Just One Look by Harlan Coben

no act.
    Space.
    That was the main clue. If he had just told her that he was leaving for a few days, blowing off steam, running off with a stripper he’d met at the Satin Dolls, okay, she might not believe him, but it would be in the realm of possibility. But Jack hadn’t done that. He had been specific about his reasons for disappearing. He even repeated himself.
    Jack needed space.
    Marital codes. All couples have them. Most were pretty stupid. For example, there was a scene in the Billy Crystal movie
Mr. Saturday Night
when the comic Crystal played-Grace couldn’t remember the name, barely remembered the movie-pointed at an old man with a terrible toupee and said, “Is that a toupee? I, for one, was fooled.” So now, whenever she and Jack saw a man with a possible toupee, one would turn to the other and say, “I for one?” and the spouse would either agree or disagree. Grace and Jack started using “I for one” for other vanity enhancements too-nose jobs, breast implants, whatever.
    The origin of “Need space” was a bit more risqué.
    Despite her current predicament, Grace’s cheeks couldn’t help but flush from the memory. Sex had always been very good with Jack, but in any long-term relationship, there are ebbs and flows. This was two years ago, during a time of, uh, great flow. A stage of more corporeal creativity, if you will. Public creativity, to be more specific.
    There had been the quick nooky in the changing room at one of those upscale hair salons. There had been under-the-coat manipulation in a private balcony at a lush Broadway musical. But it was midway through a particularly daring encounter in a British-style red phone booth located, in of all places, a quiet street in Allendale, New Jersey, when Jack suddenly panted, “I need space.”
    Grace had looked up at him. “Excuse me?”
    “I mean, literally. Back up! The phone receiver is pressing into my neck!”
    They’d both laughed. Grace closed her eyes now, a faint smile on her lips. “Need space” had thus joined the ranks of their private marital language. Jack would not use that phrase haphazardly. He was sending her a message, warning her, letting her know that he was saying something he didn’t mean.
    Okay, so what did he mean then?
    Jack couldn’t speak freely for one thing. Someone was listening. Who? Was someone with him-or was he afraid because she was with the cops? She hoped the latter, that he was alone and simply didn’t want police involvement.
    But when she considered all the facts, that possibility seemed unlikely.
    If Jack had been free to talk, why hadn’t he called her back? He’d have to realize that she’d be out of the police station by now. If he were okay, if he was alone, Jack would have called again, just to let her know what was going on. He hadn’t done that.
    Conclusion: Jack was with somebody and in serious trouble.
    Did he want her to react or sit tight? In the same way she knew Jack-in the same way she knew that he’d been sending her a signal-Jack would know that Grace’s reaction would not be to go quietly into that good night. That was not her personality. Jack understood that. She would try to find him.
    He had probably counted on that.
    Of course, this was all no more than conjecture. She knew her husband well-or maybe she didn’t?-so her conjectures were more than mere fancy. But how much more? Maybe she was just justifying her decision to take action.
    Didn’t matter. Either way, she was involved.
    Grace thought about what she’d already learned. Jack had taken the Windstar up the New York Thruway. Who did they know up there? Why would he have gone that way so late at night?
    She had no idea.
    Hold up.
    Roll it back to the start: Jack comes home. Jack sees the photograph. That was what set it off. The photograph. He sees it on the kitchen counter. She starts asking him about it. He gets a call from Dan. And then he goes into his study…
    Stop. His study.
    Grace hurried down the