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“It’s in my purse.”
“Your purse isn’t big enough. My name’s Hank Meyer. I might be able to help you out. For a small fee, of course.”
“I’m not interested, Mr. Meyer.”
“Call me Hank.”
“I don’t believe I will.” She picked up her pace.
“There are other ways of getting records.”
Mila held up her hand to hail a cab. “Illegal ways?”
The guy was either fleecing her or asking her to participate in the crime.
“Quasi-legal.”
“There’s no such thing as quasi-legal.”
He pointed across the street. “There’s an internet café right there on the corner. They take cash. You’re in, you’re out, there’s not a single footprint.”
“It’s still illegal.”
“They’re called opaque records. You can see them. You can’t download them. You can’t use them for any business or personal purpose. But you can snap a screenshot with your cell phone.”
A yellow taxi passed by, but it already had a passenger.
“What are you looking for?” asked Hank Meyer.
“None of your business.”
“I’m only trying to help you.”
“No, you’re not.”
He had an angle. She just hadn’t figured out what it was yet. An internet café was public, so she’d be in no physical danger. And using cash protected her identity and credit cards—his most likely scam. Perhaps this was bait and switch. It started out with cash, but then a credit card was ultimately required.
Another cab came into view, and she waved at it.
“You don’t like what I have to offer, you can walk away at any time.”
She sighed in exasperation as the cab passed by. “You’re wasting your time, Mr. Meyer. I’m not falling for it.”
“What were you after?”
She frowned at him.
“Just in broad strokes. Birth, death, divorce? I can tell you’re on the job.”
“On the job?”
“A private investigator.”
“I’m not... Okay, I am investigating.”
“Then you’re either young or new. You look like you’re both. We walk across the street. You give me the name. Fifty bucks, you’re in, you’re out. It’s not exactly legal, but nobody’s throwing anybody in jail if you’re caught. Scratch that. If I’m caught, maybe I get a fine. You’re just an innocent bystander.”
“Or maybe you’re law enforcement and, by the way, this is entrapment.”
He laughed at that. “Yeah. Plainclothes detectives deployed to the public records center to entrap otherwise law-abiding document thieves. Now that’s a good use of public resources.”
Mila hated to admit that he had a point. She also hated to admit she was tempted. Fifty dollars. For fifty dollars could she get a sneak peek at Drake’s birth certificate?
“This is Jersey, ma’am. Believe me when I tell you law enforcement has way better things to do.”
Another cab sailed past. Mila couldn’t help but wonder if it was a sign. She couldn’t see any genuine dangers in the man’s offer. He was likely just trying to make quick money.
“Have you been doing this long?” she asked.
“Two years. Never had a problem. What kind of a record?”
“Birth certificate.”
“Recent?”
“This year.”
“Piece of cake.” He gestured to the crosswalk.
She took a bracing breath. “All right, Mr. Meyer. But I should tell you I have a black belt in Krav Maga and a permit to carry concealed.”
“I don’t expect the computer to fight back,” he said easily. “But good to know.”
The walk signal changed, and Mila quickly stepped up. If she was going to do this, she’d rather get it over with.
She gave Drake’s name, birth date and the hospital information to Meyer. Then she waited on the sidewalk, feeling like a convenience store robber. Thankfully, he was back quickly.
“Start walking,” he told her.
“Did you get caught?”
He grinned. “No. I’m done, that’s all. Do you need a copy? It’s safer if you just look at it on my phone, then there’s no digital link between us. But if you need me to send it—”
“I’ll just look,” she said.
“Smart.” He handed her his phone.
She looked at the photo, and her heart stopped.
She looked up at him, wondering if this could be some colossal con or sick joke.
“What?” He looked genuinely concerned. “Are you okay?”
“This is it?”
“Absolutely.” He pointed to Drake’s name and then to his birthdate.
“It’s...” She didn’t know what to say.
“Fifty bucks,” he reminded her.
“Yes. Yes.” She dug into her pocket, extracting the fifty she’d placed there while he was in the internet café. “Thank you.”
“Pleasure doing business with you.” He took his phone and sauntered away.
Mila moved down the sidewalk, gripping an iron fence at the edge of a small park.
It was Troy.
Troy was Drake’s biological father.
She had to call Kassidy. And Kassidy had to talk to Troy.
What on earth was the woman doing? And who was out there stalking her?
* * *
“Kassidy is shopping with Mila,” said Troy. He was on his way up from the Pinion garage, back from a working lunch with the Bulgarian planning team. “I told her she could turn the extra bedroom into a nursery.” He couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “She was really excited.”
“Mila’s car is still here,” said Vegas.
“That’s weird.” Troy had assumed Mila would grab a cab back to the office once she woke up.
Again, he smiled, remembering how peaceful she’d looked when he’d left her, remembering how she had felt sleeping in his arms. He knew he was going to have to figure this all out, and soon. But for a moment he just wanted to enjoy how close he felt to her.
“The nanny’s here, and Kassidy’s late.”
“So call her.”
“Gabby tried, but she kept getting voice mail.”
“Did you try?”
“For the past hour. Same thing.”
Troy paused, for the first time hearing the worry in Vegas’s voice. “You think something’s going on?”
“I think we can’t locate Kassidy, and she’s been out of touch for a few hours.”
“Call Mila.”
The women had to be together. It was the only thing that made sense. Kassidy wanted to decorate the nursery right away. She couldn’t wait to pick out wallpaper and furniture.
“I’ve tried Mila,” said Vegas.
“Where are you?”
“The office.”
“On my way up. I’ll try Mila myself.” Troy stabbed the end button as he mounted the stairs.
He dialed Mila, but it went straight to voice mail. He left a terse message to call him. She shouldn’t be out of touch like this. Did she need call-waiting? They’d buy her call-waiting.
He strode down the hallway, thinking his way through the situation.
“Does Mila still have her communications device from last night?” he asked Vegas. “Get Edison to ping it.”
Vegas immediately called down to Edison.
Troy greeted Gabby, who was in the office with Vegas. “I take it Kassidy was supposed to be here?”
“Over an hour ago,” said Gabby. “Usually she calls if plans change.”
“When did you last talk to her?”
“Last night.”
So Troy was probably the last one to see his sister that morning.
“Do you mind waiting in the apartment?” he asked Gabby. “If she calls or shows up, get her to contact me right away.”
“Of course,” said Gabby. “If there’s anything I can do to help.”
“That’s the biggest help you can be.”
“I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.”
“So am I,” said Troy, believing it less and less as the minutes ticked past.
“Mila’s earwig is in her apartment,” Vegas said as Gabby left the office.
Troy’s phone buzzed, and he quickly checked the display.
“Mila,” he said to Vegas, putting it to his ear. “Where are you?” he demanded.
“Getting in a cab. I’m on my way to the office.”
“Kassidy’s with you?”
“No. I haven’t been able to reach her. Why?”
“You’re not shopping?”
“I had something I needed to check out.”
Troy swore.
“What happened?” Mila sounded worried.
“We don’t know. Kassidy’s out of touch.”
“How long?” Mila’s voice went on alert.
