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“Do you want to read my emails too?” Dasha asked.
“Sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…uh…”
“Yes, you did, and you should be reading people’s messages. What you shouldn’t be doing is getting caught. Don’t stay still; people sense it. Move naturally.”
“Uh…okay.”
She fell silent as she replied to the message, and this time, I kept my eyes averted. Dasha was one strange woman.
“Tomorrow, you’ll dress like a tourist,” she said. “Jeans, casual jacket, sneakers, expensive camera. Make sure the battery is fully charged and test the memory card before you leave the apartment. And don’t get mugged because I won’t be rescuing you the way your friend Collier would.”
“Aren’t you going to brief me on the plan?”
“No. I need a natural reaction from you.”
“But—”
“I’ll see you in the morning. Enjoy your pizza.”
“I… Where are you going?”
“SoHo. This is New York, yes? Shopping is mandatory. Be ready to leave at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow.”
She disappeared out the door, leaving me with half a muffin and a whole lot of confusion.
16
HALLIE
Act natural, Dasha said. Just be ready when the time came.
When the time came for what? She still hadn’t told me, and nor had I seen her since she headed off in the direction of the Hudson. Delivery drivers came and went from Belgravia Place, and Grace Fields departed with her baby. I spotted a town car registered to Cesare Cavallaro pull up outside, and he left the driver to idle at the kerb, getting honked at and shouted at until his boss emerged from the building ten minutes later. Alone. No sign of Maria.
The dog walker set off with the fluffy white furball, then ambled back ten minutes later, pausing on each step as the dog climbed its way to the lobby. She said a few words to the concierge, then vanished into an elevator.
The houseplant dude showed up again. How much care did plants need? We had a couple of potted plants in the living room at home, but I only watered them when the leaves looked droopy, which turned out to be once a month in the winter and more often in the summer. Pinchy the parrot loved the trees. Whenever we let him loose in the apartment, he’d perch on the ficus and curse us out.
Five minutes passed. Ten, and I was beginning to understand why most of my colleagues hated surveillance detail with a passion. Sure, the cakes were good, but I was bored and a little bloated. Too many carbs. Maybe I should take a leaf out of Dasha’s book and try a salad?
Or…maybe I should get the hell out of there.
An alarm sounded from Belgravia Place, and I could tell from the concierge’s agitated movements that he hadn’t been expecting it. Was this Dasha’s doing? My camera was ready to go, and I hastily shoved my laptop into my bag and tossed ten bucks into the tip jar.
“What’s going on over there?” I asked the barista.
He shrugged. “Beats me.”
The residents were beginning to spill onto the sidewalk, many in casual clothes and one in a dressing gown. Was that a whiff of smoke? A fire? A building like Belgravia Place would have a sprinkler system, surely? Sirens sounded in the distance as I scanned the faces of the evacuees. Passers-by had stopped to gawk, making the task more difficult, and I elbowed myself to the front of the crowd. Several people shot dirty looks in my direction when they noticed the camera, but I ignored them.
Just doing my job.
And then I saw her.
Kaylin La Rocca.
The brown hair must have been a wig because she was blonde now, and holy fuck, she wasn’t alone. A small boy sat on her hip, two years old at a guess, one small hand clutching at her sweater and the other holding a blue-and-white striped snail in a death grip. Kaylin had a son? She wasn’t only a wife but a mother too?
I snapped as many pictures as I dared, then quickly checked the screen. They were good.
