machine. I lifted my arm, and swept it along the bottom edge of the frame. I was praying for silence. The thought of someone vandalizing my Lichtenstein—inserting things into it, using it to spy on me and maybe Carolyn—made me sick.
I moved the machine all the way to the right-hand side without triggering an alarm. My arm trembled with relief. Desperate to bedone, I swept back the other way, faster, about six inches higher. Still no sound. I kept on going, back and forth, higher and faster each time, until I’d reached the top of the painting. And uncovered nothing. I laid the device down on the desk—gently, as if there was a danger it would trigger itself out of spite if I banged it around—pushed my chair back with my foot, and sat down without a word.
THEY GAVE ME A MOMENT
to collect myself, then McKenna’s guy shook my hand, put the sniffer back in his case, and left.
“You’ve been through a lot today, Marc.” McKenna took a business card from his pocket and held it out to me. “If you need to talk about anything, here’s a number for someone you can trust.”
“No, thanks. I’ll be fine. I’ll talk to my wife when she gets home. Or to a friend. I’m seeing a couple of them for lunch tomorrow. Old friends. Good listeners.”
McKenna shook his head.
“Sorry, Marc, but you can’t mention this to your wife. Or anyone else. There’s too much at stake. If you need to talk, call the number on the card. OK?”
“I guess.”
“Good. And I’m going to leave you my card, as well. I doubt you’ll have any more trouble, but if anything does happen, I need you to call me right away. Night or day.”
“OK. Thanks.”
“Remember, call
me
. Not those detectives you met. Our resources are far superior. And we’re dealing with something way above the locals’ pay scale here.”
“Understood.”
“Excellent. Now, I have just one other thing. That AmeriTel data we talked about? I’d still like to take a look at it. So if any of it shows up anywhere—any other old memory sticks, computer discs, email attachments, whatever—call me. Immediately. It’s important.”
“I will. Absolutely.”
“Great. In that case, I’m done here. I’ll get out of your hair.”
——
THE AGENTS’ TIRES CRUNCHED
across the gravel, more cautiously than Carolyn’s had done yesterday, but an unwelcome reminder of her departure nonetheless. I glanced at my Lichtenstein, still relieved that it hadn’t been violated—by her, or anyone else—but my eyes were playing tricks on me. Instead of the blond woman’s face, I saw my own. I was the one falling into the abyss. Losing the love of my life? Or even my grip on reality?
What the hell had just happened?
Why was McKenna so interested in the AmeriTel data? LeBrock had been desperate to get it back, too. And what about Carolyn? Was it the data everyone had been after all along? I’d thought my work was the target. But if it wasn’t, why was Carolyn dining out with Weimann, my old rival?
More to the point, why was my wife dining out with another man?
How naive had I been?
Wednesday. Morning.
N ORMALLY, I CAN’T STAND DEALING WITH MUNDANE HOUSEHOLD
crap.
Cleaning, gardening, plumbing, electrical work—I leave Carolyn to find people to take care of it. But without Carolyn, and after a night without a wink of sleep—when the house was alive with creaks and groans, as if the structure itself were mourning her absence—I had no choice but to get on the case myself.
Two cups of strong coffee, a Google search, and one conversation was all it took to hire a locksmith, and he was parked on the driveway unloading his tools before another hour had passed. It seemed like he knew his business, although whether Agent McKenna would think the ridiculously expensive Centurion Elite he installed would be secure enough, I hadn’t a clue. It didn’t look any more substantial than the old lock, to me. And given the guy’s constant, annoying attempts to make me
I moved the machine all the way to the right-hand side without triggering an alarm. My arm trembled with relief. Desperate to bedone, I swept back the other way, faster, about six inches higher. Still no sound. I kept on going, back and forth, higher and faster each time, until I’d reached the top of the painting. And uncovered nothing. I laid the device down on the desk—gently, as if there was a danger it would trigger itself out of spite if I banged it around—pushed my chair back with my foot, and sat down without a word.
THEY GAVE ME A MOMENT
to collect myself, then McKenna’s guy shook my hand, put the sniffer back in his case, and left.
“You’ve been through a lot today, Marc.” McKenna took a business card from his pocket and held it out to me. “If you need to talk about anything, here’s a number for someone you can trust.”
“No, thanks. I’ll be fine. I’ll talk to my wife when she gets home. Or to a friend. I’m seeing a couple of them for lunch tomorrow. Old friends. Good listeners.”
McKenna shook his head.
“Sorry, Marc, but you can’t mention this to your wife. Or anyone else. There’s too much at stake. If you need to talk, call the number on the card. OK?”
“I guess.”
“Good. And I’m going to leave you my card, as well. I doubt you’ll have any more trouble, but if anything does happen, I need you to call me right away. Night or day.”
“OK. Thanks.”
“Remember, call
me
. Not those detectives you met. Our resources are far superior. And we’re dealing with something way above the locals’ pay scale here.”
“Understood.”
“Excellent. Now, I have just one other thing. That AmeriTel data we talked about? I’d still like to take a look at it. So if any of it shows up anywhere—any other old memory sticks, computer discs, email attachments, whatever—call me. Immediately. It’s important.”
“I will. Absolutely.”
“Great. In that case, I’m done here. I’ll get out of your hair.”
——
THE AGENTS’ TIRES CRUNCHED
across the gravel, more cautiously than Carolyn’s had done yesterday, but an unwelcome reminder of her departure nonetheless. I glanced at my Lichtenstein, still relieved that it hadn’t been violated—by her, or anyone else—but my eyes were playing tricks on me. Instead of the blond woman’s face, I saw my own. I was the one falling into the abyss. Losing the love of my life? Or even my grip on reality?
What the hell had just happened?
Why was McKenna so interested in the AmeriTel data? LeBrock had been desperate to get it back, too. And what about Carolyn? Was it the data everyone had been after all along? I’d thought my work was the target. But if it wasn’t, why was Carolyn dining out with Weimann, my old rival?
More to the point, why was my wife dining out with another man?
How naive had I been?
Wednesday. Morning.
N ORMALLY, I CAN’T STAND DEALING WITH MUNDANE HOUSEHOLD
crap.
Cleaning, gardening, plumbing, electrical work—I leave Carolyn to find people to take care of it. But without Carolyn, and after a night without a wink of sleep—when the house was alive with creaks and groans, as if the structure itself were mourning her absence—I had no choice but to get on the case myself.
Two cups of strong coffee, a Google search, and one conversation was all it took to hire a locksmith, and he was parked on the driveway unloading his tools before another hour had passed. It seemed like he knew his business, although whether Agent McKenna would think the ridiculously expensive Centurion Elite he installed would be secure enough, I hadn’t a clue. It didn’t look any more substantial than the old lock, to me. And given the guy’s constant, annoying attempts to make me
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