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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.
He hurried out and rushed into the next business, a crowded deli where he again took swift inventory. Again, he found no trace of his wife and son. He moved on, searching in vain. He stood on the sidewalk and scoured the storefronts across the street—but it was futile.
Jeff could not find Sarah and Cole.
Then, above all the crowds, the traffic, the noise and confusion, he heard the first high-pitched ring in the back of his mind. It shot to his gut where disbelief battled his fear that maybe something was wrong.
5
New York City
Jeff scanned the crowds, threading his way a few yards in one direction, then a few yards in another.
“Sarah!”
He looked up and down the street.
They disappeared.
He reached for his cell phone and called Sarah’s number. This is nuts. Where’d they go? It rang several times before going to her voice mail.
“Hey, you disappeared on me,” Jeff said. “Where are you? I’m standing by the souvenir cart.”
He studied the nearest storefronts again: a sports store, an electronics store, a ticket seller, a place fronted with plywood that was under renovation. Had they gone into one? Which one would they enter? He wasn’t sure. He’d told them not to move.
Did Sarah even hear her phone ring?
He called her number again. Again, he got her voice mail.
He scrutinized the street. Faces blurred as streams of people dissolved into chaotic rivers amid the smells of perfume, sweat and grilled spicy meat. Human features became indistinguishable as people brushed against him, bumped him.
“Are you looking for your wife and son?”
Jeff turned around to the man in the wheelchair—the man to whom he’d given ten bucks.
“Yes, did you see them?”
“I think they got picked up.”
“Picked up? What do you mean?”
“Well, I saw it from the corner of my eye. I wasn’t focused on it, but it looked like two guys picked them up.”
“What two guys?”
“Two guys sorta helped them into a van or an SUV and they drove off.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“It happened real fast, like everyone was in a hurry.”
“Where?”
“Right there.” He nodded to the spot where Jeff had left them.
Nothing was making sense. Jeff shook his head.
“I doubt that. My wife wouldn’t go with anyone. She doesn’t know anyone in New York.”
“It looked like they were pulling your boy and your wife was trying to stop them and then they took her, too. It was real fast and smooth.”
“What? That’s crazy.”
“I’m telling you what I saw.”
“Hold on.”
Jeff went to the ponytailed man selling souvenirs from the cart where Sarah and Cole had browsed moments ago. The man was wearing a tie-dye T-shirt and dark glasses.
“Who?” the man said after Jeff had explained.
“My wife and son. They were just here looking at your cart a few minutes ago. Did you see them go into a store?”
The ponytailed man scratched his three-day growth, then shrugged.
“Sorry, pal. It’s hectic here with people and traffic. People get picked up and dropped off around here every two seconds. I didn’t see anything.”
Jeff turned back to the wheelchair man.
“I think you saw someone else,” Jeff said. “I think they’re in a store.”
“No, it happened.”
“Did they say anything—where they were going, or who they were?”
“Sir, I don’t know.”
“What about the vehicle? What color was it?”
“Silver, white, I’m not sure…white, yeah, maybe white.”
Jeff ran his hand through his hair, unable to dismiss his unease over what this wheelchair guy claimed to have seen.
It just doesn’t make any sense.
“I think you’re mistaken and that you saw someone else.”
“I know I saw it out of the corner of my eye, but listen to me—it happened. It didn’t look right. I’m just telling you what I saw because you seem like a nice family. If you don’t want to believe me, that’s your choice.”
The man clamped his hands on his wheels and rolled away.
No, Jeff thought. I don’t want to believe you because this can’t be real.
Jeff took a quick breath, reached for his phone and tried Sarah again. But before he pressed her number, he saw something small and shiny in the street, near the curb.
A key ring.
Its clasp was open.
He picked it up. It was looped to a miniature novelty blue-and-white New York license plate with a name on it.
COLE.
Cole’s key ring.
It was in the gutter, where it would’ve fallen if he’d gotten into a vehicle.
Oh, Christ, it’s true! Oh, Jesus, no!
My wife! My son! Abducted from the street!
Why? Who would do this? Why?
Jeff trembled at the absurdity, the horror, as he looked in every direction searching for something, anything, to subdue the wave of alarm rising around him. This was the edge of Times Square—the crossroads of the world.... The concentration of people, the comings and goings, the enormity of it all, was dizzying.
He pulled his fingers into a fist around Cole’s key ring.
6
New York City
New York City police officers Jimmy Hodge and Roy Duggan were walking the beat: extended Times Square.
Earlier that morning, at the top of their tour, they’d helped two other cops corner a perp after he’d tried to boost a Mercedes on Seventh Avenue. Duggan happily let those two do the paperwork because he and Jimmy had good numbers this month—no danger of a white shirt breathing down their necks for stats.
Now they were back on patrol and a coffee break was overdue.
Duggan, a third-generation uniform with twenty-three years on the street, was telling young Jimmy, his rookie partner of four months, about a deli on Forty-seventh when a white guy in his thirties rushed up to them.
