"They called me about six o'clock tonight. Children of Light." She could barely get the words out. "They'd seen my interview with you. How did they get it?"
I looked down at the snowy—make that slushy—street and felt a chill go through me, followed immediately by anger. Ramos, that bastard.
"They . . . Somebody took a copy this morning." Stated like that, it sounded pretty lame. "I'm so sorry—"
"He threatened Kevin. He actually said if I signed a release to let you use the film, my child would 'meet with an accident.' And then he said something about you, that your own—"
"Who? Who called you? Did he tell you his—?"
"He wouldn't give a name. Just some man. He had a foreign accent." She threw her arms around me, and I hugged her back as best I could.
"Where's Kevin now?" I was so concerned about Carly that I'd repressed the information that he'd also mentioned me.
"Marcy was there, so I told her to take him with her. To her mother's place in the Bronx, where she lives." Carly was still trembling as she loosened her grip on me. "I called a car service to drive them up."
"Well, come on in. Let's talk." Truthfully, I wasn't sure how much I wanted to tell her about what I'd just seen at Quetzal Manor. It would probably just distress her more. Where had Kevin come from? Did I really want to de-legitimize him in her eyes?
As I led her through the lobby, hoping to appear composed, Patrick Mooney greeted us, announcing that his sister, Rosalyn, had been gone for an hour and that she appreciated my memorable tip.