Page 130 of Gone Before Goodbye
“I’m not following. What went down?”
“One night, I’m lying in bed, dead asleep, and suddenly Malik is there. In my locked apartment. Sitting on the edge of my bed. He starts asking me if I know where Trace Packer is. I say no. He doesn’t believe me. So then he starts with the interrogation. He says stuff like‘You went to medical school with Maggie McCabe, right? When did you last talk to her?’ Like that. I found out later that Trace broke in here after hours. He stole, I don’t know, something to do with WorldCures research—and then he flew out to Washington.”
Washington. Nadia and Maggie share a glance.
“When was this?”
“Five, six months ago. Hold up. You live, what, an hour or two from Dulles. Did Trace go to you, Maggie?” Steve snaps his fingers. “Of course he did. That would make perfect sense. Oh shit, this is bad. This is really bad.”
“He didn’t come to me. Steve, listen to me. Trace is missing. That’s why Nadia and I are here. Yes, he flew to Dulles five months ago. But I never saw him. In fact, as far as we can tell, no one has seen him since.”
“If that’s true—”
“It is.”
“—then maybe they found Trace.”
“No,” Nadia says. “Trace is smart, resourceful. He’d have found a way.”
Nadia’s words sound hollow with false hope. Maggie’s mind starts racing. She remembers the bill for the Wells Fargo safe deposit boxes she opened in Trace’s apartment.
Whoa. Slow down a second. Maybe that’s it.
Maybe whatever Trace had snatched from this building before leaving Dubai is now in those boxes.
That’s why Trace had to come back to the United States. Not to see Maggie. But to make sure he kept control of their innovations. So, okay, Trace goes into Apollo Longevity at night. He nabs the THUMPR7 and accompanying machinery. He heads to Dubai airport, flies back to the United States, and then…
What?
Steve’s phone buzzes again. An incoming call. He puts the phone to his ear and says, “What’s up?” His face loses color. “Wait, what, right now?” Pause. “Hold on a second.” He looks over at them. “What have you gotten me into, Maggie?”
Maggie offers up an elaborate shrug. “No clue, Steve.”
Steve heads to a monitor on the desk. He leans over, still standing, and types into it. As he does, he keeps glancing at the door behind him. “Someone is at reception asking for you by name.” He finishes and turns to her. “Do you know who he is?”
He flips the monitor so Maggie can see the live CCTV footage he’s brought up. The camera is focused on a man with a…
Big Mustache.
The cop from last night. He is in plainclothes but flanked by two men in olive-green police uniforms with matching berets.
Steve says, “Well?”
“I saw someone stabbed on the dance floor last night. He’s the cop who showed up.”
“Are you serious?”
“No, Steve, I’m making it up.”
“No time for sarcasm, Maggie.”
“Always time, Steve. Anyway, he didn’t believe me.”
“Well, he believes you now. I recognize him. He’s tight with Malik.”
“Maggie.” Nadia taps her on the shoulder. “Take a look at this.”
Maggie turns. Nadia shows her the screen on her phone. It’s the headline from a new article:
