They finished The Return of the King two years later, and in the process, Gibson became a reader. Something else he owed Bear. Books helped him keep his sanity first in jail and then in the Marine Corps. He read whatever he could get his hands on: obscure Philip K. Dick stories, pulp Jim Thompson mysteries, Albert Camus’s The Stranger, which he’d found revelatory at nineteen. An ancient copy of Don DeLillo’s Great Jones Street had been a constant companion since boot camp, and he could recite the opening monologue from memory.

If he was honest, he had never allowed himself to connect the Suzanne Lombard in the security-camera footage with his Bear. In his mind, Bear was a college graduate, living in London or Vienna the way she had always daydreamed. Bear was dating some smart, shy boy who adored her and read to her on Sunday mornings. Bear had nothing at all to do with the long-missing Suzanne Lombard. It was easier to believe that fiction.

Would she like his daughter? He sometimes caught himself comparing them—the two little girls who figured so large in his life. Not one bit alike—Ellie wasn’t the quiet, introspective type. She was like her dad in that regard, much preferring to climb trees than read under one. But Ellie and Bear were exactly the same when it came to loving people. They both hugged in the same fierce, uncompromising way. Yeah, Bear would have loved Ellie, and Ellie would have loved her right back.

Where did you go, Bear?

Gibson looked at George Abe and the team he’d assembled.

Would she answer at last?

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

As they passed McPherson Square, Jenn shifted in her seat and let George know they were back. The Range Rover pulled into the building’s underground garage.

When they parked and got out, Jenn drifted to the back so she could keep an eye on Vaughn. He glanced back at her but said nothing. He was taller than she expected, but his eyes were no less intense. He’d made her in the diner, which was embarrassing enough, but the way he met her eyes when they shook hands outside the diner made her feel like a microwavable dinner. She didn’t like it.

Upstairs, the offices of Abe Consulting Group were dark and quiet. The lights hummed to life automatically. It wasn’t a huge space, but the atrium was immaculate and modern with high ceilings and stylish black leather furniture. Vaughn seemed impressed.

Hendricks ushered them down a corridor toward the sound of thudding, angry music. He pushed open a pair of glass doors to a conference room, and the noise spiked painfully. It was like standing on a runway as a 747 landed over your head. Jenn recognized it but didn’t know the name of the band. She never did. She didn’t care enough about music to waste time committing it to memory.