By A Spider's Thread

Chapter Thirty-eight

TESS CHECKED IN WITH MARK AT 9:00 A.M., AND FOUND him at the Wyndham as promised, where his only complaint was restlessness and the lack of a view.

"I don't know what to do with myself when I'm not working," he said. "I need to do something."

"Take a walk," Tess said, then corrected herself. "No, you should stay inside. If you're really bored, I'll phone my aunt's store and ask her to messenger over some books, whatever you want. Meanwhile, I'm trying to decide if I should spend the day doing surveillance at your house or tracking down Lana. Maybe she's surfaced back at the salon."

"Do the surveillance," Mark said. "Keep watching for Lana, at least during the day. Then camp out in my home this evening. After all, anyone who knows me wouldn't expect to find me home during the day."

It was a good plan, and Tess felt a little sheepish about her client's being more clearheaded than she was.

"Maybe I should hang out at your work, then, see if any strangers come around."

"No point to that. Paul will be watching. No, go to the beauty salon, then my house."

"Surveillance is tricky on your block. You have the kind of neighbors that are apt to report a strange fourteen-year-old Toyota parked at the curb. And pedestrians are even more suspect in that part of Baltimore."

"What if I give you the security code, so you can open the garage door and enter the house through the kitchen? We keep a spare key beneath a flowerpot on some shelving that has gardening stuff."

"Jesus, Mark. Natalie knows that. She could have come in-or sent someone in-at any time."

Mark laughed. "She has her own key, Tess. I didn't change the locks. Who knows? Maybe she'll show up tonight, come right through the front door as if nothing ever happened."

His tone had a light, almost elated edge to it, as if this were the outcome he still hoped for.

"Just stay in your room. I know you can't eat the hotel food, but I'll arrange for someone to bring in a kosher meal."

"I've already made those arrangements for myself. I called the Jewish Museum and asked what catering service they use for their monthly board meetings."

"Great. I'll check in again at noon. Be good."

"Feel free to help yourself to anything in the refrigerator. And the various remote controls for the television and the DVD are in the drawer of the coffee table."

"It's surveillance, not babysitting, Mark." But she wondered just how much food Mark would have in the house, after living on his own for a month, and whether she would find any of it appealing. "If I were to order food-say, a pizza, just for example, or Chinese-is it okay if it's not kosher? Or will I somehow violate your house by bringing in treyf?"

"There are paper plates and plastic utensils in the cupboard just to the right of the refrigerator. Use those, take your containers with you, and it should be okay. Although, really, there are some lovely frozen latkes. They thaw in seconds in the microwave."

Hanging out in Mark's house was not unlike the babysitting gigs of Tess's teenage years. Only instead of listening for muffled cries from a child's bedroom, she strained her ears toward any out-of-place sounds on the quiet suburban street. And, just like when she'd been babysitting, she was bored out of her mind in less than thirty minutes.

It had been a long, fruitless day-Lana was still MIA at work and home-and Mark had steadfastly declined to call the police about the possible threat to his life, no matter how Tess coaxed in their phone conversations. "We'll talk about that tomorrow," he insisted over and over.

Uninterested in food, she decided to indulge in another old babysitting habit-unbridled snooping. The house was neat and fairly clean, but there was that indefinable absence, the feel of a missing woman. Everything was just a bit awry, not to mention dusty. After inspecting the bookshelves and the contents of the various medicine cabinets, Tess tried the doors of Natalie's walk-in closet. The clothes, suitable to an Orthodox woman in their style and hues, were clearly expensive. Natalie had dozens of shoes and a shelf of fashionable hats, which she probably needed for synagogue. A built-in safe indicated a cache of fine jewelry. Why hadn't Natalie taken those with her to pawn as necessary? Because she wanted them back, Tess thought. Because whatever's going on is temporary, a contingency. She always meant to get them back. No fur coats, however-could she have sold them to raise money for her escape? Then Tess remembered it was still storage season. Except for excitable types such as the legendary Mrs. Gordon, who had needed her lynx before she headed off to see the fjords.

Only if the famously difficult Mrs. Gordon were on a cruise-how could she have another emergency? A distracted, lost-in-thought Mark had said last night's call was from Paul. Did that mean Mrs. Gordon had located a ship-to-shore telephone at what must be 3:00 a.m. her time and called Paul at home, demanding to have another coat airlifted to the Norwegian Princess! Dubious. Extremely dubious.

Adrenaline on alert, Tess called Mark's cell phone and got voice mail for the first time that day. She consulted a Rolodex next to the phone in Mark's study and found a home number for his salesman, Paul Zuravsky.

"Last night? No, Mark and I spoke this morning, and that was it. He told me he was going to be with you all day again."

Tess was too upset to care about the disapproving note in Paul's voice, as if he blamed the freckled shiksa for Mark's taking time away from the business.

"Paul, do you know where Mark was calling from?"

"He must have been on his cell, I think, because the reception was bad. But he didn't mention where he was."

"Did he say anything else about what he planned to do today? Was there anything out of the ordinary about the conversation?"

"No. But something odd happened early this afternoon. The vice president from Mark's bank called, pretty agitated. He wanted to talk to Mark about his decision to close an account. I didn't think anything of it, because Mark's capable of getting in a snit with people, forever moving and closing accounts to get better rates and deals. He's a big believer in the well-timed fit."

Tess remembered how he had terrorized the wholesaler from Montreal. Still, she couldn't see how a bank had managed to enrage him just now. Mark had claimed to be in his hotel room all day. But he had told her to call on the cell.

"Did he take the money out in cash? How much?"

"No idea. Enough to get a vice president to follow up with a phone call."

"That fucker," Tess said, and Paul coughed as if shocked, although Tess bet that the Mrs. Gordons of the world used a few choice words when their whims weren't indulged. "He set me up. He made sure I would be occupied all day so he could go behind my back and cut some deal with them. The idiot. They'll take the money and kill him."

"What are you talking about? He's been with you all day-" but she hung up on Paul, too agitated to explain, and dialed the Wyndham's main number.

Mark was registered, but the phone in his room rang unanswered, bouncing her to a voice-mail system in five rings. Fortunately, the valet confirmed that the Cadillac had gone out sometime in the last hour. It helped, Tess realized, being able to describe the driver as a tall, well-dressed man in a yarmulke. That detail tended to stick out in people's minds.

She looked at Mark's phone, realizing too late that she couldn't use the redial trick that Mark had tried at Lana's apartment. But he had caller ID, just as she had advised him. The call that had come in at 9:14 last night was a local one, a 410 number that looked familiar to Tess, although it was listed as "Caller Unknown." She flipped open her cell, looking at the log of calls she had made in the past two weeks, and then the numbers she had stored there since taking Mark's case.

Last night's call had been made from Vera Peters's home phone.

The days were getting shorter, each night falling faster than the one before. Dusk was long past when Tess pulled up at Vera's house, but there was only one light on, somewhere on the first floor.

She banged on the door, making more and more noise, until neighbors began to shout. "They'll be calling the police soon, if you don't answer," Tess screamed into the metal frame of the storm door. The inner door opened slowly, but it was Lana on the other side, not Vera.

"No one here wants to talk to you."

"It's really not about what you or Vera wants at this point," Tess said, shoving past Lana and showing off her gun, although she had no idea what she would do with it here. "If you don't cooperate with me, I'm going to call the police and tell them you're a coconspirator in a long laundry list of crimes."

Lana looked confused and frightened, but her voice remained firm. "No one's here."

"But someone's been here." The telltale trail of a child's detritus snaked through the living room-a strange little rock family with googly eyes, a miniature View-Master stamped "Memories of Skyline Drive," a paperback copy of From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler that looked as if it had been read to death. "They were here. Where are they now, Lana?"

Vera Peters came down the stairs with her heavy tread, tying a bathrobe around her as if she had already been in bed, although the hour was early. "Tell her, Lana. I don't want any trouble. This is not my affair, and it shouldn't be yours."

"But-"

"No more buts. Why are you protecting her still? I only let them stay here because they promised to do the right thing by the children. You're not going to get the money they owe you. You're never going to see them again. Didn't you notice? They left the children's things, but they took their own. They're going to leave us here to explain whatever happens. We're better off talking to this nosy one than the police."

"They haven't done anything wrong, except want to be together. There's no crime in that."

"I wouldn't go that far, Lana," Tess said. "They've been pulling welfare-fraud scams and robbing banks throughout the Midwest. And didn't they hire Amos to kill Mark? Wasn't that the plan? To arrange Mark's death by a third party, then let Natalie come home and inherit everything?"

Lana shook her head in adamant disbelief and denial, even as Vera nodded, sad and resigned.

"I believe it. She cares for no one but herself, that one. From the day she was born. She took and took and took, just like her father. I didn't leave him, I left them. I was scared to close my eyes living under the same roof with those two criminals."

"Where are Natalie and the children?" Tess asked. "Did they call Mark last night, arrange a meeting? If they end up killing him and you don't help me, you'll be responsible. I'll tell the police you're an accessory."

Lana still didn't answer. Her misplaced loyalty was almost admirable. Tess had seen her all this time as a cold accomplice, but Lana was simply a smitten friend. When Vera turned her back on her own teenage daughter, Lana had been there to play the part of mother, sister, and ardent admirer. Lana had reflected back to Natalie the person she wanted to be-beautiful, worthy, deserving of whatever the world had to offer. She was the nurse to this Romeo and Juliet. Or, given Natalie's frame of reference, the Anita to their Tony and Maria.

"They've gone to make a deal," Vera said. "They're going to sell the children back to that idiot, make him pay for what is legally his."

"Where's the meeting place?"

Vera shrugged, while Lana stared at the floor.

"Lana, get out now. Whatever you've done to help them, I can't believe you would agree to murder."

"They wouldn't-"

"They would. Amos was going to kill Mark, and he would have killed me, too, just because I was there. Amos is dead because of them."

Tess was hoping Lana had some residual warmth for the man she had married. Whatever had passed between Lana and Amos, however mercenary it might have been in its origins, there must have been something genuine there. The Velvet Frost had said she was distraught earlier in the week. Lana's name was one of only five in Amos Greif's address book. SlavicBeautee.

"The business," Lana said at last. "But then they're coming back here." She looked at Vera, as if daring her to contradict. "They said they would come back for me and give me my share of the money, pay me back everything I've loaned them and more."

"The business? You mean Robbins amp; Sons, over on Smith Avenue?"

"No, the place they keep the furs, out in the country."

"How much of a head start do they have?"

"Enough," Lana said, gloating a bit. "You won't catch up to them."

"Only fifteen minutes or so," Vera said. "But those twins can't go long without a bathroom break, especially with Natalie making them drink all that hot chocolate before they went out. So strange, a hot drink on a night as warm as this. But Zeke said they had to drain their cups."

Chapter Thirty-nine

ISAAC SAT AS FAR FORWARD ON THE SEAT AS HIS SEAT BELT would allow, fighting his own drowsiness. He didn't understand why he felt so sleepy, not after being stuck in that little house all day with nothing to do but watch television and reread his book. But he couldn't stop yawning, despite his excitement and anticipation. The twins had already nodded off, one slumped on either side of him. The woman they said was his grandmother had chased them around all day, although not in the happy way he thought a grandmother would have. Her only concern had been to keep the twins from touching anything in her house, not that there was anything interesting to touch.

And Lana was there, too, standing by the door while his mother and Zeke shared secrets somewhere else in the house. Isaac guessed that was because they were in Baltimore now and they knew if he got even a chance, he would start running, running, and running until he found a pay phone or a policeman or even a street he knew. He would run all the way to his father's house or store if he had to. But now they said they were taking him to his father, so he didn't have to run. Still, he studied the landscape, determined to figure out where they were.

So far he hadn't even seen anything familiar. He tried to memorize the landmarks that went past. There were the usual stores and restaurants, and now they were on a highway, but it wasn't the baseball highway to Camden Yards or the big highway they took north to New York and south to Washington. Instead they seemed to be heading away from the city. In the middle of this highway, an empty subway car went rattling past, all lit up, but with no one on its blue seats, so it was like a subway car for ghosts. Isaac hoped Zeke wasn't lying. Zeke had promised them their father, but Zeke was mean enough to make a promise and break it. He was, he definitely was.

Natalie hadn't wanted to do the cocoa thing tonight, but Zeke had insisted. He said the children would get overstimulated at the reunion, that they would be hard to control once they saw their father again. "This is trickier than it looks," Zeke told Natalie. "We need time, as much as we can get. So you've got to let me take them in, give them to Mark, and go. No drawn-out good-byes. Everybody wins, right?"

"Not me," she had told him. They had been in her old bedroom, which her mother had stripped of every memory after Natalie left with her father, as if Natalie never existed. Vicious old bitch, refusing to fight for her own daughter. Natalie was a better mother by far. "I won't have my children. It doesn't matter how much money Mark gives us if I can't have them."

"If you hadn't killed a police officer, we might have more options," Zeke had said. He had been saying that a lot the past two days, holding it over her head, enjoying it almost too much. Whatever he wanted, it seemed, could be justified by her one mistake. A big mistake, sure, but she hadn't done it for herself, she had done it for him. He was the bank robber, he was the one who would have gone back to prison if they were caught. That had been her only thought at the time, to save Zeke. "You and I need to go somewhere far away and start new lives. We can't do that with the kids. Mark will never let us be. The two of us together have a chance. The five of us-never."

"I don't know…" This was late afternoon, and they had been lying on her bed, the narrow single bed where she had dreamed about the glamorous life she so clearly deserved. Her mother could redecorate all she wanted, but she couldn't erase Natalie from this room. She was in the floorboards, the wallpaper, the dust floating in the air. In this bed, at the age of thirteen or fourteen, Natalie had dreamed about a man like Zeke, and now Zeke was wrapped around her, the fingers of his left hand entwined in her hair, his right index finger tracing the line of her jaw, her eyebrows, the not-yet-visible lines that would bracket her mouth one day, when she was old and sour. No, unthinkable. She would never look like that woman downstairs.

"Trust me. I know what's right for them. And you." He began kissing her deeply, more passionately than he had all these weeks on the road. She assumed it would be the same routine, that he would unzip himself and press her head down to him, then use his hand so she would feel some release, too, their usual teenage courtship. But he began undressing her instead, taking his time, revealing each part of her as if it were a treasure. Strange, but now she was the one who balked, nervous and unready.

"The children…"

"Vera and Lana are watching them."

"The door…"

"I locked it when we came in here."

"It's not the Ritz." But she was teasing him now, her excitement making her giggly, almost silly.

"Sure it is. Just close your eyes."

But she didn't. She left them open the entire time, so she would remember everything. She was there, she was with him, but she was also hovering above them both, observing. For more than a decade, a third of her life, this man had been the only person who shared her vision of herself, who saw her as something precious and special. She was worried that waiting so long would make it anticlimactic, but it was even better than she had dreamed. She was his now.

She was his now. Pure instinct-and not a little will-had kept Zeke from doing this all these weeks. Abstinence had been a practical decision at first. When she led him back to the motel in Terre Haute, he had assumed he would make love to her and then send her home, instructing her to stay with Mark until he could get settled and send for her. But the three kids sitting on the double bed had pretty much killed that plan-and those desires. Later, when Natalie started crawling over him in the car night after night, he had realized he would enjoy more power over her if he didn't give in right away. He would know when the time was right.

Today had sealed the deal. As drunk on sex as the kids were on their vodka-spiked cocoa, Natalie would wait in the car as instructed, assuming the exchange was going off as planned. The serotonin fumes and pheromones would carry her along, fogging her brain, keeping her from questioning too much. It would be a few days before the call would come, probably from Lana. Such a tragedy-Mark and the children, dead, a vicious act of revenge by a twisted, desperate man. Natalie would return to Baltimore to bury her family. Zeke would show up after a suitable interval, a repentant stepbrother, offering nothing more than his services at the store. The estate might take up to a year to execute, but they didn't have to live in Baltimore during that time. They could go somewhere warm if they sensed the police closing in. Somewhere without extradition, if possible.

He pulled into the parking lot outside the storage facility.

Good, there was only one car, a Cadillac, parked there. It would have been more fitting if Zeke could have done this at his father's old store, but of course that was long gone. He wondered what had happened to its vault, one of the few things left intact after the fire-and the place his father had chosen to die.

"Wait here just one minute," he said, even as Isaac started to shout, "Daddy's car. That's Daddy's car."

It better be, Zeke thought. But Isaac had given him an idea. "Does it have a code for the locks, Isaac?"

The boy looked at him, suspicious as ever.

"He wants me to have the code, Isaac. I talked to him early today, and he said he was going to leave something in his car for me. If you tell me the code, I'll take you to your father."

"Five-six-one-four," the boy muttered, grudging to the end. Zeke punched the numbers and let himself in, opening the glove compartment. Good old predictable Mark: He had brought the gun with him, but he hadn't taken it inside. The old man had carried a gun whenever he went to the storage facility, and now Mark did it, too. Zeke slipped the SIG Sauer into his waistband and went back for the children. The twins were like little zombies, almost sleepwalking. Isaac moved even more slowly, dragging his feet. But as they reached the door, his eyes focused on the gun at Zeke's waistband.

"You're a liar," he said. "Daddy's not in there. You probably stole his car just to fool us, and parked it here. I'm not going in there with you."

"No, Zeke, he's in there, waiting for you. Honest."

"Then why did you steal his gun? Why do you steal everything?"

And with that the little pisher turned and ran, heading down the dark road between the cornfields. It was deserted out here, but who knew what lay over the next hill? Isaac could come back with a farmer carrying a shotgun, or some well-meaning soccer mom.

"Natalie, go get him and bring him back."

"But-"

"Just go. Use the car. He's headed away from the highway. He's got no shot of getting far, not out here. We promised Mark three kids for forty thousand dollars. If we don't bring all three, he won't give us anything."

Isaac ran until he felt that his legs and lungs might explode from the effort. Why did his legs feel so heavy? When he saw the headlights burning their beams into the road ahead of him, spotlighting his shadow as if he were a newly restored Peter Pan, he veered into the cornfields. The corn was long gone, but the stalks were still there, dry and crackly, and they whistled as he tried to move between them, announcing his every step. The car stopped and he stopped, but now his breathing was so loud. Could they hear his breathing?

"Isaac." It was his mother's sweetest voice. "Your father really is here. He's waiting for you."

He didn't say anything. It could be a trick.

"I wouldn't lie to you. He's here. This is his storage place, you know that. He's inside, waiting to see you."

Isaac's breath was so noisy in his chest. He had to make it go away, or at least be quieter. He inhaled, tried to hold it as long as possible.

"Isaac, you're going home to live now. You're going back to our house, back to school. Everything will be as you like it."

She was in the corn now. He could hear it crackling around her. He didn't want to say anything, because then she would know where he was. But he had to ask.

"And you, Mama?"

She must have stopped moving, for he no longer heard the rustle of the cornstalks. "What do you mean, Isaac?"

"Are you going home, too?"

She didn't answer.

"You have to tell the truth. You just said you would never lie to me. You said that just the other day."

"Yes, Isaac." She was moving again, getting closer.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I told you that. I won't lie to you."

"So tell me."

"Isaac-your father is waiting. Really, truly."

"No, tell me, Mama. What are you going to do? Where are you going to go?"

"I don't know, Isaac. I don't know what I'm going to do. But I know you want to go home."

With that she emerged from the corn, just a few feet from him. He could have turned and run in the other direction, but where would he go, what would he do? This was his choice. He could live in the house he had always known, with his father, or he could live with his mother and Zeke. But maybe his mother would change her mind, if he waited long enough, if he talked to her. Maybe she would love his father again, once she saw him. Or, as time went on, maybe she would miss them so much she would give up Zeke and come back to them.

His mother held out her arms to him, and he went to her, pressing his face into her stomach, smelling all her smells, letting her rub his head.

"You're a good boy, Isaac. I love you so much. Never forget that, okay? Your mother loves you."

"I love you, too, Mama."

She took his hand in hers. "Now let's go see Daddy."

Chapter Forty

TESS COULDN'T DECIDE IF SHE SHOULD BE RELIEVED OR in despair when she saw that Mark's Cadillac was the only car at the storage facility. What if I'm too late? What if he's dead inside? She drew her gun and entered a small anteroom, a makeshift office created by cheap plywood siding, a door in the center. Cautiously, she tried the knob, waiting to see if anyone would respond to that motion.

"Nat?" a voice asked. A man's voice, not unlike Mark's, but definitely not Mark's. Tess backed up and kicked the door, on the off chance that the man had positioned himself behind it, then crossed the threshold with her gun firmly in both hands.

"Put your hands above your head," she told the man, who stood no more than ten feet from her, pacing a narrow corridor with two heavy, vaultlike doors on either side.

The man complied, clasping his hands to the crown of his head, sizing her up as she sized him up. The descriptions of him in the random sightings had always been so vague that Tess had never been able to get a clear picture in her mind.

Why hadn't people mentioned how handsome he was? Of course, not everyone might have found him so, but even those who didn't care for this type-tall, lean, with dark skin and light eyes-should have noticed he was a striking man.

But the oddest fact of his appearance, by far, was how strongly he favored Mark. If Tess hadn't known otherwise, she would have taken them for blood relations. The coloring, the features, were all very similar. This one was taller, true, with the kind of body that a disciplined man can sculpt over a long prison sentence. His eyes were a cold, hard blue, whereas Mark's were brown and soft. But there was a resemblance.

"Nathaniel Rubenstein," she said, her gun aimed at his midsection. He kept his hands on his head, making no attempt to reach for the gun tucked into his waistband. She recognized the distinctive grip of Mark's SIG Sauer.

"I prefer to be called Zeke," he said.

"Where's Mark? Is he alive?"

"Well, he's either behind Door Number One or"-he jerked his head toward the other door-"Door Number Two. Are you ready to play Let's Make a Deal?"

"And the children? Are they here, too?"

"You the chick he hired? Lana told me about you." He smiled, sure of his charm even now. Oh, this one had been talking his way out of trouble for most of his life.

"Let him out."

"No can do."

"Excuse me?" She wondered if she could get away with shooting him while his arms were raised.

"I need to keep him there, just for a few hours. Him and the kids. This is a business deal, plain and simple. It doesn't involve you-or wasn't supposed to. I made him promise to leave anyone else out of it, including his private detective, and he was happy to oblige."

"Are they alive?"

"Absolutely. But since you showed up, I need to put you in there, too, for safekeeping. Really, it's just business. Don't take it personally."

"No," Tess said, backing away from him, making sure she was not within reach.

"Well, I guess it's a standoff, then." He flashed her a smile, then started to lower his hands.

"Don't," she said in her sternest voice.

He shrugged, backing up. Tess heard steps in the anteroom and pressed her back against the wall, so she had the best vantage point possible. Natalie appeared, hugging Isaac to one side and cradling a shoe box in the right hand. It was disorienting, seeing the human versions of the people Tess had been seeking, almost like meeting celebrities in the flesh.

"Good girl," Zeke crooned. "You found Isaac. Look, Isaac-I told you that your dad would be here."

He opened the door to his right, revealing Mark Rubin on the floor of a vault crowded with coats, the twins curled up in his lap, clutching him like little orangutans.

"Daddy!" Isaac threw himself at his father. Under different circumstances it would have been a touching reunion.

"Now I really need you to go in there, too," Zeke said to Tess.

"No."

"Do what he says." Natalie had dropped the shoe box to the floor and was now holding a gun on Tess. She didn't look particularly comfortable with it, but she seemed awfully determined.

"Good girl," Zeke said again. "Good, careful Natalie. You always have my back."

"I got nervous when I saw the strange car," she said, tossing her head like a teenager accepting a compliment. "I wasn't sure what was going on, so I thought I should get my gun."

"I'm afraid you're outnumbered," Zeke said to Tess with that same insistent, phony charm. "But it's really not so bad. You'll just be in there an hour or two, and then Lana will come to let you out. That's all. We just need a head start. Oh, and your cell phone. You do have one, right?"

When Tess hesitated, Zeke pointed his gun at Mark and the children. Tess threw him the phone with her left hand, keeping her gun steady in her right.

"I'd be more convinced of your good intentions if I didn't know you're a criminal who's already tried to kill your stepbrother at least once."

"That hurts my feelings, I admit. But at this point I can't really worry about what you think. Mark and the children are safe, as you can see. But if I have to kill you, then I'll have to kill them to keep from having witnesses. So please-" Again he gestured toward the vault.

"Let us go," Tess said. "Give us the head start. Mark is more trustworthy than you. He'll give you his word that we'll walk away and wait a day before we tell the cops what happened here."

"Mark lies, too. All Rubins lie. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Zeke looked at Natalie. "Right, honey? Like father, like son? Like father, like daughter, too, come to think of it."

Natalie's expression was pained. Did she not want to leave her children? Her husband? But she wouldn't even meet Mark's beseeching gaze.

"We're wasting time," Zeke said. "Please get into the motherfuckin' vault, or I'll kill you, then kill Mark, and take the children with us. How's that for incentive?"

Tess looked at Mark, desperate for guidance, but he was just staring at Natalie, as if she were an apparition, the embodiment of a dream he never really expected to come true. Isaac shook his father's shoulder, and Mark put an arm around his son, but he didn't seem to be focused on the events crashing around him.

"It's death either way, isn't it?" Tess demanded, wanting to force Zeke to state his intentions, in hopes it would jar Mark into action. There were two of them. If Mark rushed Zeke and she went after Natalie, they might have a chance, if only because no mother could be monstrous enough to risk shooting her own children. "You'll shoot us or leave us here to suffocate. Frankly, I'd rather be shot."

"No one's going to suffocate. These vaults are huge. It would take a day for the five of you to use up the oxygen in one, and I plan to send someone here within the hour. You're just being melodramatic."

"Then why," Isaac asked, "did you turn off the fan?"

All the adults turned to the little boy. His face was crumpled and creased, and there was a streak of dirt on one cheek, flaky bits of dry leaves in his dark hair.

"What are you talking about, partner?" Zeke was trying to sound jovial again but not quite pulling it off. "You'd freeze if I left the air on."

"We keep the vault at forty-five degrees," Isaac said, and the plural pronoun just about broke Tess's heart. "That's cold, but not so cold as to make people freeze. But there's a system that makes the air move in and out as well. It's off-I can't hear it humming. You don't want the air to circulate. You want us to die."

"Zeke?" It was Natalie's voice, perplexed yet hopeful, sure he could explain it.

"The little know-it-all is wrong, Nat. It's a cool night. I'm only thinking of them. It doesn't matter if the air is off for a few hours."

"But we're just going to be in here for an hour," Isaac persisted. "You said. And if we got cold, we could wrap ourselves in the coats. So why are you turning off the air?"

"Isaac's right, Natalie." Mark had finally spoken. "There's only one reason to turn the air off."

Her loyalties were still with the other man. "Zeke?"

"We're up against a wall, Natalie. Because of Ohio." He hummed the refrain of Neil Young's "Ohio," mystifying Tess. "We don't have a lot of options. But you have my word. I'll send Lana to get them as soon as we're over the state line."

"I don't know what Ohio has to do with this." Natalie's tone was bitter and petulant, the voice of a person who had been reminded once too often of some failing. "I need you to promise me right now that they'll be okay."

"Have I ever lied to you?"

Of course he has, Tess wanted to scream. He's a liar and a thief, and he's about to become a killer. But Natalie, after a few seconds of intense thought, just shrugged and motioned Tess into the vault. She didn't take Tess's gun, though. Perhaps it was an act of kindness. The five hostages might prefer to shoot themselves rather than claw for air in the final minutes of their lives.

"Mommy?" Isaac asked, and it was a dozen questions at once. The twins rubbed their eyes, mewling like kittens, but too floppy and boneless to stand.

"I love you all," Natalie said. "Never forget that. I love you more than life itself."

With that she closed the door on them.

Tess waited no more than thirty seconds, then pulled out her second cell phone, the one she carried for outgoing calls only. No signal-the vault was too well built. Foolishly, she had counted on the second phone to save them. If she had known it wouldn't work, she would have thrown herself at Natalie, taken the chance that she could overpower her before Zeke got a shot off. Too bad that Mark Rubin didn't have a little more gonif in him, hadn't tried to get by with a shoddier storage facility. A place as leaky and air-riddled as his father's might have saved their lives.

"Is there any way out?" she asked Mark.

He shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. It's pretty impenetrable. I used to be proud of that."

"Is there any reason someone-Paul, anyone-might come here before…?" She didn't want to be too explicit about their fate, not in front of the children, although Isaac clearly knew what was going on.

Another sad, mournful shake. "No. I made sure no one would know I was here. I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

She also was sorry that Vera and Lana hadn't stonewalled her longer. If she had been just a few minutes later, Natalie and Zeke would be gone, and she could have been the Rubin family's great rescuer.

"He told me he would give me the children in exchange for whatever cash I could raise. I couldn't imagine… I never thought… I mean, how could Natalie agree to such a thing?"

"I don't think Natalie knew, until a minute ago, what he had planned. She probably still believes he'll call Lana."

"She never loved me," Mark said. "Everything-all of this-was just a ruse, a game. From the first. Nat played Pygmalion and created my perfect woman, knowing all along he was going to take her back. He enjoyed telling me that tonight. He said I took his bride, not the other way around, which marks me as the true sinner in our family."

"I'm sure Natalie came to love you, in her own way," Tess said. She might as well say what Mark wanted to hear, given their circumstances. "As much as she can love anyone."

She was glad that she had never told Mark Rubin about his wife's past. It didn't matter if Natalie had sold sexual favors to one man, one hundred, or even one thousand. She had chosen Mark's stepbrother over Mark, chosen a man over her children. That was enough pain for a husband to shoulder in the final hours of his life.

"She loves her children," Mark said. "She couldn't fake that."

Tess shrugged. Perhaps Mark was right, but Natalie had left her children to die.

She paced the small area, determined to find a way out. She had no intention of dying, not today. Perhaps it was ridiculous to think she had a say in it, but that was how she felt. A tantrum did not seem out of the question. Let Mark pray, as he seemed to be doing now. Tess wanted to throw herself on the hard floor and beat her fists, drum her feet. Wouldn't someone miss her before their time was up? Could the room really be that airtight? The dogs would know she was gone, perhaps start a mournful cry that would irritate the neighbors, nothing more. Otherwise, there was no one in the world who kept track of her, who checked in with her every day. Even the SnoopSisters wouldn't notice a silence of a day or two.

The door to the vault was suddenly wrenched open. Natalie hugged the jamb as if she were too weak to stand. Her face was as green as her eyes. She still held her gun.

"I don't want the children to see," she said. "But Zeke… I'm afraid… I think you need to call someone."

Tess, taking no chances, pried the gun from Natalie's fingers before she ran down the hall and out into the air, the wonderful, cool, breathable air of which she had been deprived for no more than five minutes.

She was no coroner, and she didn't want to touch the body she found slumped over the steering wheel, but she was pretty certain that Nathaniel Ezekiel Rubenstein had never seen it coming. He had turned away from Natalie on the dangerous presumption that he had enjoyed the last word.

Death was not instantaneous, but it was close enough. Zeke had felt the shock of the bullet's trajectory, cutting upward through his torso. Natalie, firing a gun for only the second time in her life, hadn't been able to control the kick. He swore he could trace the bullet's exact path, knew which organs it sliced through on the way to his heart, which it missed by a millimeter or two. But it had done its job well enough, ripping through enough arteries and veins to guarantee his demise.

As he hung over the steering wheel, Zeke's last thoughts were for Natalie. They did not follow the five classic stages, but they were close. Surprise-he never saw it coming, literally and figuratively. Anger-stupid Russian bitch. Amazement-who knew she had it in her? Grudging respect. She'll tell them I killed the cop, back in Ohio . She'll blame everything on me and get away with it, because of that angel face of hers.

In the end Zeke had just enough time to lose faith in everything he had ever believed-in his own power and brilliance, in the steadfastness of Natalie's love, in the destiny of the birthright he had been denied. He didn't have time, however, to replace those beliefs with anything else.