“Yes.”
“Following—who?”
“Mostly me. But you, too. He went to your work. He took a photo of you. I found it, and on the back of it, he wrote your home address.”
“My God, that’s what Danny said. Remember? The guys who beat him up had my address. You think that’s connected?”
“I do. I’m worried for your safety.”
“Oh, no, honey. Worry about yourself, your brother. Not me.”
“We can relax about Danny. I’m a hundred percent sure he’s in protective custody, where nobody can hurt him.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The judge told me. The danger now is to you and me, from Wallace. He knows I’m snooping. He wants to stop me. And he might take it out on you. I think you should leave town. Go to Aunt Nilda’s for a few days.”
Even as she said it, Madison knew her mother would never agree.
“Leave? When your brother’s still missing? When this cabrón is following you? No way. I’m staying here to help.”
“How does it help me if something happens to you?”
She looked up to see that the bus was pulling into South Station. From there, she could catch a bus to Revere, to Mom’s apartment. She would drag her out kicking and screaming if she had to, rather than risk Wallace coming for her.
“Oh. I’m at South Station. I’m coming to you now, you hear me?” Madison said.
“Coming to the apartment?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there in an hour at the latest. Mom, you don’t open your door for anyone but me. Understand?”
“Okay. Be safe.”
She dropped the call and ran toward the Chelsea bus, only to see it pulling away. To add insult to injury, it had started to rain, a frigid downpour that hit the icy ground, making walking treacherous. Tucking the envelope under her sweater to protect it, she scanned the street. Passengers, Uber drivers, people walking by. At least she wasn’t alone. A dark, late-model sedan pulled up at an odd angle, wedging nose-first into a parking spot that was too small for it. She backed up, eyes glued to it as the passenger door flew open. It was Wallace.
He hadn’t seen her yet. But how the hell did he find her so fast?
Nancy’s phone. He must’ve tracked it.
She turned and ran into the bus station, dumping the phone in the first trash can she passed. The echoing lobby was mostly deserted, no crowd in which to take cover. She sprinted for the escalator, running up the treads two at a time, and dashed blindly into a newsstand. Peering out from behind a rack of books, she saw a shock of rust-colored hair floating up the escalator. Him, coming toward the newsstand, eyes lifted, looking at the back wall of the store. She glanced over her shoulder. The wall was mirrored to catch shoplifters. He had a perfect view of Madison crouching behind the rack. Shit. She was an incompetent criminal. Every decision she made tonight was wrong. She had a split second to choose—stay, or run? The only other person in the store was the cashier, an older woman in a hairnet who looked exhausted and beaten down. She’d be no help against a cop.
Madison bolted. He wasn’t expecting that. She slipped by him, reaching the escalator before he realized what was happening. But the split-second advantage instantly dissipated. She could hear and feel his feet pounding the metal treads as he raced down behind her. She made it to the concourse. The crowd was sparse, but every one of them turned to look. Her instincts might be terrible. But she knew one thing in her gut. He was capable of killing her to shut her up.
In the time it took to see the flash of red from the corner of her eye, he tackled her. She was on the filthy floor, cheek in the muck, the breath knocked from her, arms twisted above her head, crying out in pain. His clothes smelled like cigarettes. There was only one thing to do. Scream bloody murder.
“Help! Help me! He’s kidnapping me! Help!”
He tried to get his hand over her mouth. She bit down. He grunted and twisted her arm behind her back.
“Help! Call the police!”
“I am the police,” he said, holding her down with one hand, flashing his badge with the other.
Most people averted their eyes or backed away. But a few came closer. And one starting filming with his phone.
“He’s lying. He’s kidnapping me. Call the police, I’m begging you,” she said to that man.
“I am the police. This woman is a heroin dealer.”
He got to his feet and yanked her up. She looked directly into the camera.
“That’s a lie. My name is Madison Rivera. I’m a law student at Harvard. He’s a dirty cop. He—”