“What are you smiling about?” Rachel suddenly asked.

“I was just thinking how nice it is to have you back home.”

“It feels good to be here.”

“Any idea how long you’ll be staying?” he asked, trying to keep out of his voice the desperation that went with the idea of her leaving.

“I’m not sure. With the investigation over, I figure John will need to head back to New York soon—probably right after New Year’s.” She sat down across from him. “Speaking of which—have you thought more about Everett’s offer?”

“Five thousand feet above sea level isn’t exactly how I’d choose to start my retirement.”

“But it would be nice for us all to be together, wouldn’t it?”

Grant couldn’t deny the warmth of that notion. “This thing between you and Detective Frankel is getting serious, isn’t it?”

“I really like him, Daddy.”

“I do too.”

He saw her eyes drift toward the folded newspaper. “I know things didn’t turn out the way you expected. But something good came out of all this, right?”

She reached and took his hand. Grant felt his heart warm as it began to rise in his throat. “Most definitely,” he replied.

“Then you’ll think about us all going to Switzerland together?”

“Of course I will.”

But that didn’t mean he was going to stop thinking about what the hell had happened to Monte Ferguson.

“I wish I had more news, but I really don’t,” said Randolph Michaels from behind his desk at the Daily Mail. “Not the ideal way for a newsman to begin a conversation, but there you have it.”

“Don’t you find it odd not hearing a word from the man since he filed the biggest story of his career?”

“I’d expect him to be crowing about it, that’s for sure. Most definitely odd.”

“So how do you explain it?”

Michaels shrugged. “Fear of having charges leveled against him, impeding a police investigation? It’s the only thing that comes to mind.”

Grant was considering another line of thought but wasn’t ready to share it with Michaels lest he think he’d become a conspiracy theorist. But it was the main reason he headed to the newspaper instead of starting his final Friday of work at the Yard.

“I’d like to get to the bottom of this myself,” continued Michaels. “I’ve got management wondering what happened to their star reporter and if they’re going to be held accountable by Scotland Yard for anything.”

“You’ve been completely forthcoming. You’re safe in telling them they’ve nothing to worry about on that count.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Perhaps I could look through Ferguson’s desk? See if there’s a clue where he’s gotten himself off to? Of course, I could always obtain a warrant . . .”