That afternoon, dressed for work in tailored slacks and a black blazer with an inside pocket, Allison drove to the agency and pulled into an empty parking spot. Garrett’s Escalade was parked between her Honda and the front entrance, but the big white rented Lincoln, which would have been parked right in front, was nowhere in sight. Were Kaplan and Zacharias at lunch, or had the creepy pair left town? She could only hope they were gone. They reminded her of a lion and a jackal—powerful, alert, and deadly. And she was certain that they didn’t trust her.

In the car, she took a moment to transfer her phone from her purse to the inner pocket of her blazer. If the chance came to photograph the fake contract, or any other document, she might have only seconds to take a picture and get the phone out of sight.

Fixing her face in an impersonal smile, she opened the front door and walked into the front office. Monica, wearing a low-cut pink angora sweater, was checking her makeup in a small compact mirror. She snapped it shut as Allison approached the desk.

“Hello, Monica,” she said. “Do you know if Mr. Miles left me more work?”

Monica shook her head. “He said there were still plenty of files left from yesterday. He and the Edgeway people should be back from lunch soon. You can let him know if you run out of things to do.”

“Thanks. I will.” Allison walked past the cubicle area and down the hall. Garrett’s door was closed. A tug at the knob confirmed that it was locked. Burke’s office was open. Nothing to hide in here, Allison surmised as she walked into the room and sat down at the desk, which was stacked with files.

Burke’s key ring was still in her purse. Yesterday she’d removed the keys to the wrecked Porsche, lessening the bulk. The remaining keys—to the house, to the office, and to what she’d discovered was Garrett’s file cabinet—would fit in the pocket of her slacks without a telltale bulge.

She was about to sit down and start work when a distressing thought struck her. Hoping she was wrong, she walked over to the file cabinet, took the key ring out of her pocket and inserted the small key in the lock.

It turned easily.

This wasn’t Burke’s cabinet. This was Garrett’s. The two cabinets had been switched.

She opened the drawers. The two top ones were filled with office supplies—reams of paper, notepads, pens, markers, clipboards, and computer manuals. The bottom two were empty, but the vacant file hangers suggested that the filed contracts on her desk had been stored here. Everything vital to the running of the business had been moved out.