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5
Ronan watchedthe office building through the windshield, his eyes on the lights coming from the fourth floor. It was Congressman Moran’s floor, and Ronan knew he was still up there because he’d followed Moran back to the office after a meeting at the Alibi Lounge inside the LibertyHotel.
They’d had Moran’s daily schedule for the past two weeks thanks to Clay, who had a long and storied history of hacking calendars to help MIS on the job in spite of his assertion that it was beneathhim.
The people behind the Manifest website were more worthy opponents, which was probably why Clay was still trying to hack his way in even though Ronan had given up theangle.
It was almost eleven p.m. but Moran’s car hadn’t left the parking garage since his return from the meeting at Alibi. Ronan had to give him credit: whatever else he was or wasn’t, the man worked longhours.
Ronan thought about Moran’s wife, a WASPy blond nicknamed Mouse. They had three kids — two sons and a daughter — all of whom attended Groton Prep. Mouse was from an old-money family with an inheritance that kept the family flush in spite of Moran’s congressional paycheck. They lived in an understated but valuable home in Beacon Hill, gave to all the right charities, and attended all the rightevents.
Ronan had seen plenty while staking out the board members of the Whitmore Club — affairs of every variety, prostitutes, kink clubs, and one particularly sad and quite large Senator who’s greatest vice was stopping at the Mobil gas station on his way home and stocking up on an assortment of junk food which he ate breathtakingly fast in his car, after which he wept over his steering wheel before finishing the drivehome.
It was the only time Ronan could ever recall feeling guilty observing someone as part of ajob.
Not all of the Whitmore board members had secrets — at least not that Ronan had uncovered. So far Moran fell into the category of those members who went to work, had an occasional long lunch, and sometimes stopped at their kid’s Little League game on the wayhome.
Were they all really upstanding citizens who also happened to be in seats of power at one of the clubs whose logos had appeared on the one page of Manifest’s website that Clay had been able toaccess?
Or were they justcareful?
Ronan thought about Julia, about the way he’d woken up the night before to find her gone, her face lit by the glow of her laptop when he’d come upon her on the sofa in the livingroom.
She didn’t want him to know she was still stalking Manifest’s website, one of many secrets he knew she kept from him. He didn’t push. He had a feeling Julia had been holding things close to the vest for a long time, each of her secrets a piece of the Jenga puzzle that would come crashing down if she started examining them — or worse, talking aboutthem.
She would talk when she was ready. In the meantime, he savored the times when they were in bed, the closest she came to giving herself over fully to him. It wasn’t total surrender. He still felt the missing part of her — the part she kept locked away in the innermost vault of her heart — like an almost invisible piece of a complicatedpuzzle.
He wondered how many people had settled for this much from her in the past. How many people had told themselves they were getting all ofher.
He pushed aside the thought. He and Julia didn’t talk about their former lovers, and he had no desire to think about her in the arms of anotherman.
He straightened in the driver’s seat of his silver Audi as a limo pulled up like a long shadow in front of Moran’sbuilding.
He reached for the binoculars on the passenger seat without taking his eyes off the entrance of the officebuilding.
The limo idled for almost five minutes before the office doors opened and Connor Moran stepped onto thesidewalk.
He kept his head down as he strode toward the limo, slipping into the backseat so quickly Ronan might have missed the whole thing if he hadn’t been payingattention.
“Siri, call Clay,” Ronan said, still watching the limo through thebinoculars.
“What’s up?” Clay asked by way of agreeting.
“You still have access to the DMV?” Ronan asked without identifyinghimself.
Clay snorted. “That’s like asking if I have access toNetflix.”
“I’m going to have a plate for you in a second. I need you to run it and give me everything you can find,” Ronansaid.
“You’re theboss.”
6
Julia watchedas Ronan taped a picture to the ever-evolving board of Whitmore Club members and their associates. They had a flow chart in the digital case file of Elise’s disappearance, something Julia had insisted she be given access to, but they kept the hard copies on the big board in the MIS conference room. It was easier to make connections when it was all laid out in front of you, when you could see how people were connected and how theyweren’t.
Ronan had taped the new photo at the end of a red line drawn from Congressman Moran’s name andphoto.
“Davis Porter,” Ronan said. “If he looks familiar, it’s because he’s the current head of the FederalReserve.”
