“We can refill the tray in this machine, at least,” Dani said. “Then when the next new fax comes in, we’ll get it. With everything that’s been going on lately, the other members of Watchdog might be doing some serious talking.”

Sam looked up sharply. “Other members.”

For a second Dani looked confused. Then she got it. “Lauren’s dad.”

Sam nodded. “He worked on Rigel along with Pierce. He was probably part of Watchdog, too.”

“With his own hidden fax machine.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Lauren’s house wasn’t far away—like Sam’s and Dani’s it stood along the southern edge of the subdivision, overlooking the grassy slope and the downtown storefronts half a mile away.

Dani took a spare key from a hiding place beside the porch—a fake rock—and unlocked the front door.

It took less than three minutes to find the hidden room; the setup was almost identical to Pierce’s. A false wall at the back of the den closet, a narrow space behind it, accessed through the attic.

But the fax machine was gone. There was only a crude hole in the wall where the electrical and phone lines must have come through.

No surprise, really.

“They were moving,” Sam said. “I guess he would have unplugged it and packed it away by that final night.”

Dani said nothing. She just looked defeated.

They climbed back out through the attic, into the den, and walked the rooms of the house. The air was hot and stale; the place’s windows had been shut for a week, and the air conditioner hadn’t been running.

Sam watched Dani take in the space. She must have a ton of happy memories of hanging out with Lauren here, and now the place was stripped bare except for a few big pieces of furniture: bedframes and mattresses, a couch and a table, a big green recliner.

The one place that had a few personal touches left was the basement, which appeared to have been a rec room. It was carpeted, and contained a pool table and a few arcade games. There was a dartboard on the end wall, along with three movie posters: Superman, Rambo: First Blood Part II, and Lethal Weapon. There were darts stuck into two of the posters—one into Superman’s navel, the other into Rambo’s navel. Maybe that was some inside joke on Dani and Lauren’s part.

The last thing Sam noticed was a wall-mounted display box, a little bigger than a medicine cabinet, filled with autographed baseballs—sixteen of them. The display box had a Philadelphia Phillies logo across the top. Sam moved closer and tried to read some of the signatures on the baseballs. He recognized two of the names: Mike Schmidt and Steve Carlton. The rest he either couldn’t read or hadn’t heard of.