Wilde had no answer to that, so he opened the car window and nodded to Rola. She nodded back and made the call.
Five minutes later, the police came and took Vicky away.
Chapter
Forty-Two
One month later, after Chris had vanished from his life, after Marnie’s body was discovered in that storage facility, Wilde got a call from Deputy US Marshal George Kissell.
“They want to talk to you.”
Wilde’s grip on the phone tightened. “When?”
“Has to be now. Tell anyone about this, and they’re gone. Take more than an hour to get there, and they’re gone. I’m pin-dropping you the location right now.”
Wilde felt his heart pick up apace. He checked his screen. The map showed a location just west of East Shore Road near Greenwood Lake in New York. Wilde could hike it, but it would probably take three or four hours.
Why there?
“You okay?” Laila asked.
They sat in the television room. It was Sunday, and they were watching pro football. Laila was a massive New York Giants fan and never missed a game. He almost said, “I think my father wants to see me,” but a fly-through of good sense stopped him.
“Do you mind if I borrow the car?”
“You know you don’t have to ask.”
Wilde rose. “Thanks.”
Laila studied his face. “You’ll tell me about it later?”
He bent down and kissed her. He gave her the honest answer. “If I can.”
He started up the car and headed west. Weeks ago, after it all ended, Silas had come to see him. “You and I,” he said, “we’re still family. Distantly, I know. But we kinda don’t have anyone else.” They met two weeks later. Silas volunteered to go through the family albums, back several generations, but Wilde didn’t want that right now. Maybe he would again, but for now, he wanted to focus on the future, not the past. He asked Silas to leave it alone, and Silas respected his wishes.
That didn’t mean Wilde had forgotten.
The drive took half an hour. He parked on the corner of East Shore Drive and Bluff Avenue. There were several black cars parked nearby. When Wilde got out of the car, Deputy Marshal George Kissell did likewise.
“You mind if I search you?”
Wilde raised his hands. The pat-down was thorough. Kissell nodded toward a house on the corner. It was a classic New Englandesque two-story saltbox with a center chimney and front door, overly symmetrical windows, flat front. Some of the colonial charm had been stripped away by an aluminum siding “upgrade” of too silvery a gray.
Wilde hesitated. He felt suddenly strange.
“The door is unlocked,” Kissell said. “We have eyes on you. They’ll take you out if you make a move.”
Wilde just looked at him.
“I know, I know, but none of this is protocol. Everyone’s on edge.”
“Thank you,” Wilde said.
He took his time walking up the front path. He didn’t know why. He had waited for this moment his entire life. When he reached the door, Wilde stopped for a moment and considered turning around and just leaving. He didn’t need the answers. Not anymore. He had never felt better about himself and his life. He was building something with Laila. He had stopped a serial killer. Life, he knew, was about balance, and right now he was standing on firm ground.
He turned the knob and entered.
He had expected to see Daniel Carter. Instead, standing in the front hallway next to the stairwell, looking at him with her head held high and her gaze steady, was Sofia Carter, Daniel’s wife.
For a moment they both just stood there. Wilde noticed a quake in her lower lip.
“Is…” Wilde wasn’t sure what to even call him. “Is your husband okay?”
“He’s fine.”
Relief flowed through him. Wilde hadn’t expected that.
“Very little of what my Danny told you was true though,” she said.
Wilde said nothing.
“He is your biological father. That’s the most important thing for you to know. And he’s a good man. The best I’ve ever known. He is kind and strong, a wonderful father and husband, and I hope for your sake that you take after him.”
“Where is he?”
Sofia didn’t reply. “You figured out that we were in witness protection.”
“Are you guys safe?”
“We’ve changed identities.”
“What about your daughters?”
“We finally had to tell them the truth. The partial truth anyway.”
“They didn’t know?”