"Geneva said he was her mother's brother."
"And?"
"When we just talked to him, he said that he'd talked to his brother."
"Well, he probably meant brother-in-law."
"If you mean brother-in-law, that's what you say . . . . Command, dial Bell."
*
The phone rang and the detective answered on the first note of the cell phone tone that meant the call was from Lincoln Rhyme's town house.
"Bell here."
"Roland, you're at Geneva's?"
"Right."
"Your cell doesn't have a speaker, does it?"
"No. Go ahead." The detective instinctively pulled his jacket aside and unsnapped the thong holding the larger of his two pistols. His voice was as steady as his hand, though his heart ratcheted up a few beats per second.
"Where's Geneva?"
"Her room."
"Uncle?"
"Don't know. He just went to the store."
"Listen. He flu
bbed the story about how he's related to her. He said he's her father's brother. She said he's her mother's."
"Hell, he's a ringer."
"Get to Geneva and stay with her until we figure it out. I'm sending another couple of RMPs over there."
Bell walked fast to the girl's room. He knocked but got no response.
Heart pumping fast now, he drew his Beretta. "Geneva!"
Nothing.
"Roland," Rhyme called, "what's going on?"
"Just a second," the detective whispered.
In a combat shooting crouch, he pushed the door open and, lifting his weapon, stepped inside.
The room was empty. Geneva Settle was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Five
"Central, I have a ten twenty-nine, possible abduction."
In his calm drawl Bell repeated the ominous message and gave his location. Then: "Vic is a black female, age sixteen, five-two, one hundred pounds. Suspect is a black male, stocky, early to mid forties, short hair."