Pike moved fast to the building. He pressed his back flat to the wall outside the big door, then cleared the service bay and saw it was empty. Darko would either be in the rooms beyond the door or upstairs, but Pike didn’t necessarily want Darko. He would have taken the chair man if the chair man had stayed, then worked his way up. Someone close to Darko would do if they could tell him what he wanted to know.

Pike stepped into the service bay when he heard the baby crying. The hiccup-y wail babies make was lost in the building, echoing through the cavernous room. Pike thought it might be coming through the far door or the walls, but then he realized it was coming from one of the windows overhead.

Pike thought through his moves. Making for Darko was the play to make, but the kid was upstairs. Crying.

Pike made his decision.

A metal stairway at the back corner of the service bay led up to the second floor. Pike made for the stairs.

Chapter 37

37

THE STAIRWELL OPENED TO a long, narrow hall that let Pike see the length of the building. The first door in the hall was open, and the baby sounds were loud, but now Pike heard a woman’s irritated voice. Pike couldn’t understand her language, but he caught the harsh irritation, as if the woman had been tasked with a job she resented. Male voices came from the far end of the hall.

Pike took a breath, then slowly entered the room, moving so quietly the woman did not hear.

The woman was bouncing a baby with wispy red hair, trying to quiet him. She was facing the window, and trying to get the baby interested in something outside. A bassinet was against the wall, along with a small table spread with a sky blue blanket and a battered wooden desk. Disposable diapers and jars of baby food were stacked on the desk, along with baby wipes, cotton, and the other things babies required.

Pike made a ss-ss-ss sound to draw the woman’s attention. When she turned, Pike touched the gun to his lips.

“Sh.”

The woman was so still she might have stopped breathing, and her white skin paled to a sickly blue.

Pike whispered.

“Whose baby is this?”

“Milos Jakovich. Please do not kill me. I have not harmed this child. I care for him.”

She thought he was working for Jakovich, come to kill the child.

Pike said, “Don’t speak. Don’t move.”

The baby frowned at Pike, its snow-white brow scrunching like a crumpled handkerchief. Its red hair was wispy and fine, and its blue eyes seemed large for its head.