“Men never appreciate the pleasure of taking things slowly.” Deb sniffed and walked toward the cop, who tensed. One hand moved casually to the gun at her hip. I could see the moment Deb reached out to touch the woman’s mind and ease her alertness.

“Do you trust her?” Lena whispered in Gujarati.

I slipped an arm around her waist. “Nope. You?”

“How many times has Deb tried to kill you now?”

“To be fair, I’m not sure she was really trying that hard back in Detroit.”

“How hard do you think she’ll try with Keeler?”

I’d been worrying about the same thing. “Killing him would be too quick. She wants him to suffer. It would be much more satisfying to expose him, watch his life and career unravel. But we should be ready to grab her if we have to.”

Deb returned a short time later, leaving the police officer slumped asleep on the seat. “Officer Sheldon over there responded to a call at Keeler’s place two weeks ago. Graffiti complaint. Turned out to be an ex-boyfriend of Keeler’s daughter. Sheldon couldn’t remember the address, but she called dispatch and had them pull it up from her report. The Keelers live in the Spring Valley neighborhood, up in the northwest part of D.C.”

I glared at the letter opener. Always the risky path. “Did the dispatcher ask why she wanted to know?”

“You worry too much, hon. Sure, they asked, but Sheldon said she was trying to catch up on paperwork. Nothing suspicious.” She grinned and clapped me on the arm. “It’s two more stops. We can either catch a taxi from there or walk the rest of the way.”

“All right. Remember, once we get to the house, you follow our lead,” I warned. “Nobody gets hurt.”

“You know something, hon? You’re a boring date.”

We took a cab to the edge of Keeler’s neighborhood and walked the last several miles over hills and around curving roads, several times setting off motion-detecting house lights or rousing dogs that barked like we were an army of evil mutant squirrels come to declare war on kibble and chew toys.

I blamed Wayfinder’s magic. The damned letter opener wanted to make sure the whole neighborhood knew we were passing through. I was tempted to dissolve its magic altogether, but if things went wrong, we might need it for a quick escape.

Any one of these homes probably cost as much as an entire block back in Copper River. We circled through a roundabout, veered left, and finally stopped in front of a two-story brick colonial with black shutters. A brick wall circled the property, with a brass-trimmed iron gate across the driveway. Oak trees lined both sides of the road. We kept our distance from the gate and the cameras mounted to either side.