“Bring a couple of new prepaid phones, bought for cash, as anonymous as you can. We’ll need them. I miss you,” she added very quietly and hung up.

Forty-eight hours to go. It had already been four days since she’d last seen him.

The conductor came around, and she glanced around again to confirm how much space she had. The carriage was half-empty, she’d missed the rush hour crush. Now she dialed another number, one she’d committed to memory because she was afraid to program it into the phone.

“Hi, you’ve reached the answering machine of Paulette Milan. I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone right now, but—”

“Paulie, cut the crap and pick up the phone right now.”

The line clicked. “Miriam! What the fuck are you playing at, sweetie?”

“‘Playing at’? What do you mean?”

“Skipping out like that! Jesus, I’ve been so worried!”

“You think you’ve been worried? You haven’t phoned my house, have you?” Miriam interrupted hastily.

“Oh yeah, but when you didn’t answer I left a message about the bridge club. Something I made up on the spur of the moment. I’ve been so worried—”

“Paulie, you didn’t mention the other stuff, did you? Or go around in person?”

“I’m not stupid,” Paulette said quietly, all ebullience gone.

“Good—uh, I’m sorry. Let me try again.” Miriam closed her eyes. “Hi, I’m Miriam Beckstein, and I have just discovered the hard way that my long-lost family have got very long memories and longer arms, and they invited me to spend some time with them. It turns out that they’re in the import/export trade, and they’re so big that the story we were working on probably covers some of their turf. Hopefully they don’t think you’re anything other than a ditzy broad who plays bridge with me, because if they did you might not enjoy their company. Capisce?”

“Oh, oh shit! Miriam, I am so sorry! Listen, are you all right?”

“Yeah. Not only am I all right, I’m on a train that gets into Back Bay Station in—” she checked her watch—“about an hour and a half. I don’t have long, this is a day trip, and I have to be on the four o’clock return train. But if you can meet me at the station I’ll drag you out to lunch and fill you in on everything, and I mean everything. Okay?”

“Okay.” Paulette sounded a little less upset. “Miriam?”

“Yes?”

“What are they like? What are they doing to you?”

Miriam closed her eyes. “Did you ever see the movie Married to the Mob?”

“No way! What about your locket? You mean they’re—”