Still undecided, he headed back to New York.

10.

10.

Yoshio stood in a doorway where he could see both the front entrance to the AIDS Center and the length of the alley that ran along its uptown flank. Earlier this afternoon he had been parked in his usual spot when he had seen Jack-san enter the Center. He had not seen him come out, and had assumed that he was spending the afternoon there.

But just moments ago Yoshio had been startled to see Jack-san—carrying a large Staples shopping bag—reenter the Center. Yoshio knew he had not missed his exit. This could only mean that there was another way out.

He discovered the alleyway after a minute or two of hurried searching. How careless of him. But he wasted no time berating himself. He had missed the earlier opportunity to follow Jack-san, but he would not sneak away so easily again.

Yoshio rushed back to his car when he saw Jack-san and Alicia Clayton leave by the front entrance and walk along Seventh Avenue. Jack-san still carried the Staples bag. He followed them around the corner as they headed east. He kept waiting for them to hail a taxi or get into a car, but instead they ducked into a subway entrance on Sixth Avenue.

Yoshio groaned and pounded the steering wheel in frustration. Yes, he could park the car—legally or otherwise—and follow them on foot, but that would be futile. Even if he caught up to him, Jack-san would have no trouble spotting him.

The ronin was taking no chances.

Yoshio sighed. Another missed opportunity. He was not likely to see Jack-san or Alicia Clayton again tonight, so who else should he watch? Samuel Baker, Kemel Muhallal, or the other Clayton?

He would choose later. Right now he wanted to make preparations for the next time Jack-san tried one of his tricks. Yoshio would be ready for him.

He hoped.

11.

11.

“Don’t tell me this is another one of your decoy homes,” Alicia said, “because I won’t believe it.”

What am I doing here? she wondered as she wandered among the antiques and wall hangings on the second floor. They’d taken the F train down to West Fourth, then grabbed the A back up to Twenty-third, and now here she was in this elegant Victorian town house in Chelsea.

“No, afraid not,” Jack said, watching the street from a front window. “I just happen to have a key to it.”

“You seem to know your way around the place. Where’s the owner?”

“He’s dead.”

“Hiding in a dead man’s house…” Alicia shivered. She didn’t like this place. “I feel like a fugitive.”

“In a way, you are.” Jack turned from the window.

Something about the way he was looking at her now. The same something she’d sensed during their subway ride. Something wasn’t right.