“Excuse me,” Oz said and hurried toward the exit, his silk robe fluttering around him.

Jack turned to find Scar-lip staring at him with its cold yellow eyes. Still want to finish me off, don’t you. It’s mutual, pal. But it looks like I’m going to outlast you by a few years. A few decades.

The longer he remained with the wasted creature, the more convinced he was that Scar-lip was on its last legs. He didn’t have to light it up. The creature was a goner.

Jack kept tabs on Oz out of the corner of his eye. After half a minute of hushed, one-sided conversation—all the employee did was nod every so often—the boss man returned.

“Sorry. I had to revise instructions on an important errand. But I do want to thank you. You have provided a bright moment in a very disappointing stop.” His gaze drifted. “Usually we do extremely well in Monroe, but this trip… it seems a house disappeared last month—vanished, foundation and all, amid strange flashing lights one night. The locals are still spooked.”

“How about that,” Jack said, turning away. “I think I’ll be going.”

“But you must allow me to reward you for succoring the poor creature, and for identifying it. Free passes, perhaps.”

“Not necessary,” Jack said and headed for the exit.

“By the way,” Oz said. “How can I get in touch with you if I wish?”

“You can’t,” Jack called back over his shoulder.

A final glance at Scar-lip showed the rakosh still staring at him; then he parted the canvas flaps and emerged into the fresh air again.

A strange mix of emotions swirled around Jack as he returned to the car. Glad to know Scar-lip would be taking a dirt nap soon, but the very fact that it still lived, even if it was too weak to be a threat to Vicky, bothered him. He’d prefer it dead. He vowed to keep a close watch on this show, check back every night or two until he knew without a doubt that Scar-lip had breathed its last.

Something else bothered him. Couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had this vaguely uncomfortable feeling that he never should have come back here.

Flashes on the western horizon from the thunderstorm brewing over the city only accentuated his unease.

10

Still busy! Nadia wanted to hurl the phone out her bedroom window and let it crash four stories below on Thirty-fifth Street. Lightning flashed faintly through that window, but she heard no thunder.

Figuring a good night’s sleep might help, she’d turned in early, hoping to wake up in the morning with a whole new perspective. But sleep wouldn’t come, so she’d tried Doug’s line again.

“He can’t still be working,” she muttered.

But she knew he very well could be. Sometimes he’d code all night.

Either that or he’d conked out and left the phone off the hook.

“I’m going over there,” she said.

She threw on some clothes and headed down the hall.