Page 120 of Beyond Protection
"Ten o'clock. Don't turn."
I picked up a multi-tool. Used the motion to glance left.
There was a hood shadowing her face as she watched me.
"Is it her?" Clairmont asked.
"Can't confirm. Hold position."
The woman pulled back her hood.
Blonde. Twenty years old.
Not Vanessa.
She smiled and lifted her phone for a photo.
I nodded.
"False alarm," Eamon said.
I set down the multi-tool. My hands shook.
"Time?" Clairmont asked.
"Fourteen forty-three."
At fourteen fifty-seven: "All units, scrub the operation. Mr. McCabe, head for the exit."
It was over. She hadn't appeared.
Eamon materialized from the crowd. "Come on. Let's get you out."
We walked together. The sky had gone gray. Neither of us spoke until we were blocks away.
"She's at the cabin," I said.
"Probably."
"Which means tomorrow night—"
"Tomorrow night, we end this." Eamon's jaw was tight. "One way or another."
***
Ma's house smelled like leftover roast beef. Police radios crackled from the dining room. Michael's voice carried from the kitchen.
I climbed the stairs. Each step creaked—third, seventh, tenth. Home sounds, except the house didn't feel safe anymore.
The guest room door stood slightly ajar. I always closed it when I left.
After I stepped inside, I pulled the door shut behind me until I heard the latch click.
The room looked the same, but something was wrong.
It was like someone had stirred up the air. They'd moved through the space recently. Was it Ma sprucing up?
The photos on the dresser were slightly different. They'd been moved a quarter-inch left.
