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Mr. Dimon hangs up the phone and motions me to the back. The seats face each other with sturdy tables between them. He often uses the plane as his office when we travel. He’s a hands-on GM, and I’ve never appreciated him more.
He launches into the middle of the conversation, taking me off guard. “Emergency services responded to a call at your house. Mrs. Russo reported Lark Angel missing and has been taken to the hospital for observation, due to high blood pressure. It’s the safest place for her, and we have a guard at her door.”
“This doesn’t seem real. I must be hallucinating or trapped in one of my mom’s crime drama shows,” I blurt out, and hide my face in my arms on the table. “Sorry,” I mumble.
“Understandable. I’ve been talking to my friends at the police department, and they don’t believe this is a professional job or the work of a gang. It’s probably one guy after something specific or with a vendetta. Why did Skylar change his name? Was he running from someone?” he asks gently.
“Only me.” Logically, blaming myself won’t help, but it’s the easiest thing to focus on. Mr. Dimon steeples his fingers, waiting for me to continue. I spill the ugly truth between us, letting the words flow until Mr. Dimon knows my sins.
“So he wasn’t actually running but following his dream and cutting contact with his family,” I finish with a sigh.
“Is it possible his family found out about his success and got angry?”
The question sends a jolt through me. “Maybe? They didn’t have much, and they might resent that he’s making more money than they could dream of and feel entitled to it,” I admit. “But why now?”
Mr. Dimon gives me a pointed look. “He’s been in the gossip columns and on media sites lately. It’s one of many possibilities. I’ll ask law enforcement to check out his family. And have you seen Paul or have any information about his past?”
“No. Sky’s friend Lo has a computer guy friend who couldn’t find any information to connect him with Maria Russo.”
“A friend of a friend with dubious qualifications. We can do better than that. We’re unfortunately landing after dark. Officers will meet us at your house.”
“You’re coming with me?” I ask incredulously.
“You shouldn’t be alone, and I’m not letting you run around New York City in a panic.”
The house is eerily quiet, as if warning us things aren’t right. First, we go up to Maria’s place, but I’m uncertain if things are out of place. She told the first responders, who took her to St. Mary’s hospital, that Paul let her go up to her apartment by herself and didn’t follow her, but she was badly shaken.
Dread threatens to numb my limbs as we descend the stairs, but I focus on tightening my muscles to maintain forward movement. Sky isn’t there, the police checked, but I can’t shake the unease. We start in the practice studio where he teaches lessons. The room has a wall of mirrors broken up by a practice bar but is otherwise empty.
My feet take me to the kitchen, and everyone follows. “Someone went through the mail,” I comment and survey the envelopes strewn over the counter. Sky wouldn’t leave it a mess. He keeps everything in order.
Crossing the room, I fling open the pantry and stare at our little love seat. Nothing has been disturbed. When I turn around, my eye catches on the back door because it’s ajar. Sky told me he hasn’t used it since he moved in.
“This shouldn’t be open.” I reach for it but am stopped by an officer.
“We’ll print it.” She opens it with her gloved hands.
There’s a small porch with another door that has been kicked out of its frame.
She motions for another officer, who takes pictures. “A clear boot print. They were probably here when the first responders arrived. They can’t have gone far.” She glances at me. “Does your friend have a car or use public transportation?”
“My boyfriend,” I correct her. “Maria has a car, but it’s still here.” I point into the dark at the outline of the old car.
“Does he have an OMNY account?” she presses and clarifies. “A metro account for the subway?”
“Yeah, he pays with his phone.” I’m fixated on the broken door, open wide enough for two smaller men. I’d never fit through the opening.
“I’ll go with you through the rest of the apartment. Are you on the same phone plan?” she asks. When I say no, she asks for his phone carrier. “His carrier is helpful to law enforcement,” she assures me.
Each step closer to the bedroom kicks my heart rate up another notch. Knowing someone came in here and took Sky is the worst invasion of privacy. We need to get a full security system with cameras and alarms.
We start in the living room, and since everything is new, it’s easy to see nothing is out of place. Our bedroom is a mess, but that’s my fault. My clothes are everywhere. “Packing mishap,” I explain.
She nods. “Anything missing?”
Sky owns some expensive jewelry and watches, but they’re neatly tucked away in the appropriate boxes. I own nothing of value. “He has a system in the next room, but I can’t name more than ten items.”
We cross the hall to the spare bedroom, aka Sky’s closet. She inspects the room but doesn’t push me for more information.
