Sierra followed his gaze. “Yes, but it’s not getting us anywhere. That machine seems to be important, but we don’t even know what it’s supposed to do.”

North drank some wine. He did not take his attention off the machine.

“We have an eyewitness who may be able to answer some of our questions,” he said.

Sierra started to ask who he was talking about but the answer dawned on her in the next breath.

“Marge, the street lady?” she said.

“According to Victor she spent a lot of time in Loring’s lab.”

“Marge is now in Fogg Lake,” Sierra said. “I assume that’s our next stop?”

“I think so. It feels like the right move.”

“Long drive to the mountains from here. We need some sleep. A couple of hours, at least.”

North did not respond at first. Then he turned his head to look at her. The firelight glinted on his mirrored glasses. His jaw was tense.

“You could have been killed tonight,” he said.

“We both could have been killed.”

“I never intended for you to be put in the line of fire.”

“I know.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m just the hired go-between. You thought you could use me to track down an artifact and then, when you got what you wanted, you could kick me to the curb.”

He winced. “That’s a little harsh considering the fact that I am paying you a hell of a lot of money.”

“It’s the truth. Don’t bother denying it. You’re still thinking you can dump me. But you’re afraid to cut me loose and send me back to Seattle because I might be in danger. I know too much for my own good now, don’t I?”

“Probably. Until this thing is over it would be best—”

“If you shipped me off to Las Vegas.”

“I’ve got a solid lead on Loring now,” North said evenly. “I may be losing my talent but I’m still a decent investigator. I’m good at finding people.”

“Forget it. You still need me, because I’m the one with the feel for artifacts.”

“Damn it, Sierra—”

“Give me a minute.” She stripped off one glove, sat forward, reached out and touched the black box machine. She winced and quickly removed her fingers.

“You said you could sense your grandfather’s signature in that device. I can tell you that the last person to handle it was really, really pissed off. But there’s a layer of much older rage and frustration infused in it, too.”

North’s expression sharpened. “How old?”

“Lost lab–era old.”

“But some of the anger is fresh?”

Sierra sat back against the cushions. “Definitely.”

North considered briefly. “The more recent prints most likely came from Loring.”

“Who may or may not be Harlan, Crocker Rancourt’s grandson.” Sierra paused, processing what she had experienced when she touched the machine. “There might have been more than one set of new prints. Maybe one of the Puppets touched it.”

“They’re definitely hot-tempered.”

Sierra eyed the black box. “Think it’s another weapon?”