can't just decide it doesn't matter."

"I didn't. But I missed it, and you were waiting."

Noah stayed against him for another moment, then stepped away.

"Where is she?"

A nurse led them through a set of doors. At the far end of the corridor, a woman sat in a wheelchair beside an examination room. Her hair was loose now. A dressing covered the cut above her eyebrow. She wore a pale hospital blanket over her knees.

She looked up.

Noah stopped.

His mother gripped the arms of the chair and began to rise. The nurse beside her put out a steadying hand.

"Noah."

He had imagined that sound so often that hearing it outside his own head seemed impossible.

She did not come toward him.

He was glad. He was furious that she didn't.

The photograph in his bedroom had a younger face. This woman had his mother's eyes, but there were lines around them. She looked at his shoes, his hands, the enormous sweatshirt, taking him in so urgently that he wanted to cover himself.

"Did you know what I looked like?" he asked.