Page 41

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not, but I will be.”

It was true. It had to be. The problem was he didn’t know when.

In the kitchen he mixed sea salt and water in a glass, stirring it three times in each direction. At the front door, he dipped a finger and drew a pentagram on the painted wood. Three times, clockwise, he traced the outer circle, pouring his will into it, reinforcing the thin magical barrier that would tell him if anything supernatural tried to enter. He repeated the process at each window, drawing the symbol on the glass. He’d stopped shaking by the time he’d finished the living room.

In the bedroom, Vic was checking his gun. They exchanged a nod as Vic put it in the nightstand drawer. They’d discussed the statistics. Bringing a firearm into a situation usually meant the homeowner got shot with their own weapon, but Vic had been a cop. He had training. If someone came through their door unexpectedly, meaning them harm, he wouldn’t hesitate.

Adam didn’t trust himself in a situation like that. His judgment would falter. He might shoot the landlord or fail to shoot an invader. He found it a bit ironic, since he’d been the one to take a life.

The thought was a hard rock in his gut. He hated that he was even thinking it, that it had come to this, but he realized he could probably sleep, if only because the flood of adrenaline had worn off.

They lay down. Vic reached over, offering his hand but not insisting. Adam took it and pulled Vic toward him.

Something red and sour—anger—churned in his guts. It felt better than the icy fear lurking beneath it.

Morning came and Adam pulled himself together as quietly as he could.

Vic deserved to sleep in, so Adam took his time, making coffee and showering, before he sat at the kitchen table with his phone and Wilcox’s note. Vic came into the kitchen and nodded, asking if he could sit.

Adam nodded back, put the phone on speaker, and dialed the number.

“Mr. Binder,” a woman said. “You’re calling for Mr. Wilcox?”

Her accent was Asian but Adam couldn’t place it more precisely than that.

“Yes.”

“One moment, please. It might take some time to connect you.”

Vic looked at him from across the table. Adam muted the line.

“I didn’t expect this to be so . . .”

“Corporate?” Vic asked.

“Yeah.”

“Mr. Binder,” a familiar voice came over the line. “It took you longer than I expected to notice that your book was missing.”

Adam hit the button to unmute the line.

“Where is it?”

“You really should have better security for the things you value. I can recommend some services if you like.”

Adam did not like. He did not like very much. He might even hate this man, his sister-in-law’s father.

“Where is it?” Adam repeated.

“It’s safe, and you can have it back. I simply wanted to speak with you.”

Adam took a deep breath.

“What do you want, Wilcox?”

“My grandson. I want time with him, even if it’s virtually. I want to be in his life. Get my daughter to promise that I will see him, and I’ll tell you where to find your book.”