The security system guarding Mackenzie’s house was a good one. It took Murphy almost three minutes to bypass the alarm and get inside. She didn’t turn on any lights, depending on the narrow beam of her pencil flashlight to find her way around. She didn’t waste any time, moving from room to room in a quick, methodical search.
Within ten minutes, she was in his office and had the wall safe behind his desk open. She ignored some stock certificates, leafed uninterestedly through a couple of contracts with his publisher, and swore softly when the safe offered nothing else.
She kept searching, paying close attention to what she found on the cluttered desk. A folded map held her interest the longest; she spent several minutes bent over the desk studying it, and when she straightened at last, she slipped it into the leather pouch at her side.
“Not quite as smart as you think you are,” she murmured.
Her cell phone vibrated, and she pulled it out of the leather pouch with a scowl. “Yeah, what?”
“Find anything?” His voice was, as always, almost preternaturally composed.
“If I do,” she responded with equal calm, “I’ll report. As agreed.”
“We’re running out of time, Murphy.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
There was a brief silence, and then he said somewhat dryly, “You might at least reassure me that we have the same goal in mind.”
“I might.” She smiled in the darkness of Tucker Mackenzie’s office and did not add the requested assurances.
He knew her too well to push, though the almost inaudible sound of a sigh reached her intently listening ears. His voice was carefully matter-of-fact when he said, “I need information, Murphy.”
“Yes, I know. Give me a chance to do my job.”
“Very well. I’ll wait for your report.”
“Do that.” She turned off the phone decisively without waiting for him to sign off first. She was willing to bet she was one of very few who would dare to hang up on him. She liked that. The cell was a burner, intended to be used only once and then discarded; she’d toss it into the nearest Dumpster before moving on; it was too easy to track cell phones these days. She’d have another burner in an hour, and he’d have to wait for her to call him next time. She liked that too.
She stood there in the dark and silent office for several more minutes, thoughtfully fingering the folded map in her leather pouch. Finally, she left the office and made her way from the house, pausing only long enough to lock up behind herself and put the security system back online.
The neighborhood was dark and quiet in the hours past midnight, and Murphy went on her way without attracting any notice, not even disturbing the few sleeping watchdogs with her softly whistled rendition of “Stormy Weather.”
In perfect pitch.
“But why?” Sarah asked much later.
“We know they— We know somebody is watching you.” Tucker’s voice was patient. “What we don’t know is whether the guy in the black jacket is all we have to worry about. I want to know that, Sarah. I think we need to know that. Before we leave.”
His car was parked near the shop as before, but in the dense shadows of a spreading oak tree. There was, he’d explained to Sarah, a clear path of retreat here, with little chance of the car’s being hemmed in by other cars.
Assuming, of course, that no one realized they were sitting in the car.
They had eaten and then returned to the apartment above the shop as if they intended to spend the night there. Then they had slipped out and made their way cautiously—and hopefully unseen—around behind several houses and back to the car. Timers on the lights inside the apartment made it look as if they had settled down for the night around eleven thirty. It was now after midnight.
Sarah had realized only gradually that Tucker had had something like this in mind even before she’d had her vision. For one thing, he had left Margo’s house with two of her automatic timers in his pocket. For another, he had brought from his own house a couple of thick blankets and comfortable pillows. Sarah was using the blankets and pillows now, reclining in the backseat and wrapped snugly against the chill of the night. Tucker was in the front, sipping hot coffee. And watching.
He’d had the foresight to remove the lightbulbs from the car’s interior lights so they wouldn’t give away their return, but there was still, he’d told her dispassionately, at least a fifty percent chance that if the man in the black jacket was watching, he had seen them.
In the dark quiet of the night, Sarah was wide awake and almost unbearably edgy. It was horrible, waiting to see whether someone would come as she had seen. Horrible waiting to find out whether she was meant to die tonight. Do they want to kill me? I don’t know. All I know is that I’m afraid of them. Terribly afraid.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Sarah.” His voice was low.
After a moment, she said, “You’re a touch psychic yourself.”
“No. It doesn’t require psychic abilities to know you’re frightened. Anybody would be. But I am not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”
“Promises can get you in trouble.” They have before.