She just stares out the window.

For the next few hours, he didn't speak. Trees and farms passed. Eventually the traffic got busier and the highway widened to six lanes, and they were on the New Jersey Turnpike, heading into New York City. Its famous skyline was already visible, spiking up in the late-afternoon sun. Alex took the George Washington Bridge across the river, paying the toll in cash. Skirting north of Manhattan, he drove them into the Bronx. After a while, they were in a neighborhood of crumbling buildings and overflowing Dumpsters.

She just silently watches the scenery.

Pulling into a small, run-down shopping center, he parked the Porsche and got out

She stays in the car.

Alex opened the trunk. There was a black nylon bag inside; he unzipped it and pulled out a bulky envelope, which he tucked into his inside jacket pocket. Then he went around to the front, swept his hand under the driver's seat, and took out a small metal box. He shoved it into the nylon bag; his jeans and folded T-shirts were inside. He put in a few things from the glove compartment, too, and then zipped the bag shut again and slung it over his shoulder.

"Come on," he said shortly.

She rolls her eyes and follows.

"Do you have a cell phone?" he asked as they passed a Dumpster. He knew she had one, but figured he'd ask anyway.

"No."

"Liar."