Chapter 12

It was a starless night with a hint of rain in the air as Jack and Harry made their way on foot through what appeared to be a working-class neighborhood. “Reminds me of Baltimore, with the rows of brownstones,” Jack said. Harry just shrugged.

There was a bit of anxiousness in Jack’s voice when he asked, “Do you think she’s going to put up a fight?”

“Well, Jack, take a minute and think about it. If you were in her shoes, what would you do? Then take that thought a step further and ask yourself who exactly is she afraid of? Does she even know about us? Is she smart enough to be afraid of Lincoln Moss? Goodwin warned her, so that lets him out of the fear category. So why’d she run?”

It was Jack’s turn to shrug. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that the day the picture hit the tabloid, she realized what she’d done and instantly regretted it. According to Goodwin, the two of them had an arrangement. People rat other people out all the time, even their friends, for money, and nothing ever happens to them. The worst thing that happens is they lose a few friends. How do you think all those tabloids get the goods on those movie stars? Cash for scandal. Whatever . . . here we are. Let’s just hope this doesn’t go down badly.”

Off in the distance, a dog barked, then another bark answered the lonely call. The light drizzle of rain that was falling when they started out was now a full rainstorm, coming down steadily. The street took on an eerie feeling, with the drizzle dripping past the yellow light emanating from the lampposts. Both men shivered in their wet clothes even though it was a warm evening.

Jack and Harry, aware of the time, marched up the nine brick steps that led them to a narrow sheltered slab of concrete with an equally narrow overhang. Jack punched the doorbell. A bonging sound could be heard inside. Both men watched through the oval glass in the center of the door as a heavyset woman waddled to the door. Outside, a light came on, illuminating them. Jack held up his gold shield. Harry was a little slower on the draw, but he finally got his out of his pocket. The door opened.

The first words out of Jack’s mouth were, “Do you speak English, mademoiselle?”

“Yes.” She waited, her eyes never leaving the gold shields.

“Vivian François sent us,” Jack said. It wasn’t really a lie, he thought. It was the right thing to say. Some of the tension left the woman’s shoulders.

“How can I help you gentlemen.”

“By taking us to wherever Ms. Petrie is right at this moment.”