It picked up on the half-ring.
Where is she? A voice barked. It wasn't Baxter. It was Yates, his executive assistant.
She is safe, Eva said. She kept her voice low. She is at the south entrance of Central Park, near the statue.
Who is this?
Just get here. She is cold.
Eva hung up. She took off her own scarf and wrapped it around Eleanor's neck.
They are coming, Eleanor, she said.
Eleanor looked up. Don't leave me.
I have to.
No! Eleanor gripped Eva's hand tighter. He needs to see you. He needs to remember.
Eva shook her head. He won't believe me.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Black SUVs were jumping the curb onto the pedestrian path.
Eva's pulse spiked. If Baxter saw her here, he would think she kidnapped her. He would think it was a setup.
She gently pried Eleanor's fingers off her arm.
I promise, I will see you again, Eva lied.
She pulled a notepad from her bag. She scribbled a quick note.
She is dehydrated. And her left slipper is two sizes too small. It is hurting her foot.
She tucked the note into Eleanor's pocket.
The SUVs screeched to a halt fifty yards away. Doors flew open.
Eva bolted.
She ran behind the large bronze statue of Simon Bolivar. She crouched in the bushes, her heart thundering in her ears.
She watched as Baxter jumped out of the lead car. He wasn't wearing a suit jacket. His tie was undone. He looked frantic. Human.
He ran to the bench. Grandma!
He fell to his knees in the dirt. He checked her face, her hands. He hugged her so tight Eva thought he might break her.
Eleanor pushed him away. Where is the girl?
What girl? Baxter asked, looking around.
The bride! The scientist! She was just here!
Baxter looked at his security team. Find her!
Eleanor started to cry. She left. You scared her away!
Baxter shushed her, stroking her hair. It is okay. You are safe.
Yates walked up. He saw the paper sticking out of Eleanor's pocket.
Sir.
Baxter took the note. He read it.
He looked up, scanning the park. His eyes swept over the statue where Eva was hiding.
Eva held her breath. She pressed her hand over her mouth.
Baxter stared right at the bushes for a long, terrifying second. His eyes narrowed, trying to pierce the shadows. He didn't see a face, just a suggestion of movement.
Then, he looked back at the note. He traced the handwriting with his thumb. It was neat, angular. Familiar?
Let's go, Baxter said. He picked his grandmother up in his arms, carrying her like she weighed nothing.
They loaded into the cars. The convoy sped away.
Eva slumped against the cold bronze of the statue. Her legs were shaking.
She had been ten seconds away from being caught.
She looked at her hand. It still felt warm where Eleanor had held it.
She stood up, brushing the dirt off her dress.
She was homeless. She was broke. And she was technically a fugitive from her husband's wrath.
But she had seen something.
Baxter Noel had knees that got dirty. He had hands that trembled when he was scared.
He wasn't a monster. He was a man.
And men could be broken.
