When night finally fell, Isaac was ready to scream, About fucking time, at the top of his lungs. But instead of going the Tarzan route, he ducked out the back way of the townhouse, slipping from the window he’d unlatched that morning, closing it up behind himself, and dropping without a sound onto the rear brick terrace.

He was lucky that it was a cloudy night, because that drained the light even faster from the sky. And yet he was screwed, because the neighborhood was lit up like a goddamn jewelry store: From the streetlamps to the fixtures around all those shiny black doors to the headlights of cars, he was going to have hell’s own amount of trouble hiding himself.

He made the trip to Grier’s at turtle speed, finding all the shadows to be had and taking advantage of them.

Forty-five minutes.

That was how long he spent going no more than twenty yards across the street and into her backyard. Then, again, he went up the hill two blocks and doubled back before dropping down another street past her and taking an alley over to her walled garden.

A jump up . . . a quick hard grip on the top of the brick lip . . . a full-bodied swing . . . and he was in among her rhododendrons.

He froze where he landed in a crouch.

There was no one that he could see or sense. Which meant he could scope the place through the glass panes—

As Grier entered the kitchen, he took a deep breath, the kind that gave him a powerful shot of energy and focus in spite of the fact that he hadn’t eaten or taken a drink in almost twenty-four hours.

It felt like forever since he’d seen her last, and he hated how exhausted and pale she looked as she paced around, like a bird in the wind searching for a branch to perch upon. She was on the phone, talking with animation, gesturing with her hands. . . . Then she ended the call and tossed the receiver across the counter.

He waited to see if anyone came to check on what had undoubtedly been some noise. When nobody did, he assumed she was alone—

Something moved. Over on the left.

His eyes shot across the garden, but his head didn’t shift and his weight didn’t pivot. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what had changed positions, because there were a lot of—

Jim Heron stepped out of the darkness. And wasn’t that a surprise, given the wall that ran around everything. Then again, maybe he’d been there before Isaac had come—which was even more disturbing because Isaac should have teased out his presence.

Although the guy had always been very, very good at making like the landscape.

“What are you doing here?” Isaac demanded, his hand finding the butt of a gun as he straightened.

“Looking for you.”