He didn’t say anything further, just picked up a taffeta gown with a velvet bodice and a broad tartan sash. “Christmas dress?”

“Yes.”

“It’s pretty.”

“Thank you. Isaac?” When he looked at her, she said, “I—”

He cut her off. “What’s that sound?”

“What sound—”

The suit fell from her hands as she recognized the subtle beeping and she scrambled to take the fob to the security system out of her pocket. Sure enough, a red light was flashing. “Someone’s in the house.”

She cut the noise and started for the phone by the bed, but he caught her arm. “No. No police. We’ve got enough innocent lives caught up in this already.”

His gun came out and so did a tube about as long as her fist. As he screwed the silencer on the end of the muzzle, he looked around and then stalked over to the grated crawl space where the mechanicals of the security system were.

Keeping the weapon in hand, he popped off the metal face. “Get in there. And do not come out until I—”

“I can help—”

The expression on his face made her take a step back: His stare was cold and utterly foreign—like she was looking into frosted glass . . . with no hope of ever seeing what was behind it.

“Get in there, now.”

Her eyes flicked to the gun and then returned to his harsh and unforgiving face. It was hard to know what was more frightening: the idea that someone was in her house, or the stranger standing in front of her. And then it dawned on her . . .

“Oh, my God, my father!”

“I got him. But I can’t be effective if I’m worrying about you.” The weapon pointed at the black hole he’d opened up. “Go now.”

Putting her faith in him, Grier ducked out of view, crouching down and breathing the musty air of the eaves as Isaac put the grate back in place. There was a shift, click, shift, click as the thing was locked to the wall, and then through the slats, she watched him leave at a jog, quiet as a passing shadow.

She checked her watch. Listened hard.

Dread squeezed into the tight confines of her hideout with her, taking up more space than she did, blowing up that image of Isaac as a stranger until it was all she could see.

Silence.

More silence.

Which was promptly filled by a raucous paranoia in her head.

Oh, God . . . what if all this was a trap? What if Isaac had been sent for the sole purpose of enticing her father to determine how far he would go to expose the agency?

Except that she’d been the one who suggested it.

Or had he only wanted her to believe that?