Page 45 of The Shadow Friends

“Lloyd, maybe you should eat something,” said Declan, frowning at the empty glass in Lloyd’s hand. “That’s your third drink. Man cannot live on martinis alone.”

“Has anyone ever confirmed that?”

“Well, let’s not try to prove it tonight, okay?” Declan turned to the refrigerator. “Let me make you a sandwich. In fact, we could all stand to eat something . . .”

Maggie felt her phone buzz with an incoming message. She took it out of her pocket and saw two words on her screen: Eyes Only. She glanced at the men, but they were busy pulling deli meat and mayonnaise out of the refrigerator. No one was paying attention to her. Quietly, she slipped out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Eyes Only. Which meant this communication was meant for her, and only her.

She hesitated before opening the message. Even before she clicked on it, she knew she was about to open a one-way door. Once she stepped through it, there would be no turning back.

She opened the message, and nine words appeared on her screen.

Will explain later. Keep him safe. Counting on you.

Short and to the point. There was no signature, but she knew who’d sent it. Even as she stared at the words, they flickered out, leaving only a blank screen. The message had been on ten-second self-destruct, meant to ensure that only one pair of eyes would read it. A message that the sender did not want anyone else to see, not even Lloyd.

Keep him safe.

Those were not the words of a woman who’d abandoned her husband, a woman who no longer loved him. No, they were written by a wife who was walking into dangerous territory and wanted to keep her husband out of harm’s way.

“Maggie?” said Declan, who’d just walked into the living room. “Ham or turkey?”

“What?”

“Your sandwich. Ham or turkey?”

“Ham.”

He eyed her. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” Maggie slipped the phone back in her pocket, where it felt like a hot coal trying to burn its way out.

She said nothing about the message when she returned to the kitchen. As much as she wanted to blurt it out to the men, she could not ignore Ingrid’s demand of Eyes Only, which she had to respect, even if she did not understand the reason for it. The Agency had taught her that some secrets weren’t meant to be shared, not even with your nearest and dearest. But it was secrecy that had undermined Maggie’s own marriage, secrecy that had ripped her husband Danny from her. She hoped that Ingrid had weighed all the possible consequences of her actions.

Maggie and the men sat down to sandwiches and pickles—a sadly prosaic meal compared to the culinary marvels that usually emerged from Lloyd’s kitchen. Lloyd had lost his appetite, and as she watched him listlessly pull apart his sandwich, she thought: why not tell him about Ingrid’s text? Why not share it with Declan and Ben as well? Decades of friendship bound them together in a circle of trust, and she hated seeing Lloyd so miserable when she could easily relieve his pain.

She helped clear the table and wash the dishes. As the evening grew late, as martinis gave way to whisky, Lloyd sank deeper into a boozy stupor in front of the family room hearth. They couldn’t leave him alone tonight; certainly she couldn’t leave him alone, not with Ingrid’s directive weighing on her shoulders.

She pulled Declan and Ben into the kitchen. Said, quietly: “You two go home. I’m going to stay with him tonight.”

“I’ll stay too,” said Declan.

“No, we should trade off shifts. I’ll take the first one.”

“You don’t have any of your things here.”

“I can borrow what I need from Ingrid. I’m sure there’s a spare toothbrush somewhere in this house.” She glanced toward the family room, where they’d left Lloyd slumped in an easy chair. “I’ve never seen him like this. He’s completely lost without her.”

“To be honest,” said Ben, “so are we.”

She found a neatly folded nightgown in Ingrid’s dresser and a new toothbrush, still in its packaging, in the guest bathroom. Also in the bathroom vanity was a variety of sweet-smelling little bars of soap, their wrappers labeled with the names of hotels around the world. Souvenirs that Ingrid must have collected over a lifetime of travel and work abroad. The Slocums’ guest suite had been maintained in a state of perpetual readiness, with clean sheets on the bed and fresh towels in the bathroom. That was classic Ingrid, prepared for any contingency, including an unexpected guest turning up on her doorstep.

Did you plan an escape contingency as well, Ingrid? Maggie wondered. Was that how she’d managed to so swiftly and effortlessly vanish into thin air? Such an escape would require preparation—again, something Ingrid was known for. Lloyd had signed into their joint bank and credit card accounts, and he’d found no recent withdrawals, no new charges on their credit cards. Did Ingrid have a secret account, and was she now operating under a new identity? Ingrid 2.0. It was not impossible if you knew how to do it, and she certainly would know, but such an escape plan would require that the essentials be prepared in advance: cash, passports, burner phone.

Maggie picked up her cell phone to check for messages, and found one from Declan: Good night, sleep tight. But there was nothing new from Ingrid.

She set her phone back down. Turned off the lamp and lay awake, thinking: Ingrid, what the hell is going on?