Wiley was quiet for even longer. I closed my eyes for a second.
“I know,” Wiley said. “I know, baby. I know.”
He hadn’t called Samuel baby in any previous call I’d heard. He hadn’t used any pet names.
Something was cracking.
“Yeah, I’m safe.”
He listened.
“I’m with people who are good at this.”
Wiley pushed his wavy hair off his forehead.
“I know. I know that’s not the same thing.”
He listened.
“I know.”
Another pause.
“Samuel, listen. I don’t know when this ends. I’d tell you if I did. I’d tell you the date, time, and what shirt I’d be wearing. I can’t tell you any of that. What I can tell you is that I’m thinking about our bed. I’m thinking about your soup. I’m thinking about the fact that you read three pages of the Bishop biography last night before you put the light out, because I know you.”
A breath.
“I’m thinking about you. I’m thinking about you the way you think about me. And I’m going to call you tomorrow and the day after that, and eventually I’m going to walk through the door andsit down at our table. You’ll make me soup and I’ll eat all of it because soup counts.”
A long pause.
“I love you.”
He didn’t hang up immediately.
I counted the seconds. The handset hummed faintly. They were holding the line open the way they’d held it open before.
“Okay, baby, I have to go.”
A pause.
“I will. Tomorrow at seven. I promise.”
He set the handset down on the table.
The day narrowed into routine. Cabot read in the front parlor and didn’t pretend the book was holding him. Reed stayed at the door. Eamon left and didn’t return.
Both Dane and I slept part of our shifts.
Rain moved through after dark. It wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to slick the brick path and silver the bare branches beyond the drive. Dane came down early at around ten p.m., and we did the checks together.
The windows were first. We checked that the latches were set, and all alarms showed green. After we’d thoroughly covered indoors, Dane led to the back door. We pulled on heavy hooded jackets.
He turned the deadbolt and eased the door open. I followed at his shoulder as we stepped onto the flagstone path.
With flashlights, we checked the outside walls, scanning for anything that wasn’t there twelve hours ago. It could be a dropped cigarette or a scuff in the moss at the edge of the bricks. There was nothing.
I examined Collins’s SUV parked under the carport. It was locked, and I’d placed clear tape across the door seams. It was intact.