She heard the click and then the rumble of the elevator going up. A moment later there came the sound of a car returning to this level. If it was the same one, it had only traveled to the main floor.

Two dollars for a one-use container of detergent? She should have had Josh pick up a bottle of Tide at the drug store. Then reminded herself: Don’t be like Matthew. Don’t worry about the petty things.

Were those footsteps coming from the direction of the elevator?

She glanced toward the doorway, the shadowy corridor. Heart thudding a bit faster, her palms dampening.

Nothing.

She added the clothing to the least-dirty machine and shoved in the six quarters.

Then footsteps again, growing louder.

She turned, staring at the young man in the tan leather jacket and green NY Mets cap. He carried a backpack and a canvas work bag.

Silence for a moment.

Then she smiled. ‘Billy.’

‘Aunt Harriet.’ Billy Haven looked around to make certain they were alone and then stepped inside the room. He set down the bags.

She lifted her hands, palm up. Like summoning a child.

Billy hesitated then came to her and let himself be drawn into her arms, which closed around him, enwrapping him tightly. They were about the same height – she was just under six feet herself – and Harriet easily maneuvered her face to his, kissing him hard on the mouth.

She sensed him resist for a moment but then he gave in and kissed her back, gripping her lips with his, tasting her. Not wanting to but unable to stop.

It had always been this way with him: reluctant at first, then yielding … then growing commanding as he pushed her down on her back and wrestled off clothing.

Always this way – from the very first time, more than a decade ago, when she’d pulled the boy into the study above the garage, the Oleander Room, for their afternoon trysts, while Matthew was busy with – aunt and nephew sometimes joked – God knew what.

CHAPTER 58

Typically – and irritatingly – Rodney Szarnek was listening to some god-awful rock when he picked up the call from Rhyme’s parlor.

‘Rodney, you’re on speaker. It’s … Can we lose the music?’

If you could call that head-banging crap music.

‘Hey, Lincoln. That’s you, right?’

Rhyme turned to Sachs and rolled his eyes.

The cyber detective was probably half deaf.

‘Rodney, we have a situation.’

‘Yup. Go on.’

Rhyme explained about the bombs and where they’d been set – near key International Fiber Optic Networks routers and under the company’s headquarters.

‘Man, that’s tough, Lincoln.’

‘I have no idea what the detonator timing situation is. It’s possible we can’t render-safe before one or maybe all of them go off.’

‘Are you evacuating?’