The Lost Key

Mike said, “Nice of you. What school does she go to?”

“NYU. She’s a computer science major.”

“She have a boyfriend?”

The look on Shelley’s face told them the answer to that.

“Does he live with her?” Nicholas asked.

“No, not really. In fact, I haven’t seen Adam in a long time. Allie said he was in California. She doesn’t talk much about him, I don’t know why.”

Mike said, “What’s her phone number? Right now.”

Shelley gave Mike the number.

Torres said, “Hey, Allie’s a good kid. What did she do?”

Mike gave her best scary Fed smile. “Don’t worry about it. Thank you, Shelley, for the info. Now, can I have two grande ski

“Surely, ma’am. On the house, for New York’s Finest.”

She left a twenty-dollar bill on the counter, aware of the phalanx of eyes on their backs as they walked out. They got in the car and Mike devoured the scone in three bites, Nicholas in two. He wiped his mouth. “That was well played, Special Agent Caine.”

“Thanks. You so owe me a real meal, Nicholas. An apple, a scone, and a latte ain’t go

“Let’s go to her apartment,” Mike said. “If I were on the run, I’d hide out at my girlfriend’s place. It doesn’t appear that Allie even told her best friend that Adam is a big bad wanted hacker.”

Allie McGee’s apartment was only a few blocks away. Mike checked in with Ben, told him where they were going, told him to be ready for a call if they saw something hinky. “And Ben, find out who owns the lease on this apartment.”

Even though all they wanted to find was a nineteen-year-old boy, she and Nicholas had come prepared, vests, comms on the off chance they ran into trouble. She and Nicholas geared up while Ben ran the property record.

He said, “It’s in the name of Allison McGee. Bought last year, for eight hundred thousand dollars.”

“Pricey place for a kid in school, working at Starbucks on the side. Did her parents fund it?”

She heard tapping. “It was paid for in cash. Full purchase price.”

“Interesting. Have the financials come back on Jonathan Pearce yet?”

Ben said, “As it happens, yes. Pearce is a very wealthy man. Both the son and daughter have healthy trust funds. And lookee here, there was a withdrawal for one million dollars from Adam Pearce’s trust right before the apartment was purchased.”

“Gotcha, thanks, Ben.”

“Call if you need backup. Wait up, here’s Gray.”

Gray Wharton’s voice came loud and clear. “One more thing, Mike, Sir Nicholas—Jonathan Pearce is a viscount. The Tenth Viscount Chambers, to be exact.”

That got Nicholas’s attention. “Chambers? Who is Pearce’s father?”

“Looks like his dad’s name was Robert, son of Leo, son of—no, wait—it looks like Leo was adopted by William Pearce way back in 1917, before the end of the war. As to who Leo’s real father was, I’m going to have to dig to find that out. Do you think that could be important?”

Nicholas said, “No clue, Gray. I doubt it, but if you happen to see it, let me know. Thank you. Quit calling me ‘sir.’”

It was a secure building, requiring either a code or a buzz in from an apartment to open the doors.

Mike cupped her hands against the glass to get a better view of the lobby setup. “I don’t see a doorman. We’re going to have to buzz Allie’s apartment.”

Nicholas pressed the button for 2A. Nothing. 2B answered, though, and Mike adopted her best young girl voice. “Hey, it’s five, I left my keys upstairs.”

“Not again,” came a harassed voice, but the door buzzed, and clicked open.

Mike gave Nicholas a grin. “Works every time.”

Nicholas shook his head. “You’d think New Yorkers would be more careful.”

“No kidding.” They’d looked at the apartment floor plan, saw Allie’s place was rear-facing, with a sectioned fire escape that let down into an alley.

They took the elevator to the fifth floor. Apartment five was the last door down a narrow, elegantly modern hallway with stained teak floors and small wheatgrass installations along the wall, the embedded lights reflected by beveled mirrors, giving a lovely glow to the space.

“Nice to have a rich boyfriend these days,” Mike said.

They were at the door now. Nicholas leaned in, listened. It was quiet, too quiet. He whispered, “Something doesn’t feel right.” Didn’t smell right, either. He smelled the sharp pungent odor of copper and that meant blood, a lot of it.

Not good, not good. Mike pulled her Glock from its clip at her waist, called Ben. “Ben, come down, something’s not right here.”

She knew they should wait, but she knew to her gut something was very wrong. She stood to the side of the door, and banged her fist three times, yelled, “FBI. Open up.”

Nothing. There were no sounds.

Nicholas reached for the doorknob. Unlocked. He met her eyes, nodded. Mike called out again, then he opened the door and went in, quick and fast, Mike behind him, her Glock high, his low.

And everything around them seemed to explode into movement.

29

107 Avenue A, Unit 5

4:30 p.m.

The light was blinding, the force from the blast knocked him sideways against the entryway wall. Nicholas shook his head, trying to get his vision and his hearing back. Mike was beside him, shaking him, shouting something at him, but he couldn’t hear her. He felt a trickle of wet from his ear; his hand came away red. He numbly realized someone had thrown a flash bang.

You’re getting slow, Drummond. Maybe it was the aftereffect of being Tasered this morning, but he couldn’t seem to get anything moving right.

It wasn’t only the flash bang, he’d also taken a shot to the chest, center mass, and thank the good Lord above he was wearing a Kevlar vest, at Mike’s insistence, or his first day with the FBI would have been his last.

Mike was yelling at him. “Can you get up? Are you okay? Come on, Nicholas, talk to me. There’s no one here, I checked, well, except—can you get up?”

With a huge wheeze, air filled his lungs and he was able to move again, his hearing and sight returning. Mike’s hand was gripping his arm, helping him up. “That’ll teach you for going in first,” she said, and punched him.

“Better me than you.” He managed to get up. “Okay, I’m fine now. Knocked the wind out of me, is all.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Stop doing that to me, Nicholas. What happened?”

“A guy started shooting when I opened the door, then he tossed a flash bang at me as he went out the window.”

“Was it Adam Pearce?”

“I don’t know, the flash was too quick. We gotta go after him, now, before he gets away.”

She drew a deep steadying breath. “There’s something else, Nicholas,” and she pointed. He looked into the living room, only fifteen feet away, directly to his right, and saw a dead girl, long brown hair spread about her head, lying on her side, near a pale blue sofa, her eyes blank.

“It’s Allie McGee, has to be,” Mike said as she ran to the side window that gave onto the alley.

She spotted the man climbing down the fire escape, not fast because he had to unlatch and lower each section as he went. Nicholas said, “I’ll go down the fire escape, you take the stairs. There may be more of them.”

As he went through the window, she speed-dialed Ben. “Allie McGee’s been murdered, Nicholas is chasing a guy down the fire escape. Hurry, Ben.”

It had all happened in only a few seconds, she thought blankly, only two snaps of the fingers. It had seemed a lifetime.

She looked back at Allie McGee, felt anger fill her gut and headed for the stairs. They should have brought backup, should have—Ben would be here fast. Besides, Nicholas wouldn’t let the man get away.