‘Ha, ha,’ she said, and reclaimed his other arm. ‘Maybe you’re allergic to being in trouble all the time.’

‘Nah, I’m completely inoculated against that one. It’s in the genes.’ Shane checked his piece of paper, then his phone’s map, and nodded up the street. ‘One block up, then right. His place will be on the left.’

There was no sign of police presence, at least, as they made the final turn and spotted the address on the note. It was a squat brick building dwarfed by the taller, more elegant row houses on either side, and to Claire’s eyes it looked more like a storage shed than a home. The front door was a faded green, plain wood, no design. She didn’t see any windows on this side of it.

‘Is he here?’ she asked.

‘No, but he told me how to get in.’ Shane walked up, counted bricks, and pulled one out. Behind it, he found the key, and used it to open the door. ‘After you.’

‘No, seriously, you go first. I hardly know this guy. What if he’s working with the people who took Liz?’

‘Pete?’ Shane shook his head, evidently finding the whole thought funny, though Claire felt it had been a pretty reasonable caution. ‘Never happen. But okay. I’ll protect you.’

She hit him in the shoulder. ‘I don’t need you to protect me.’

‘Then why am I going first?’

‘So you can take the first punch while I throw the second?’

‘So I’m bait? Ouch. You’ve been in Morganville way too long, girl.’ But he was grinning when he said it, and he went in first, alert and ready for anything. She came in behind him and shut the door – always cut off the ability of an enemy to sneak up behind you, if you can – and locked it. ‘Pete? Anybody here?’ He shook his head at the continued silence. ‘He said he doesn’t have any roommates. I think we’re good.’

They came down a short, narrow hall into one largish room that served as the entire house. It had been fixed up with some kind of portable dividers on wheels into a sleeping area with a neatly made bed (Pete, Claire thought, was a much better housekeeper than Shane ever had been), a clean little kitchenette with a two-person table, and a small living area with a couch and TV. Not much else, except books. Pete had stunning amounts of them, lining every inch of the walls in custom-built cases. Shane whistled when he looked around, and shook his head. ‘Okay, I thought I knew Pete, but I would have pegged him for a magazine guy, at best,’ he said. ‘And only Sports Illustrated, at that. Think he’s read all these?’