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?”

“He was as of midnight tonight. In the apartment above the antiques shop owned by Gallagher and her partner.”

Brodie didn’t ask the address, knowing that it would be included in the envelope of information. He wasn’t someone who trusted easily, but he had learned to trust in the man beside him—and in his information-gathering capabilities. He had also learned to respect the strength and fighting instincts apparent in the visitor’s next restless words.

“I can take a more public role, you know. Make some noise. Get more people on our side. Be more of a help to you. Just providing information and equipment when you need it is nothing at all.”

“You do more than enough.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

Brodie tucked the envelope away inside his jacket and half turned to look at the other man, who was, in the darkness, virtually invisible to anyone who didn’t have eyes like a cat. Brodie did.

“Josh, we don’t have many advantages in this thing. They’re bigger than we are, faster to react to a situation. They’re better organized and they may even be smarter than we are. They’re sure as hell more ruthless. So we need every edge we can get. Being able to call on you for assistance and information has been invaluable, so never think you aren’t helping.”

After a moment, Josh sighed and settled his shoulders in the gesture of a man resigned. “I don’t much care for fighting in the dark, John.”

“We need you in the dark. We need someone with your resources, your power, and your abilities—and we need you hidden in the dark, where they can’t see you.”

“I know the value of an ace in the hole. But I don’t have to like it.”

“We’re grateful, Josh. We’re all grateful.”

Josh turned away the gratitude with a slight gesture, then fished inside his jacket for a cigarette and lighter. “Don’t worry about anybody seeing this,” he said absently as the lighter’s flame illuminated his lean, aristocratic features and lent his rather hard eyes a fierce glitter. “Zach is watching.”

“I thought he might be,” Brodie said gently.

A faint grin was sent his way before Josh snapped the lighter shut and plunged them back into darkness. “My watchdog. Are you working with Cait again?”

“Yeah. She’s at the hotel. And when I get back there, she’ll pretend she isn’t the least bit curious about who my mysterious source is—and it’s killing her. Don’t worry, though. She knows the score. She knows only what she needs to know, just like the rest of us.”

“So if one falls, only a few more can be taken down at the same time,” Josh murmured. “Like the Resistance cells in World War Two, protecting those at the core, the few who know the identity of all the fighters in every cell. The safest way, I know. But it makes it all the more difficult for you to work effectively as a team.”

“What choice do we have?” It was a rhetorical question, and Brodie didn’t wait for any attempt to answer it. “Thanks for the data, Josh.”

“Let me know, any hour of the day or night, if you need anything else. And I mean anything, John.”

“I will.”

They didn’t shake hands or say good-bye, though both knew it might easily be months before they saw each other again.

If they saw each other again.

Josh slid from the car with hardly a sound, and a few moments later Brodie saw headlights come on farther back along the street. An exceptionally quiet motor purred as the dark sedan passed his own car, turned a corner, and vanished into the night.

After a few minutes, Brodie started his own car and pulled away from the curb, his eyes automatically seeking any sign that the meeting had been noticed as he left the quiet neighborhood and headed back to the hotel and his impatiently waiting partner.

Tucker came abruptly out of a deep sleep, his first disoriented thought that Pendragon wanted out. The cat had mysteriously vanished by the time he had been ready to bunk down on the couch, and Tucker had been reluctant to knock on Sarah’s closed door to find out whether he had somehow slipped in there with her.

So the faint scratching sound brought him upright on the couch, filled with the sense of something left unfinished. The cat wants out. Damned cat. He blinked at the morning brightness, automatically checking his watch to find that it was seven thirty, then pushed the blanket away and swung his feet to the floor.

It wasn’t until then that he looked toward the door and saw the knob turning.

Even as he heard the security system beep a mild warning as the door was opened, Tucker was on his feet and moving swiftly in that direction. It occurred to him belatedly that he didn’t have a damned thing handy with which to defend himself, but that didn’t stop him.

He almost decked her.

Wide blue eyes took him in—fist raised, bare-chested, beard-stubbled, and wearing only a pair of boxers decorated with cartoon characters—and she let out a rich chuckle.

“Well, I would say Sarah finally struck gold after way too much brass, but if you’re sleeping on the couch, handsome, she’s obviously still missing the train!”

THREE

Margo James was a redhead like Sarah, but all resemblance stopped there. She was tall and voluptuous, her gestures and movements were quick and almost birdlike, and she talked with blunt, brisk cheerfulness, contentedly misusing words and mixing metaphors right and left.

Tucker had plenty of time to observe all these traits when he had returned from his quick retreat to shower, shave, and dress, because Margo insisted on fixing breakfast, telling him that Sarah always slept till nine at least.

“I’m the early bird, and she’s the bat.”

Tucker stopped himself from wincing. “You mean the night owl?”

Margo waved a spatula. “Yeah, right. It’s amazing that we get along so well. We’re really as different as afternoon and morning. Take our antiques, for instance. Sarah has a real feeling for what’s genuine but doesn’t have a clue how things should be priced, whereas I know the value of a thing down to the penny—but can be fooled by a fake really easily.”

“Sounds like you two are perfect partners,” Tucker commented, cautiously sipping coffee that was very, very strong and had a shot at holding a spoon upright in the cup.

“Yeah, it’s been great. Hey, I fed that cat she’s adopted and let him out. He seemed to want out.”

“I was supposed to let him out last night,” Tucker admitted, “but he disappeared on me.”

Margo shrugged. “Maybe he slept in Sarah’s room. She told me he does that sometimes.”

Tucker wondered when, in that case, Sarah had let the cat out of her room, but it didn’t seem important enough to worry about.