“How?”
At the moment, it was an unanswerable question, so Tucker merely shrugged and said, “By putting the pieces together. But not tonight. You’ve had a long and tough day, and I’m a little tired myself. I know it’s early, but why don’t we turn in?”
Her expression was unreadable. “There’s only one bedroom.”
“That couch looks comfortable. I’ll be fine out here, Sarah.”
Without further comment, she left the breakfast bar and went to get a blanket and pillow from the storage closet across from the bedroom. She piled them on one end of the couch. “There are clean towels in the bathroom, and some men’s toiletries in the linen cabinet; Margo has an occasional male guest stay up here, and she believes in being prepared. Help yourself to whatever you need.”
“Thanks.”
She didn’t seem eager to leave. “Pendragon should be put out before you settle down to sleep; otherwise he’ll wake you up at dawn.”
“I’ll take care of it.” He didn’t move away from his position near the bar. “Good night, Sarah.”
“Good night.” She turned abruptly toward the bedroom, pausing only when she reached the hallway. She stood there for a moment, as if in indecision, then looked back over her shoulder at him. Quietly, her expression quizzical, she said, “I’m sorry. She never wanted to be found, you know. That’s why you couldn’t.” Then she went on into her bedroom and closed the door softly behind her.
Tucker wasn’t sure he was breathing. He forced himself to draw air into his lungs, and it made him briefly dizzy. Or something did. He stood there staring after her, conscious of his heart thudding heavily inside his chest and cold sweat popping out of every pore.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.
The witching hour, Brodie thought, studying the deserted street in front of his parked car. At three A.M. on this Thursday morning, the day after Sarah Gallagher’s house had burned to the ground, the only lights were streetlights; in this part of Richmond, at least, all was quiet.
He caught the flicker of light in the rearview mirror and tensed just a bit, his hand sliding inside his jacket and closing over the reassuringly solid grip of the .45 ready in its holster. Even when the light flickered half a dozen more times in a definite signal, he didn’t entirely relax, though his foot tapped the brake lightly in the expected response.
It wasn’t until the passenger door of his car opened and a man slid in that Brodie relaxed and left his gun holstered. The dome light had not come on (since he had earlier removed the bulbs), but a faint whiff of a very expensive and even more exclusive men’s cologne confirmed the identity of his companion for Brodie.
“You didn’t have to come yourself,” he said, surprised.
“I was in the neighborhood.”
Brodie made a rude but soft sound of disbelief. “Yesterday, you were in Canada, at a board meeting still going on today. You’re elusive as hell, Josh, but I’m very good at what I do.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.” Josh Long, world-renowned financier, philanthropist, and a dozen other things that made him very famous indeed, reached into his casual jacket and pulled out a large manila envelope. “This is a verbatim copy of the police report concerning Sarah Gallagher’s house fire, including all notes made at the scene by the investigating officer. Also a copy of the fire marshal’s report.”
“What, you didn’t get a fingerprint and ID of the culprit as well?” Brodie asked dryly.
“You’ll have to forgive me—there was so little time.”
Brodie let out a brief laugh, honestly amused, as he accepted the envelope. “Yeah, sorry about that. But we’re in a hurry, as usual. As I told you, we’ve lost track of Gallagher. She left the ruins of her house after the fire yesterday with a man—”
“Tucker Mackenzie.”
After a moment of silence, Brodie said thoughtfully, “The novelist?”
“According to my source inside the police department, yes. The investigating officer had no idea who he was at the time; he’s apparently no reader and Miss Gallagher introduced Mackenzie only as a friend.”
“And is he one?”
Josh shrugged. “Hers? No evidence they’d met before Wednesday. Ours? Your guess is as good as mine. We managed to scare up a bit of data on Mackenzie; it’s in the envelope with the rest. Based on that, I’d have to say he looks like a possible ally, but there’s no way to know that for sure. In going to her he obviously has some agenda of his own, though what that might be I couldn’t find out. In any case, he appears to have elected himself her watchdog, at least for the moment.”
“He’s still with her?”