Clare was a classically trained violist.

They knew that because she’d told them, and believed it because Raymond Chance had confirmed it, and they trusted that his stories were real, but Clare couldn’t be bothered to find out if her kids had an interest in music, and in all those years they’d never once heard her play. Instruments were impractical and learning required practice, and practice made noise, and unless they were looking at a harmonica or something of equal size, they weren’t about to carry a thing from city to city as she dragged them across the planet. But if one needed to move an arsenal from one place to the next, particularly if one was a young teen, hopping on a bike and wheeling across town with a guitar case on one’s back was an inconspicuous way to do it.

Jill pulled a battered duffel bag off the top shelf and dragged it toward the guns and ammunition. Where she was going, a guitar case would just get in the way.

She opened the firearms cases, studied their contents, reached for the Blaser Long Range Tactical, and paused. It was a German sniper rifle used by armed forces, counterterrorist operations, and law enforcement across Europe and Asia.

It belonged to Clare.

Taking money and clothes and ID was one thing.

Removing firearms was another.

You didn’t touch Clare’s guns except in an emergency.

And this wasn’t an emergency. Not justifiably. Not yet.

But if she didn’t take the weapons, there’d damn sure be an emergency, and the only way she wouldn’t get them back in place before Clare realized they were missing was if there was an emergency. Even Clare couldn’t argue with that logic.

Jack would argue. That’s why Jack didn’t need to know.

She took two pieces.

The Blaser for precision work.

A Glock 23 for close range.

More would only slow her down.

That was the thing about firearms in movies and news stories that had always baffled her, the way a trunkful of guns was supposed to show a well-armed team, and how nutjobs hauled around suitcases filled with them. Twenty firearms were nothing but twenty clubs if you didn’t have the ammunition to use them.

Ammunition was heavy.

Guns were heavy and bulky.

She’d take two good working pieces and as much ammunition as she could carry over a dozen different weapons any day. She pulled out a box of bullets and eight spare magazines, set them on the floor, and sat beside them.