At five–thirty I sent the woman from the agency home. I didn’t want to pay overtime on a job that would take at least sixteen or twenty more hours to finish. And I wanted her to leave while enough commuters were filling the sidewalks that no one would shoot at her, thinking it was me.

Tessa was still working in her studio. She put down her mallet and chisel after I’d been standing in her line of sight for six minutes. Artistic geniuses can’t break their concentration, I know. I told her I was worrying about her safety while Baladine was gunning for me.

“I’m going to take my computer home. It’s the only thing I need from my office for the immediate present. And then I’ll get word out that I’m not operating out of here. We could install a small video camera at the entrance concealed in one of your metal pieces; that would provide a record of anyone who broke in. For an extra five hundred or so we could even get little monitors so we could watch the entrance. And we could install a five–digit number pad with a breaker that froze it if someone tried more than three times in ten minutes to open it. With those you should be pretty safe.”

She wiped her face with a used towel, leaving a film of glittery dust on her cheeks. “Oh, damn you for being so noble, Vic. I was all set to chew your ass into tiny pieces. Now what am I supposed to do?”

“If you’d chew up BB Baladine it would be more helpful. I know everyone thinks I’m in this mess because I’m too impulsive, but honestly, all I did was stop to help a woman in the road.”

“That means something to you, I suppose. Get me a video camera installed tomorrow, and a new number pad, and leave your damned computer here. By the way, my daddy is insisting that someone from his staff meet me when I leave here at night.”

“Ah, that would be your mother’s next candidate for the father of her grandchildren?”

She grinned. “She’s hoping. His name’s Jason Goodrich—sounds solid enough, doesn’t it? He’s one of those software whizzes who gurgle in code coming out of the womb.”

“More to the point is whether the boy knows how to disarm a man holding an automatic. But if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

I went back to my office to call Mary Louise. When I asked her if she would have time to take care of the office security, she hemmed and muttered something about her midterms.