Tell No One - By Harlan Coben Page 0,22

name of one man you hire." He meant Eric Wu. Griffin Scope wiped his eyes and started back toward his guests. "Use him."
Chapter 8
Shauna and Linda rent a three-bedroom apartment on Riverside Drive and 116 Street, not far from Columbia University. I'd managed to find a spot within a block, an act that usually accompanies a parting sea or stone tablet.

Shauna buzzed me up. Linda was still out at her formal. Mark was asleep. I tiptoed into his room and kissed his forehead. Mark was still hanging on to the Pokemon craze and it showed. He had Pikachu sheets, and a stuffed Squirtle doll lay nestled in his arms. People criticize the trend, but it reminded me of my own childhood obsession with Batman and Captain America. I watched him a few more seconds. Cliche to say, yes, but it is indeed the little things.

Shauna stood in the doorway and waited. When we finally moved back into the den, I said, "Mind if I have a drink?"

Shauna shrugged. "Suit yourself."

I poured myself two fingers of bourbon. "You'll join me."

She shook her head.

We settled onto the couch. "What time is Linda supposed to be home?" I asked.

"Got me," Shauna said slowly. I didn't like the way she did it.

"Damn," I said.

"It's temporary, Beck. I love Linda, you know that."

"Damn," I said again.

Last year, Linda and Shauna had separated for two months. It hadn't been good, especially for Mark.

"I'm not moving out or anything," Shauna said.

"So what's wrong, then?"

"Same ol' same ol'. I have this glamorous high-profile job. I'm surrounded by beautiful, interesting people all the time. Nothing new, right? We all know this. Anyway, Linda thinks I have a wandering eye."

"You do," I said.

"Yeah, sure, but that's nothing new, is it?"

I didn't reply.

"At the end of the day, Linda is the one I go home to."

"And you never take any detours on the way?"

"If I did, they'd be irrelevant. You know that. I don't do well locked in a cage, Beck. I need the stage."

"Nice mix of metaphors," I said.

"At least it rhymed."

I drank in silence for a few moments.

"Beck?"

"What?"

"Your turn now."

"Meaning?"

She shot me a look and waited.

I thought about the "Tell no one" warning at the end of the email. If the message were indeed from Elizabeth - my mind still had trouble even entertaining such a notion - she would know that I'd tell Shauna. Linda - maybe not. But Shauna? I tell her everything. It would be a given.

"There's a chance," I said, "that Elizabeth is still alive."

Shauna didn't break stride. "She ran off with Elvis, right?" When she saw my face, she stopped and said, "Explain."

I did. I told her about the email. I told her about the street cam. And I told her about seeing Elizabeth on the computer monitor. Shauna kept her eyes on me the whole time. She didn't nod or interrupt. When I finished, she carefully extracted a cigarette from its carton and put it in her mouth. Shauna gave up smoking years ago, but she still liked to fiddle with them. She examined the cancer stick, turning it over in her hand as though she'd never seen one before. I could see the gears churning.

"Okay," she said. "So at eight-fifteen tomorrow night, the next message is supposed to come in, right?"

I nodded. "So we wait until then."

She put the cigarette back in the pack.

"You don't think it's crazy?"

Shauna shrugged. "Irrelevant," she said.

"Meaning?"

"There are several possibilities that'd explain what you just said."

"Including insanity."

"Yeah, sure, that's a strong one. But what's the point of hypothesizing negatively right now? Let's just assume it's true. Let's just assume you saw what you saw and that Elizabeth is still alive. If we're wrong, hey, we'll learn that soon enough. If we're right..." She knitted her eyebrows, thought about it, shook her head. "Christ, I hope like hell we're right."

I smiled at her. "I love you, you know."

"Yeah," she said. "Everyone does."

When I got home, I poured myself one last quick drink. I took a deep sip and let the warm liquor travel to destinations well known. Yes, I drink. But I'm not a drunk. That's not denial. I know I flirt with being an alcoholic. I also know that flirting with alcoholism is about as safe as flirting with a mobster's underage daughter. But so far, the flirting hasn't led to coupling. I'm smart enough to know that might not last.

Chloe sidled up to me with her customary expression that could