Nightwork, page 35
But she stood firm.
He taught his junior class on The Tempest—the brave new world, the sorcery, the betrayal, the romance. And thought about her lunch with Tracey.
She’d handle it, he told himself, and put it away for Prospero and Caliban.
* * *
She’d handle it, Miranda thought as she breezed into Water’s Edge ten minutes early. She wanted to be settled at the pretty outdoor table in the sweet little breeze with her glass of lunchtime Pinot Grigio before Tracey arrived.
An easy assignment, she thought, and an enjoyable one, as she liked Tracey. She rarely if ever did the lunch-with-a-girlfriend thing back home, as she kept to a fairly strict writing schedule. So this equaled a nice break—the cherry on top.
A semi-fancy lunch with a friend in the frisky spring breeze by the water. And, hopefully, some solid information that helped Booth.
She wanted to help him, and—another cherry on top—wanted the excitement of being a part of a heist.
She didn’t feel the slightest guilt, which surprised her more than a little. But what Booth intended to steal had already been stolen, and involved cold-blooded murder.
No stealing for profit in this case, as she didn’t think her own moral code was quite that squishy. Simply a vehicle to right wrongs.
Since revenge equaled a gray area for her, she labeled it justice.
She strongly believed in justice.
She ordered her drink and settled in. She dressed for girl to girl. Bold purple suede jacket, linen pants and top, kicky boots, and she’d tossed on a fun scarf.
She spotted Tracey, in bright red and cream, rush in ten minutes late—exactly as Miranda had expected.
“Sorry, so sorry!”
“Oh, stop!” Laughing it off, Miranda picked up her wine. “I’ve been enjoying the view, the wine. I hope you’re going to have some so I don’t feel like an afternoon lush.”
“Twist my arm. What she’s having,” Tracey told the waiter. “Thanks, Rod. This is so great. I didn’t think I’d ever talk you into lunch.”
“I really wanted the break, and to thank you for arranging the extension on my lease.”
“Thrilled to do it. I can’t wait to read the book. It’s all so exciting. I hope you’re having some time to enjoy the house, the water, the gardens. Things are popping.”
“They are, and it’s gorgeous. I was afraid someone else had the house booked, and I’d need to move. You must have bookings back-to-back, especially for river properties.”
“Things are good. Thanks, Rod,” she said again as the waiter brought her wine.
He rattled off the lunch specials, told them to take their time.
“You’ve got to try the calamari appetizer. How about we split it?”
“Sounds good.”
“We’ll start there, Rod, and figure the rest.”
That done, Tracey sat back, took a sip of wine, said: “Ahhh.”
Miranda nudged. “You’ve been busy?”
“We have, and no complaints.”
Nudged again. “Any new arrivals?”
“I actually just closed a three-month rental on a house just down from you. It usually rents by the week in season, but this couple wanted a three-month lease. Nice people if you have a chance to meet them. He works in DC, and when he can’t work remotely, he’ll commute. She’s a photographer working on a series of nature photos and wanted the location.”
“Really? That’s so interesting. Would I know her work?”
“Well, I didn’t. They’re out of DC, and this is, apparently, a new direction for her. I kind of think it’s more a hobby, or has been, and he’s indulging her. The house is seasonal—shuts down late fall to spring, and hasn’t been updated in a decade, so this is a lucky break for the owners and for us.”
“Sounds like it.” Miranda broke a fat, soft, herbed breadstick in half, offered some to Tracey. “What kind of work does he do?”
“I think it’s supersecret government work, because he was really cagey about it.”
Miranda wiggled her shoulders. “I love a mystery. You screen applicants, right?”
“Absolutely. He works for something called Legacy Consultants, and no flags there. She’s freelance, and it does strike me as hobby time. Whatever, their credit rating was thumbs-up, they paid the first month and the security, and didn’t complain about the dated kitchen and bath. The property’s a hard sell for more than a week, and even then. I figured it would sit most of the season, again, and bam. Got the inquiry just a few days ago, and they’re moving in tomorrow.”
“Congratulations.” Miranda tapped her glass to Tracey’s.
“Thanks. Now, enough about real estate. How are things going with you?”
They split the appetizer, had salads, split an enormous fudge brownie with vanilla bean ice cream.
An easy assignment, Miranda mused when she drove back to Booth’s. And a thoroughly enjoyable one.
Next time, she thought, she’d make a lunch date with Tracey just for the girlfriend factor.
But for now, she figured a drive by the river rental wouldn’t hurt a thing.
* * *
When Booth came in after a long rehearsal, he found Miranda sitting at the kitchen counter with her tablet and a glass of wine. The fact that she looked completely at home brought on a tug-of-war of sensations. The oddity of having anyone so ensconced in his space pulled against the pleasure of having that anyone be Miranda.
He caught the mixed scent of sweet and savory in the air as she pushed her tablet aside and smiled at him.
“Hi. How’d it go?”
“Could’ve been worse.” He veered into his office to lay his briefcase on his desk.
She rose and moved in to kiss him—such a strange normal, he thought.
“I took care of dinner,” she told him.
“You cooked?”
“You sound both shocked and concerned. I took care of dinner, and my way of doing that is ordering Chinese. And I hope you’re hungry, because since I didn’t know what you’d want, I got a little of a lot. Grab some wine and sit down. I’ll set it up.”
“Just a Coke. I’ve still got work. Miranda … thanks for this.”
“It’s called teamwork, remember?” Very much at home, she got cartons and containers out of the oven, then began to fill bowls and serving dishes. “You may be used to cooking every night, but there’s no need to when you’re putting in ten- and twelve-hour days at school. Then dealing with the problem after you get home.”
With a whip of her head, she tossed her braid back as she carried dishes to the table. “I thought, unless you have issues, I can order something in every couple of days, at least until after the show closes.”
“That would be great.”
“Consider it done. I’ll mix it up.”
He turned off the warming oven, as she’d forgotten to. He got a Coke, then joined her at the table. And took her hand.
“I appreciate this.”
“It’s Chinese takeout, Booth.”
“It’s food I didn’t have to think about. It’s been a long time since anybody took care of dinner for me.”
She wasn’t sure why that made her heart twist, but she gave his hand a quick squeeze. “The benefits of having a housemate. Oh, and I noticed something today. Not sure how I missed it before.”
“Noticed what?”
“You have a kayak hanging from the ceiling of the carport.”
“Yeah, I usually have it in the water by now, but things’ve been a little busy. You could rent one if you want and I’d teach you.”
“You forget I grew up by a lake.” She started with some General Tso’s chicken. “I’ve been kayaking since I was a kid. Maybe we’ll try out the river together when things aren’t as busy.”
More normal, he thought. Just easy, pleasant normal. “Weekend’s looking good weather-wise.”
“If the book cooperates tomorrow, maybe I’ll go into town and see about a kayak. Meanwhile, I had a very pleasant lunch with Tracey today, if you’re interested.”
“Jesus. You moved fast. I thought you’d booked that for the end of the week.”
“She had a lunch opening today, so I bumped it up. Here’s a little more to push in that brain of yours—which must be crowded. First, I didn’t even get a chance to use my crafty wiles to find out you were absolutely right about LaPorte sending people.”
She let out a little gasp as she stared out the glass doors. Booth was on his feet in an instant.
“Sorry, it’s nothing. I saw a hummingbird. Like a moving sapphire at your feeder out there. They’re a favorite of mine, and it’s the first I’ve seen this spring.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t need those last five years of my life anyway. Who are you talking about, and how do you know LaPorte sent them?”
“She didn’t tell me their names—I should’ve used those crafty wiles to get them, but I didn’t think of it. A couple, and he supposedly works—remotely, for the most part—in DC for a consulting firm. Legacy Consultants. She’s claiming to be a freelance photographer who wants to focus on wildlife. You know the house just about a half mile from here? The little one, older. Tracey says it needs some serious updating and only rents by the week—and rarely at that—in the season. They took it for three months, on the spot. Moved in today.”
“I know the place.” So easily brought it into his head. “The owner brings his buddies down for long weekends, fishing. More like a gut job than an update. Doesn’t have much of a view either, but it’s secluded. Private.”
“There’s a shiny black Mercedes G-Wagon in the drive, along with a BMW two-seater convertible. And yes, I had to look both of them up, as I don’t know one car from another. That tells me they could afford a lot better for a seasonal rental, so my sleuthing senses say the location won. Secluded, within half a mile. And a nature hunter armed with a camera doesn’t raise eyebrows hiking the woods, the river trails up this way, right?”
“It will now. How do you know about the cars?”
“I looked them up.”
“I meant, how did you know to look them up?”
“I saw them—and could see the make sort of thing—when I drove by. It’s a public road, Booth,” she replied before he could say more. “And a road I live on right now. Driving by is normal, natural, and expected. I took note of the cars, and of the fact all the shades were drawn. Those same sleuthing skills tell me they’re doing something in there, during their move in, they don’t want anyone to see.”
“Installing some security, setting up a work area. Smart thing would be to install a few outdoor wildlife cameras in the woods aimed toward my house. I’ll think of something I can do, something they can send to LaPorte to keep him satisfied.”
“I could bake some cookies—or better, do the fake-bake thing and put some from the town bakery on a plate. Take them over, welcome to the neighborhood.”
“First, no.” He ate a spring roll, chased it with Coke. “Next, ‘fake bake’?”
“If I wanted to welcome someone, I wouldn’t expose them to my cookies. It’s a common thing, especially where I’m from. The taking over of baked goods, I mean, not the fake bake necessarily. It’s just hi, y’all, and welcome. Then you hope they invite you in out of obliged politeness so you can be nosy.”
“And again, no. I’ll get their names, see what I can find out about them.”
“How are you going to get their names unless you ask them? And you need those baked goods for that.”
“No, I just need to hack Tracey’s rental files. I could ask her if I ran into her, but this is quicker.”
“Oh.”
He could actually see her examining her ethics on the hacking.
“If Tracey knew, she’d help, but we can’t tell her, so I guess this is a work-around. But wouldn’t they use fake names?”
“Most likely, and most likely she has their fake driver’s licenses on file. I can run facial recognition.”
Both stunned and intrigued, she sat back. “You can do that?”
“Haven’t had much call to, but yeah, I can do it. Or Jacques—a guy I know—can. Or Sebastien.” He spoke absently as he looked outside.
“It’s nearly dark. Too late for a casual walk in the woods,” he considered, “and they probably wouldn’t set up cameras until tomorrow, when I’m at school. I want a look at their equipment, but we’ll see what we can find out about them first.”
“You’re going to sneak over there, aren’t you?”
“Eventually, but I don’t consider it sneaking.”
“What then?”
“Work. We’ll carve out some time this weekend for that kayaking. It’s a pretty ride down that part of the river. Okay, I’ve got the dishes.”
“No, clearly your crowded brain is a hundred miles away. I’ve got them. Go do the hacking thing.”
Not used to it at all, he admitted. “Thanks. It shouldn’t take long.”
She considered that as he went upstairs. Was not taking long a bad thing, as it proved him adept at hacking into personal and business information? Or a good thing, as it wouldn’t eat up much of his time learning about who LaPorte hired to watch him—or potentially do worse if they didn’t like what they saw?
She tubbed up leftovers—she’d ordered far too much—loaded the dishwasher. Since she’d recognized the lofty standards of her housemate, she thoroughly cleaned all surfaces.
And because she wanted to see him hack, she went upstairs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
She heard his voice, and the laugh in it, as she approached the bedroom. He sat at the computer in his secret room talking to a man on the screen.
A good-looking older man, craggy face, a shock of silvery-gray hair, a stubbly little beard, and lively eyes. From the accent, she thought, surely Sebastien.
Then a strange, bug-eyed little dog leaped up and lapped at the screen.
“Mais, he has nothing but love for you, my Wiley.”
“Why would you humiliate him with a rhinestone collar?”
“A gift from our Mags. He likes it. And so, you’re sure this is Cannery?”
“A hundred percent. I recognized him from our near miss in Calais. It’s been a few years, and he added the beard, dyed his hair brown, but I don’t forget faces.”
“Or anything else. I think LaPorte sends more than spies, me. Cannery’s an enforcer.”
“I won’t give him any reason for that. I need to run the woman. She’s going by Lori Slade, but that’ll be bullshit. But knowing he’s brought in someone like Cannery, I wanted you on watch. You keep an eye on Mags, Sebastien, just in case.”
“Cher, I keep my eye on our Mags always, and the rest of me whenever I can.”
“Jesus, Sebastien, she’s still my aunt.” Booth rubbed both hands over his face. The dog leaped up again with a little stuffed mouse clamped in his teeth like an offering.
“Wiley would share Coquette with you.”
“Next time. I’m going to do a pass by later, just to see if I can get a look at their setup. Over the weekend, I’ll get a look from the river. As soon as the show’s done, I’ll find you a place in Georgetown.”
“No, I do that. That’s for me, my part. LaPorte hounds you because I gave him your scent.”
“Sebastien—”
“This is for me. C’est tout!”
“All right, okay.” In a gesture of peace, Booth held up a hand. “Let me know when you have that set up.”
“Send me the pictures of your new neighbors. I’ll run the woman. I have a new program.” His gaze drifted over, and he smiled—flirtatious now. “This is the Miranda. I’m very pleased to meet you at last.”
“I’m sorry to intrude.”
“Beautiful women never intrude, only enhance.” Now he grinned at Booth. “Ta rousse est glorieuse, mon ami.”
“Merci beaucoup,” Miranda replied. “Je parle assez bien française.”
“Then you come to my bayou and we’ll have many conversations. You can bring mon bon ami if you wish.”
“You’re coming north.”
“Bien sûr, when the time is right. No worries for you, ma belle. This one is mine, too, and I don’t let harm come to mine. Send me the pictures. I’ll have her name for you, her true one, before morning.”
“I’ll send now. Eyes sharp, Sebastien.”
“As ever, cher. À bientôt.” He blew a kiss to Miranda, and broke the connection.
“I eavesdropped, and that’s not an apology.”
“It’s not eavesdropping if I knew you were there. And I did.”
“Tell me about this Cannery and Calais.”
“In a second.” He did something—sent the picture, Miranda assumed—then brought up a split screen of a man and a woman. The man looked to be late thirties, early forties, short brown hair, trim brown beard, cold brown eyes. The woman, a beauty, looked about a decade younger, sharp features, wide hazel eyes, her raven-wing hair worn short—sharp like her features—with a fringe.
“The neighbors,” Booth told her.
“And John Madison is actually this Cannery.”
“Lucius Cannery, and LaPorte sent him hunting me in France. He got close, too close, which is how I spotted him. Not that long after I was working a job in Paris and spotted LaPorte. So I decided to leave Europe.”
“He’s an enforcer, Sebastien said. Which means he hurts people, or worse.”
“For a price, sure. But LaPorte wants me alive and well, at least for now. Cannery’s insurance. The woman’s the one who’ll keep tabs. You just need to keep your distance.”
At her steady stare, he amended: “We need to keep our distance. We run into them, we’re casually friendly.”
“Won’t Cannery know you know?”
“He doesn’t know I made him in France. LaPorte would never send someone he thinks I’d recognize.” He reached up, took her hand. “I’m not keeping anything from you. Knowledge is power. It’s a weapon. I want you to have both.”
“So you were going to tell me you intended to—not sneak—pass by their house?”
“Maybe,” he said after a moment. “I don’t know. But I’d have told you if I found anything.”
He taught his junior class on The Tempest—the brave new world, the sorcery, the betrayal, the romance. And thought about her lunch with Tracey.
She’d handle it, he told himself, and put it away for Prospero and Caliban.
* * *
She’d handle it, Miranda thought as she breezed into Water’s Edge ten minutes early. She wanted to be settled at the pretty outdoor table in the sweet little breeze with her glass of lunchtime Pinot Grigio before Tracey arrived.
An easy assignment, she thought, and an enjoyable one, as she liked Tracey. She rarely if ever did the lunch-with-a-girlfriend thing back home, as she kept to a fairly strict writing schedule. So this equaled a nice break—the cherry on top.
A semi-fancy lunch with a friend in the frisky spring breeze by the water. And, hopefully, some solid information that helped Booth.
She wanted to help him, and—another cherry on top—wanted the excitement of being a part of a heist.
She didn’t feel the slightest guilt, which surprised her more than a little. But what Booth intended to steal had already been stolen, and involved cold-blooded murder.
No stealing for profit in this case, as she didn’t think her own moral code was quite that squishy. Simply a vehicle to right wrongs.
Since revenge equaled a gray area for her, she labeled it justice.
She strongly believed in justice.
She ordered her drink and settled in. She dressed for girl to girl. Bold purple suede jacket, linen pants and top, kicky boots, and she’d tossed on a fun scarf.
She spotted Tracey, in bright red and cream, rush in ten minutes late—exactly as Miranda had expected.
“Sorry, so sorry!”
“Oh, stop!” Laughing it off, Miranda picked up her wine. “I’ve been enjoying the view, the wine. I hope you’re going to have some so I don’t feel like an afternoon lush.”
“Twist my arm. What she’s having,” Tracey told the waiter. “Thanks, Rod. This is so great. I didn’t think I’d ever talk you into lunch.”
“I really wanted the break, and to thank you for arranging the extension on my lease.”
“Thrilled to do it. I can’t wait to read the book. It’s all so exciting. I hope you’re having some time to enjoy the house, the water, the gardens. Things are popping.”
“They are, and it’s gorgeous. I was afraid someone else had the house booked, and I’d need to move. You must have bookings back-to-back, especially for river properties.”
“Things are good. Thanks, Rod,” she said again as the waiter brought her wine.
He rattled off the lunch specials, told them to take their time.
“You’ve got to try the calamari appetizer. How about we split it?”
“Sounds good.”
“We’ll start there, Rod, and figure the rest.”
That done, Tracey sat back, took a sip of wine, said: “Ahhh.”
Miranda nudged. “You’ve been busy?”
“We have, and no complaints.”
Nudged again. “Any new arrivals?”
“I actually just closed a three-month rental on a house just down from you. It usually rents by the week in season, but this couple wanted a three-month lease. Nice people if you have a chance to meet them. He works in DC, and when he can’t work remotely, he’ll commute. She’s a photographer working on a series of nature photos and wanted the location.”
“Really? That’s so interesting. Would I know her work?”
“Well, I didn’t. They’re out of DC, and this is, apparently, a new direction for her. I kind of think it’s more a hobby, or has been, and he’s indulging her. The house is seasonal—shuts down late fall to spring, and hasn’t been updated in a decade, so this is a lucky break for the owners and for us.”
“Sounds like it.” Miranda broke a fat, soft, herbed breadstick in half, offered some to Tracey. “What kind of work does he do?”
“I think it’s supersecret government work, because he was really cagey about it.”
Miranda wiggled her shoulders. “I love a mystery. You screen applicants, right?”
“Absolutely. He works for something called Legacy Consultants, and no flags there. She’s freelance, and it does strike me as hobby time. Whatever, their credit rating was thumbs-up, they paid the first month and the security, and didn’t complain about the dated kitchen and bath. The property’s a hard sell for more than a week, and even then. I figured it would sit most of the season, again, and bam. Got the inquiry just a few days ago, and they’re moving in tomorrow.”
“Congratulations.” Miranda tapped her glass to Tracey’s.
“Thanks. Now, enough about real estate. How are things going with you?”
They split the appetizer, had salads, split an enormous fudge brownie with vanilla bean ice cream.
An easy assignment, Miranda mused when she drove back to Booth’s. And a thoroughly enjoyable one.
Next time, she thought, she’d make a lunch date with Tracey just for the girlfriend factor.
But for now, she figured a drive by the river rental wouldn’t hurt a thing.
* * *
When Booth came in after a long rehearsal, he found Miranda sitting at the kitchen counter with her tablet and a glass of wine. The fact that she looked completely at home brought on a tug-of-war of sensations. The oddity of having anyone so ensconced in his space pulled against the pleasure of having that anyone be Miranda.
He caught the mixed scent of sweet and savory in the air as she pushed her tablet aside and smiled at him.
“Hi. How’d it go?”
“Could’ve been worse.” He veered into his office to lay his briefcase on his desk.
She rose and moved in to kiss him—such a strange normal, he thought.
“I took care of dinner,” she told him.
“You cooked?”
“You sound both shocked and concerned. I took care of dinner, and my way of doing that is ordering Chinese. And I hope you’re hungry, because since I didn’t know what you’d want, I got a little of a lot. Grab some wine and sit down. I’ll set it up.”
“Just a Coke. I’ve still got work. Miranda … thanks for this.”
“It’s called teamwork, remember?” Very much at home, she got cartons and containers out of the oven, then began to fill bowls and serving dishes. “You may be used to cooking every night, but there’s no need to when you’re putting in ten- and twelve-hour days at school. Then dealing with the problem after you get home.”
With a whip of her head, she tossed her braid back as she carried dishes to the table. “I thought, unless you have issues, I can order something in every couple of days, at least until after the show closes.”
“That would be great.”
“Consider it done. I’ll mix it up.”
He turned off the warming oven, as she’d forgotten to. He got a Coke, then joined her at the table. And took her hand.
“I appreciate this.”
“It’s Chinese takeout, Booth.”
“It’s food I didn’t have to think about. It’s been a long time since anybody took care of dinner for me.”
She wasn’t sure why that made her heart twist, but she gave his hand a quick squeeze. “The benefits of having a housemate. Oh, and I noticed something today. Not sure how I missed it before.”
“Noticed what?”
“You have a kayak hanging from the ceiling of the carport.”
“Yeah, I usually have it in the water by now, but things’ve been a little busy. You could rent one if you want and I’d teach you.”
“You forget I grew up by a lake.” She started with some General Tso’s chicken. “I’ve been kayaking since I was a kid. Maybe we’ll try out the river together when things aren’t as busy.”
More normal, he thought. Just easy, pleasant normal. “Weekend’s looking good weather-wise.”
“If the book cooperates tomorrow, maybe I’ll go into town and see about a kayak. Meanwhile, I had a very pleasant lunch with Tracey today, if you’re interested.”
“Jesus. You moved fast. I thought you’d booked that for the end of the week.”
“She had a lunch opening today, so I bumped it up. Here’s a little more to push in that brain of yours—which must be crowded. First, I didn’t even get a chance to use my crafty wiles to find out you were absolutely right about LaPorte sending people.”
She let out a little gasp as she stared out the glass doors. Booth was on his feet in an instant.
“Sorry, it’s nothing. I saw a hummingbird. Like a moving sapphire at your feeder out there. They’re a favorite of mine, and it’s the first I’ve seen this spring.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t need those last five years of my life anyway. Who are you talking about, and how do you know LaPorte sent them?”
“She didn’t tell me their names—I should’ve used those crafty wiles to get them, but I didn’t think of it. A couple, and he supposedly works—remotely, for the most part—in DC for a consulting firm. Legacy Consultants. She’s claiming to be a freelance photographer who wants to focus on wildlife. You know the house just about a half mile from here? The little one, older. Tracey says it needs some serious updating and only rents by the week—and rarely at that—in the season. They took it for three months, on the spot. Moved in today.”
“I know the place.” So easily brought it into his head. “The owner brings his buddies down for long weekends, fishing. More like a gut job than an update. Doesn’t have much of a view either, but it’s secluded. Private.”
“There’s a shiny black Mercedes G-Wagon in the drive, along with a BMW two-seater convertible. And yes, I had to look both of them up, as I don’t know one car from another. That tells me they could afford a lot better for a seasonal rental, so my sleuthing senses say the location won. Secluded, within half a mile. And a nature hunter armed with a camera doesn’t raise eyebrows hiking the woods, the river trails up this way, right?”
“It will now. How do you know about the cars?”
“I looked them up.”
“I meant, how did you know to look them up?”
“I saw them—and could see the make sort of thing—when I drove by. It’s a public road, Booth,” she replied before he could say more. “And a road I live on right now. Driving by is normal, natural, and expected. I took note of the cars, and of the fact all the shades were drawn. Those same sleuthing skills tell me they’re doing something in there, during their move in, they don’t want anyone to see.”
“Installing some security, setting up a work area. Smart thing would be to install a few outdoor wildlife cameras in the woods aimed toward my house. I’ll think of something I can do, something they can send to LaPorte to keep him satisfied.”
“I could bake some cookies—or better, do the fake-bake thing and put some from the town bakery on a plate. Take them over, welcome to the neighborhood.”
“First, no.” He ate a spring roll, chased it with Coke. “Next, ‘fake bake’?”
“If I wanted to welcome someone, I wouldn’t expose them to my cookies. It’s a common thing, especially where I’m from. The taking over of baked goods, I mean, not the fake bake necessarily. It’s just hi, y’all, and welcome. Then you hope they invite you in out of obliged politeness so you can be nosy.”
“And again, no. I’ll get their names, see what I can find out about them.”
“How are you going to get their names unless you ask them? And you need those baked goods for that.”
“No, I just need to hack Tracey’s rental files. I could ask her if I ran into her, but this is quicker.”
“Oh.”
He could actually see her examining her ethics on the hacking.
“If Tracey knew, she’d help, but we can’t tell her, so I guess this is a work-around. But wouldn’t they use fake names?”
“Most likely, and most likely she has their fake driver’s licenses on file. I can run facial recognition.”
Both stunned and intrigued, she sat back. “You can do that?”
“Haven’t had much call to, but yeah, I can do it. Or Jacques—a guy I know—can. Or Sebastien.” He spoke absently as he looked outside.
“It’s nearly dark. Too late for a casual walk in the woods,” he considered, “and they probably wouldn’t set up cameras until tomorrow, when I’m at school. I want a look at their equipment, but we’ll see what we can find out about them first.”
“You’re going to sneak over there, aren’t you?”
“Eventually, but I don’t consider it sneaking.”
“What then?”
“Work. We’ll carve out some time this weekend for that kayaking. It’s a pretty ride down that part of the river. Okay, I’ve got the dishes.”
“No, clearly your crowded brain is a hundred miles away. I’ve got them. Go do the hacking thing.”
Not used to it at all, he admitted. “Thanks. It shouldn’t take long.”
She considered that as he went upstairs. Was not taking long a bad thing, as it proved him adept at hacking into personal and business information? Or a good thing, as it wouldn’t eat up much of his time learning about who LaPorte hired to watch him—or potentially do worse if they didn’t like what they saw?
She tubbed up leftovers—she’d ordered far too much—loaded the dishwasher. Since she’d recognized the lofty standards of her housemate, she thoroughly cleaned all surfaces.
And because she wanted to see him hack, she went upstairs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
She heard his voice, and the laugh in it, as she approached the bedroom. He sat at the computer in his secret room talking to a man on the screen.
A good-looking older man, craggy face, a shock of silvery-gray hair, a stubbly little beard, and lively eyes. From the accent, she thought, surely Sebastien.
Then a strange, bug-eyed little dog leaped up and lapped at the screen.
“Mais, he has nothing but love for you, my Wiley.”
“Why would you humiliate him with a rhinestone collar?”
“A gift from our Mags. He likes it. And so, you’re sure this is Cannery?”
“A hundred percent. I recognized him from our near miss in Calais. It’s been a few years, and he added the beard, dyed his hair brown, but I don’t forget faces.”
“Or anything else. I think LaPorte sends more than spies, me. Cannery’s an enforcer.”
“I won’t give him any reason for that. I need to run the woman. She’s going by Lori Slade, but that’ll be bullshit. But knowing he’s brought in someone like Cannery, I wanted you on watch. You keep an eye on Mags, Sebastien, just in case.”
“Cher, I keep my eye on our Mags always, and the rest of me whenever I can.”
“Jesus, Sebastien, she’s still my aunt.” Booth rubbed both hands over his face. The dog leaped up again with a little stuffed mouse clamped in his teeth like an offering.
“Wiley would share Coquette with you.”
“Next time. I’m going to do a pass by later, just to see if I can get a look at their setup. Over the weekend, I’ll get a look from the river. As soon as the show’s done, I’ll find you a place in Georgetown.”
“No, I do that. That’s for me, my part. LaPorte hounds you because I gave him your scent.”
“Sebastien—”
“This is for me. C’est tout!”
“All right, okay.” In a gesture of peace, Booth held up a hand. “Let me know when you have that set up.”
“Send me the pictures of your new neighbors. I’ll run the woman. I have a new program.” His gaze drifted over, and he smiled—flirtatious now. “This is the Miranda. I’m very pleased to meet you at last.”
“I’m sorry to intrude.”
“Beautiful women never intrude, only enhance.” Now he grinned at Booth. “Ta rousse est glorieuse, mon ami.”
“Merci beaucoup,” Miranda replied. “Je parle assez bien française.”
“Then you come to my bayou and we’ll have many conversations. You can bring mon bon ami if you wish.”
“You’re coming north.”
“Bien sûr, when the time is right. No worries for you, ma belle. This one is mine, too, and I don’t let harm come to mine. Send me the pictures. I’ll have her name for you, her true one, before morning.”
“I’ll send now. Eyes sharp, Sebastien.”
“As ever, cher. À bientôt.” He blew a kiss to Miranda, and broke the connection.
“I eavesdropped, and that’s not an apology.”
“It’s not eavesdropping if I knew you were there. And I did.”
“Tell me about this Cannery and Calais.”
“In a second.” He did something—sent the picture, Miranda assumed—then brought up a split screen of a man and a woman. The man looked to be late thirties, early forties, short brown hair, trim brown beard, cold brown eyes. The woman, a beauty, looked about a decade younger, sharp features, wide hazel eyes, her raven-wing hair worn short—sharp like her features—with a fringe.
“The neighbors,” Booth told her.
“And John Madison is actually this Cannery.”
“Lucius Cannery, and LaPorte sent him hunting me in France. He got close, too close, which is how I spotted him. Not that long after I was working a job in Paris and spotted LaPorte. So I decided to leave Europe.”
“He’s an enforcer, Sebastien said. Which means he hurts people, or worse.”
“For a price, sure. But LaPorte wants me alive and well, at least for now. Cannery’s insurance. The woman’s the one who’ll keep tabs. You just need to keep your distance.”
At her steady stare, he amended: “We need to keep our distance. We run into them, we’re casually friendly.”
“Won’t Cannery know you know?”
“He doesn’t know I made him in France. LaPorte would never send someone he thinks I’d recognize.” He reached up, took her hand. “I’m not keeping anything from you. Knowledge is power. It’s a weapon. I want you to have both.”
“So you were going to tell me you intended to—not sneak—pass by their house?”
“Maybe,” he said after a moment. “I don’t know. But I’d have told you if I found anything.”
