Patricia had no doubt the other two targets were already in the wind. The thief—Nick—didn’t matter; he was a lowlife who would surface sooner or later, if he didn’t find a way to reconnect with Hailey in the nearer term. The other threat, and thread—the professor—was a slightly larger problem, and a personal embarrassment. A connection to Charles Walker that had slipped past her, to obviously detrimental results. But he wouldn’t be difficult to track down.

Still, neither of the two men were more than inconveniences; it was Hailey who drew Patricia’s focus. Not only because she had the eagle, but because she was smart enough, and determined enough, to be a true threat.

As Patricia reached the end of the gangplank, she glanced up at the security camera affixed above the entrance to the museum. There would be similar cameras throughout the building; she didn’t know if they were wired for sound, but even if they weren’t, she had access to sophisticated lip-reading software. Which meant it wouldn’t take long for her to piece together where Hailey was now heading, before Patricia erased whatever the cameras had recorded.

Patricia would not underestimate the girl again. The next time they met would be their last.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Two hundred yards away, moonlight flashed against the undulating waves of the harbor, far enough from the museum that the eighteenth-century sailing vessel was mostly shadow. There was a brief moment of silence, broken only by the soft hiss of wind against the water—and then Hailey burst upward through the surface eagle-first, gasping for air.

When she’d finally regained her breath, she swung her head wildly back and forth, her feet churning below to keep her from sinking back down. Her shoes were soaked through, hugging her feet like gloves, and her skirt and top were clinging to her body, pulling at her skin like fingers from the deep. But the adrenaline was fire in her muscles, spurring her farther and farther away from the dock, that woman, and the gun that had nearly ended her life.

Hailey had never held her breath that long or swum that far before in her life; she’d always been a good swimmer, even as a foster kid. Her foster father—before he’d lost himself, became lost from her—had taught her in a lake just over the New Hampshire border from his property, and she’d always loved the quiet, and the freedom, of being surrounded by water. But a lake in New Hampshire in the middle of the day was nothing like the Boston Harbor in the dead of night, swimming for your life while a deadly killer took aim from a nearby dock—

“Hailey? Over here.”