It was all possible, Myron thought. But why wait? Why not grab the boys when they were out in the yard? Were they afraid someone would see?

It was too early to theorize. He needed to gather more facts.

“So here they are, the kidnappers, stepping inside right where we are now,” Myron said.

Brooke stiffened for a moment. “Yes.”

“That was kind of abrupt, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not. But it doesn’t mean I have to be insensitive either.”

“Let’s get this out of the way,” Brooke said.

“Get what out of the way?”

“You’re probably wondering how I do it,” Brooke said. “How I come into this kitchen every day and walk right past where Rhys was taken. Do I block? Do I cry sometimes? I do a little of both, I guess. But mostly I remember. Mostly I come in this kitchen and what happened is my companion. And I need that. Everyone wondered why we didn’t move away. Why we invite this pain. I’ll tell you why. Because this pain is better. This pain is better than the pain of giving up on him. A mother doesn’t give up on her child. So I can live with the pain. I can’t live with giving up.”

Myron thought about what Win had told him, about how the lack of closure was eating at Brooke, making it all the more unbearable. There comes a time when you have to know the answers. Maybe you can live with the pain, but the not knowing, the purgatory, the limbo, had to eat away at your bones.

“Do you understand now?” Brooke said.

“I do, yeah.”

“Then ask your next question,” she said.

Myron dove right in. “Why the basement?” He pointed to the sliding glass door. “You break in here. You’ve grabbed the boys. You have the nanny. You decide to leave her alive. You decide to tie her up. So why not do it here? Why bring her down to the basement?”

“For the reason you just stated.”

“That being?”

“If they tied her up here, you’d be able to see from the backyard.”

“But if the backyard is that exposed, why go that way in the first place?”

Myron heard heavy footsteps coming down the steps. He checked his watch. Eight forty-five A.M.

“Brooke?”

It was Chick. He hurried into the room and pulled up when he saw Myron. Chick wore a business suit and tie and sported a fancy leather tote, the modern-day equivalent of a briefcase. Was Chick planning on talking to Patrick, and then, what, catching a few hours at the office?

Chick didn’t bother with hello. He held up his mobile phone.

“Don’t you check your texts?” he asked his wife.

“I left my phone in the foyer. Why?”

“Group text from Nancy to both of us,” Chick said. “She wants us to meet at their house, not here.”

Chapter 15

They took Myron’s car. Myron drove. Chick and Brooke sat in the back. They held hands, which somehow seemed out of character for them.