“I doubt it.”

They sit for a moment, exhausted by all that’s happened, steeling themselves for what’s ahead. Finally Marco says, “We’d better get going.”

Anne nods. She puts a hand on his arm as they’re leaving. “Promise me you won’t lose your cool with my father,” she says.

What can Marco do but say yes? “I promise.” He adds miserably, “I owe you that.”

? ? ?

They take a cab to Anne’s parents’ home, passing by increasingly stately houses until they arrive in the wealthiest suburb of the city. It’s late, but they have not called first. They want the element of surprise on their side. Anne and Marco sit in the back of the taxi, saying nothing. Marco can feel Anne trembling against him; her breathing sounds fast and shallow. He takes her hand in his, to calm her. He is sweating with nerves in the hot, sticky cab; the air-conditioning doesn’t seem to be working. Marco puts the window down a bit so that he can breathe.

The cab drives them up the circular gravel drive and stops at the front door. Marco pays the driver and tells him not to wait. Anne presses the bell. There are still lights on in the house. After a moment Anne’s mother opens the door.

“Anne!” she says, clearly surprised. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Anne pushes past her mother, and Marco follows her into the front hall.

And at once all their plans fly out the window.

“Where is she?” Anne demands. She looks wildly at her mother. Her mother seems stunned and doesn’t answer. Anne starts walking rapidly through the large house, leaving Marco standing in the front hall, horrified by her behavior. Anne has lost it—he wonders how to play this now.

Anne’s mother follows after her on her frantic search through the house. Marco can hear Anne calling, “Cora! Cora!”

He senses movement above and looks up. Richard is coming down the grand staircase. Their eyes meet, steel on steel. They can both hear Anne’s cries: “Where is she? Where is my baby?” Her voice is becoming more and more frantic.

Suddenly Marco questions everything: Was Anne right about recognizing Derek Honig? Was Derek an associate of her father’s, or has her brain supplied a detail that is simply a delusion? He found her at home in the dark, holding a knife. How reliable is anything she says? Everything he believes hinges on Richard’s knowing Derek Honig. Now it’s up to Marco to find out the truth.

“Let’s go sit down, shall we?” Richard says, and passes him on his way to the living room.

Marco follows. His mouth is dry. He is afraid. He may not be dealing with a normal person here. Richard is quite possibly a sociopath; Marco knows he’s out of his depth. He doesn’t know how to handle this situation, and everything depends on how he handles it.

Marco hears Anne’s footsteps; she is running now, up the elaborate staircase to the second floor. He and Richard stare at each other, listening to Anne call Cora’s name as she flings back bedroom doors, running along the upstairs hall, searching.

“She won’t find her,” Richard says.

“Where is she, you son of a bitch?” Marco says. He has gone off script, too. None of this is going according to plan.

“Well, she’s not here,” his father-in-law says coldly. “Why don’t we just wait for Anne to settle down, and we can all have a meeting.”

It takes everything Marco has not to get up and go for his father-in-law’s fat throat. He forces himself to sit down and to wait for what’s coming.

Finally Anne bursts into the living room, her overwrought mother right behind her. “Where is she?” Anne cries at her father. Her face is mottled and streaked with tears. She is hysterical.

“Sit down, Anne,” her father says firmly.

Marco gestures for her to join him, and Anne goes and sits beside him on the large, overstuffed sofa.

“You know why we’re here,” Marco begins.

“Anne seems to think that Cora is here. Why would she think that?” Richard asks, feigning bewilderment. “Marco—did you tell her the kidnappers were in touch with me? I specifically asked you not to.”

Marco tries to speak, but he doesn’t know how to begin.

Richard cuts him off anyway. He is standing by the enormous fireplace. He turns to Anne. “I’m so sorry, Anne, but the kidnappers have let us all down—again. I’d hoped to have Cora back tonight, but they didn’t show up. I brought the additional money, as arranged, but they just didn’t show.” He turns to Marco. “Of course, I didn’t let them have the money anyway, the way you did, Marco.”

Marco’s anger flares—Richard can’t resist the temptation to make Marco look like an incompetent fool.

“I told you not to tell her, to avoid this kind of distress,” Richard says. He turns to Anne again, his eyes sympathetic. “I’ve done everything I can to get her back for you, Anne. I’m so sorry. But I promise you, I won’t give up.”

Anne sags beside him. Marco watches Richard, the coldness he exhibited to Marco switched to warmth once he’s talking to his daughter. Marco sees the flicker of uncertainty in Anne’s eyes—she wants to believe her father would never hurt her.

Richard says, “I’m sorry your mother and I didn’t tell you earlier, Anne, but we were afraid this might happen. We didn’t want to get your hopes up again. The kidnappers got in touch with us and demanded more money. We’d pay anything to get Cora back, you know that. I went out to meet with them. But no one came.” He shakes his head in evident frustration and sorrow.

“It’s true,” Alice says, sitting down at the other end of the sofa beside her daughter. “We’re just devastated.” She begins to cry, holds her arms out, and Anne sinks into her mother’s embrace and begins to sob uncontrollably, her shoulders heaving.

Marco thinks, This can’t be happening.

“The only thing left to do, I’m afraid,” Richard says, “is to go to the police. With everything.” He turns and looks at Marco, giving him a cold stare.

Marco stares back. “Tell them, Anne, what you know,” he says.

But she looks at him from her mother’s embrace as if she’s already forgotten.

Desperately, Marco says, “The man who was murdered, Derek Honig. The police know that he took Cora from our place, that he took her to his cabin in the Catskills. But I’m sure you know this already.”

Richard shrugs. “The police don’t tell me anything.”

“Anne recognized him,” Marco says flatly.

Has Richard just gone a little paler? Marco can’t be sure.

“So? Who was he?”

“She recognized him as a friend of yours. How is it, Richard, that a friend of yours had our baby?”

“He wasn’t a friend of mine. I’ve never heard of him,” Richard says smoothly. “Anne must be mistaken.”

“I don’t think so,” Marco says.

Anne says nothing. Marco looks at her, but her eyes are turned away. Is she betraying him? Is she going to side with her father and hang him out to dry? Because she believes her father over him? Or because she is willing to sacrifice him to get her baby back? He feels the ground shifting under his feet.

“Anne,” Richard says, “do you think this murdered man, the man who supposedly had Cora, was a friend of mine?”

She regards her father, sits up straighter, and says, “No.”