Ground Zero

“Millions?”

He nodded. “A little over two. To tell the truth, I don’t think it was an accident.”

Jack looked at him sideways. “Is this Weezy talk?”

“No. I’m not talking foul play, I’m talking . . . you know.”

Jack nodded. “Oh.”

“The insurance companies had the same thought. It happened a year and a half after my mother’s death, during which he’d been very despondent. I don’t think he wanted to live without her. His seat belt was off, but he’d left no note, they found no drink, no drugs in his system, so they had to pay.”

As the train jerked to a stop at the 74th Street–Broadway station, Jack noticed the blond guy peek again and felt himself go on alert. Could still be nothing, but their stop was next. Decision time approaching.

“How do you feel about that?” he said as he pulled the police accident report from his pocket.

Weezy and her father hadn’t been close—he’d given her a hard time during her goth period—but Jack remembered Eddie and his father sharing a keen interest in sports, but only on TV. Eddie, a chunky kid then, had loathed physical activity.

Eddie shrugged. “Weez and I were both grown and out of the house by then, so it wasn’t as if he was deserting us. We had no sense of abandonment. We grieved, sure, but he went into such a funk after Mom died.”

“So Weez wasn’t the only one in the family who had ups and downs.”

“I guess not. My dad would never admit to something like that—for his generation, depression was a sign of weakness and personal failure. But in the end, I think I was kind of relieved for him. We’d tried to get him help but he refused. I thought time would bring him around—I’m sure it would have—but he couldn’t see any light at the end of that tu

Jack nodded. “Yeah. A whole lot.”

Just a little over half a year since he’d lost his own father. Hadn’t been suicide, but it hadn’t been an accident either. Seemed like only yesterday they’d been fighting for their lives in the Everglades.

Eddie gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It does get easier.”

“So I’ve been told.”

He shook himself and glanced at the report. Witnesses said that the man who’d run off with Weezy’s bag had blond hair. Still could be a coincidence.

Uh-huh.

“So, Weezy’s a rich widow?”

“ ‘Rich’ is relative. I hooked her up with a financial pla

“Good for her.”

“She lives very simply in a plain, no-frills, middle-class house—no trips, no fancy clothes. She doesn’t even spend what she gets, so her principal is growing.”

A thought had occurred to Jack. If someone wanted to find where Weezy lived, they wouldn’t need to tail them. If they had her name, they could find her address on the Internet for a small fee.

“Weezy’s house . . . she own it?”

Eddie shook his head. “She didn’t want to own. I told her it was the best long-term investment ever, but she insisted on renting—but under our mother’s name, of all things.”

Jack couldn’t help laughing. “I love it! That’s my Weez!”

“What—?”

The conductor’s voice interrupted, crackling over the speaker to a

Jack said, “Sit tight.”

“But it’s our stop.”

“We may have company.”

His eyes widened. “You mean followed?”

“Possibly.”

“Come on. No one’s going to—”

“Think about it, Eddie. Your sister’s in a coma. Someone stole her bag. Whoever did has keys to her house but doesn’t know where her house is because she’s not listed anywhere as an owner or a tenant. A stranger was just asking about where she lives. We didn’t tell him. So the only way to find out is to follow us.”

Eddie leaned back and shook his head. “No wonder you and Weez were such good friends.”

As the train slowed to a stop, the bleached blond head appeared again, then pulled back.

Yep. They had a tail. Not the guy calling himself Bob Garvey. Strictly amateur to have a familiar face try to follow, which would have given Jack a certain amount of comfort. Instead he’d sent a second guy.

Which led to the question: How many were involved here? How big was this?

Worst-case scenario for Jack: the government. In most cases, if they wanted Weezy’s address they’d just flash a badge at Eddie and demand he tell them. But what if Weezy had stumbled onto some covert operation?

Listen to me, he thought. I’m cooking up a Jason Bourne plot here.

But he couldn’t ignore the possibility, because for a guy who didn’t pay taxes or even have a Social Security number, feds were, if not a worst-case scenario, then at least very, very bad.

But if not government, then who? And why?

Weezy, my dear old pal, what the hell have you got yourself into?

“What’s the plan?” Eddie said as the train lurched into motion again. His tone dripped sarcasm. “Put on wigs and mustaches? Or do we climb between the cars and jump off as it’s moving?”

“Do I detect a note of skepticism?”

“You detect a whole orchestra.”

“O ye of little faith.”

“What do you expect? You’re Jack from Johnson, New Jersey, who repairs appliances, and you expect me to believe you’ve spotted someone following us?” He gestured at the sparsely populated car. “Who? Point him out.”

Jack wasn’t so sure that was the thing to do. “I said we may have a tail. I didn’t say I’d spotted one.”

“Right. Because there isn’t one. These are just regular folks minding their own business. They don’t care about us.”

Jack couldn’t blame him. Were positions reversed, he’d feel the same way.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. But humor me, okay? We’ll get off at the Elmhurst stop and train back.”

“Not as if I have a choice now.”

“We can always pull the emergency stop and jump onto the tracks.”

Eddie stared at him a long moment, then barked a nervous laugh. “You know, for a minute there you really had me going. I mean, I thought you were serious.”

“I was,” Jack said, deadpan, then laughed. “Are you kidding me?”

14

As the train pulled into the 90th Street–Elmhurst Avenue stop they rose and stood before the nearest door. From the corner of his eye Jack saw the blond guy take another peek. When the train stopped and the door panels split, they stepped out onto the platform. One car down, the blond guy stepped out too. As they headed for the stairs down to the street, he followed. But then, he’d do that even if he wasn’t following them.

“All we’ve accomplished is to prolong the trip,” Eddie was saying.

“Yeah, I suppose so. But it gives us a little extra time to discuss the elephant in the room we’ve been ignoring.”

“You mean, ‘burn my house.’ ”

Jack had been thinking about it while watching for a tail but could make no sense of it.

“Yeah. What’s up with that?”

“I’ve turned it over and over and upside down and inside out and still can’t make sense of it. She loves that house. It contains all her worldly possessions—and believe me, she has a lot of worldly possessions.”

“I thought you said she lives very simply.”

He smiled. “She does. And her possessions are simple, but there’s lots and lots of them.”

“I’m not following.”

“You’ll see when you get there. It’s easier to show than tell.”

When they hit the street they crossed Roosevelt Avenue to the Manhattan-bound entrance. As they reached the turnstiles, Jack stepped ahead of Eddie and swiped his MetroCard through the reader.

“Since I’m the reason you’re here, my treat.”

Eddie laughed. “Jack, I can well afford—”

Jack made a flourish toward the turnstile, saying, “I insist,” and used the move as an opportunity to peek behind them.