“She is and she does. Apparently, there was a bunch of old photos and some toys her kids played with when they were babies here. People can be so sentimental. I mean this place is ten times nicer than the old one and she didn’t have to pay a dime for it. But do I get a thank-you? No. All I hear is how she’s all broken up because she lost a few headless Barbies.”

He glanced down at the massive fossil of a prehistoric fish in the center of the stone coffee table. “Couldn’t get a T. rex?”

“Back-ordered,” she said, handing him a glass of whiskey before dropping into the opposite sofa.

He took a sip and leaned his head back into the cushion, registering something that his exhausted mind had missed when they’d entered. The place looked and smelled completely unlived in.

“We don’t have permission to be here, do we?”

She didn’t answer.

“Randi?”

“Define permission.”

“Christ,” he mumbled as he propped his feet on the arm of the sofa—being careful not to let his dirty loafers touch the leather. It felt good to lie down. Even in a stolen house.

The cell phone in his pocket buzzed and the tone told him it was an encrypted text from Covert-One. He pulled it out and punched in his password. It was amazing how clunky and outdated the device felt compared with the Merge he’d left at home.

“It’s from Star,” he said.

There were no words, just a black-and-white picture of a young Naval Academy cadet with a familiar scar rising from the collar of his dress uniform. A second image had him digitally aged to around seventy.

Even without Photoshop, there would have been no doubt. It was him.

“Son of a bitch,” he said, shaking his head in admiration.

“What?”

“She found him,” he said as he dialed.

Star picked up on the first ring. The smugness in her voice was thick and obviously intentional. “Why, hello there, Jon.”

“Okay. How did you do it?”

“Child’s play. A forty-three-year-old Naval Academy yearbook.”

“Uh-uh. No way. I looked through that one. The picture you sent wasn’t there.”

“And where did you get your copy of the book?” she said, clearly enjoying herself.

“You can just order them online. I had it FedExed.”

“What did they teach you in all those years of higher education, Jon? The devil is always in the details. I used original books from people who’d graduated in those years.”

He let that process for a moment. “Are you telling me this guy’s picture has been removed from the current version?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Books are living things, Jon. They don’t just—”

The line went silent.

“What? Say that again, Star. You’re breaking up.”