Best waits some more.
“But somehow he knew I was in Idaho.”
Best nods. “The most common way for intelligence threats to gain personal information is to hack into online systems. Video doorbells. GPS. Online calendars, even.”
I eye him levelly. “He didn’t hack my network.”
Best doesn’t take offense. We’re talking because of his expertise on the matter. I just reminded him of mine. “There are systems beyond your control. Toll booth gateways. Speeding cameras. Airport manifests.”
I consider the possibility. Hundreds of systems could have picked up my driving from DC to Dover.PyotrTarasov might have been able to hash that electronic data, but he’s nowremoved from the picture. I know half a dozen hackers who could have taken on the job, but not one of them would have had the balls to report on Lone Wolf.
“It’s something else,” I say.
“He could have someone on the ground—old-fashioned shoe leather. You could have picked up a tail as you left your house, and they followed you to Dover. Prince has a lot of power at that airfield, but your friend has enough money to bribe someone for a flight plan. Money or some other threat.”
It isn’t hard to imagine a mechanic or someone in the tower, persuaded to hand over seemingly harmless information to spare their own life or someone they love. But I say, “Jacobson drove.”
“Then you weren’t followed.”
“We agree on that.”
Best puts down his coffee cup. “You’re saying Sawgrass is compromised.”
I hate that I’ve reached this conclusion. I’m trusting Best’s men with my life. Even more importantly, I’m trusting them withKate’slife. I’ve forfeited my freedom, my privacy, and my garage so the Sawgrass team can operate seamlessly. I want to—needto—trust them.
“Give me another option, and I’ll take it.”
“Tony Jacobson is my best man.”
“I believe it.”
“He personally vetted every member of that team.”
I take a page out of Best’s book and say nothing.
The soldier goes very, very still. It isn’t hard to picture him on patrol in some distant desert, frozen under the stars at night, waiting for his enemy to make the first move. The noise of the jet’s engines covers the sound of his breathing. It’s possible he’s turned to stone.
“I’ll look into it,” he finally says.
I don’t bother telling him to move quickly. He understands what’s at stake.
Tony Jacobson is waiting beside the SUV as I stroll across the tarmac in Dover. Best’s had plenty of time to reach out, to share my suspicions, but Jacobson gives no sign that anything’s amiss. He holds my door for me, then stows away my bag in the back.
Once we’re on the road, Jacobson provides a report, summarizing the usual functioning of my household—Nilsson and Anna reporting for duty, mail delivery, package delivery, the comings and goings of every one of my neighbors. He concludes: “As previously reported, Ms. Lynch has made no meaningful attempt to leave the house since Tuesday morning.”
We complete the trip in silence.
Arriving home, I have no idea what I’ll encounter inside the house. I half-expect Kate to have acted out her frustration at being held under lock and key. She could savage my artwork. Pry up the floorboards. Scrawl obscene messages on the walls in dripping red paint.
But that was the old Kate, the feral woman I dragged out of her parents’ home. The new Kate is more likely to be waiting for me in the dungeon or—given the failure of our last games there—in the privacy of our bedroom. I wouldn’t be surprised if she uses sex to show her displeasure, refusing my direct commands, thinking she can issue some of her own.
It only takes me a moment to check both downstairs and up. No Kate.
She isn’t in the kitchen, although I take a moment to give a civil greeting to Anna. She isn’t in the mudroom or the sitting room, the dining room or my office.
That means there’s only one place she can be, and it’s where I should have looked the first time.
She’s settled in her own office, slouched in the over-size leather chair with her feet balanced on her desk. Her yoga pants have ridden up around her ankles, and she’s chewing on the cord of her hoodie. A plate sits beside her with the dried-out remains of a sandwich that she apparently forgot after one bite.
