The same car as this morning? She couldn’t be sure. Was it watching the door of the Center or waiting for someone in one of those stores? How could she know? Hell, between the sun glare and the tinted windows, she couldn’t even tell how many people were in it.

Damn, this was scary. What were they waiting for? An explosion?

She shuddered. She’d told Tiffany to let her see all the mail, all the UPS deliveries before they were opened. But what would she do if she came across a package with no return address? Call the bomb squad? Luckily she hadn’t had to face that choice—all today’s deliveries were from the Center’s usual suppliers.

She forced herself to turn away.

This was her fifth—or was it her sixth?—trip to the front since her arrival this morning. Tiffany was beginning to give her strange looks.

She lead Jack Niedermeyer back to her office. Maybe it was just her imagination. Why would anybody follow her? What was the point? She did the same thing every day: from her apartment in the Village to the Center, from the Center to her apartment. A model of predictability.

Relax, she told herself. You’re making yourself crazy. Stay calm and figure out where you go from here on the will mess.

“Have a seat,” she said as they entered her office.

Raymond stopped by to drop off some papers. She introduced them but said nothing about why Mr. Niedermeyer was here.

When Raymond was gone and they were seated, facing each other, she took a good look at this very average-looking brown-haired, mid-thirtyish man in jeans and a reddish flannel shirt.

This is the guy who’s going to get the toys back? Alicia thought as she indicated a chair. Oh, I doubt that. I doubt that very much.

“Now, Mr. Niedermeyer—”

“Just call me Jack.”

“Okay, Just Jack.” And you can call me Dr. Clayton. No, she wouldn’t say that. “Ms. DiLauro told me you might be able to help. Are you a friend of hers?”

“Not really. I did some work for her once. Got her out of a jam.”

“What sort of a jam?”

He leaned forward. “I believe the subject is missing toys?”

A tiny flash of intensity there. Well hidden, but Alicia had spotted it. Something personal between these two? Or simply none of my business?

When he’d leaned forward, he’d put his hands on her desk. Alicia was struck by the length of his thumbnails. His hands were clean, his nails well trimmed… all except for the thumbs. Their nails jutted a good quarter inch or more beyond the flesh. She wanted to ask him about them but didn’t see how she could do so with any grace.

“I wasn’t prying,” she said. “I’m simply curious as to how one man could possibly find those toys ahead of the whole New York City Police Department.”

Jack shrugged. “First off, it won’t be the ‘whole’ department. Maybe one or two robbery detectives—if you’re lucky.”