“Oh, baby, no, you don’t.”

He bobbed his head emphatically. “Yeah, I do.”

“Why? It’s going to be awful.”

Luke didn’t answer. He started back down the hill. When Victoria followed, he said, “I want to see it alone.”

From up on the road, McCrea called, “Hey, what are—”

Victoria raised her hand for silence. Luke moved carefully, hesitantly, as he closed the last few yards. When he was three feet away, he stopped, took a deep breath and then walked the rest of the way. He placed his hands on the edge of the open window and stooped till he was face-to-face with Robin’s corpse.

Could he be praying? Victoria thought.

After about five seconds, he gently touched her head, and then pushed away. As he passed his mom on the way back to the top of the embankment and the road beyond, he said, “Please don’t call me baby anymore.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

AS PENN LED HIS CAUCUS FROM THE MAKESHIFT HOUSE CHAMBER back into the vast space of the main hall, the transformation of the place startled him. The registration tables were gone, and dozens more tables had been added. They were arranged in long rows, each serviced by a folding metal chair. Dark computer terminals adorned every workstation, creating a snake’s lair of cords and cables across the floor beneath the tables.

Solara staff stood guard outside the chamber door, their eyes focused on something only they could see, a studied indifference meant to project that they weren’t eavesdropping. It was the same demeanor Penn had seen in every Secret Service and protection detail he’d ever encountered. In this case, the precaution seemed ridiculous. From whom were these people here to protect them?

Penn approached the sentry closest to him. “Excuse me, Mr. Cameron,” he said, refreshing his memory via the name patch on the man’s uniform shirt. “Is there a place where we can sit and get something to eat?”

Cameron moved as if he’d been startled out of a trance. He pointed vaguely to his left, Penn’s right. “The dining hall is that way. On the other side of the next wall. I don’t know if they’re serving food now, but there are places to sit.”

Penn and the rest of his party moved in that direction. As it turned out, there was, in fact, no food available, but the coffee urns were full. “I don’t suppose there’s any bourbon in the house,” Penn said as he helped himself to a cup of jet-black coffee. “Jesus, this stuff must’ve been in the pot for a week.”