“I know, Sam.” Then he shook his head. “But I don’t know what’s the right thing to do about it. If we have the right to stop her. It’s taking the law into our own hands.”
She found her jaw clenched tight and had to relax before she could speak again. “We not only have the right, we have a moral duty, because there’s no one else. It may go against your training, but I don’t have any such inhibition.”
Bailey kept shaking his head, but he didn’t continue arguing with her.
She took a deep breath. “One way or another, we’ll have to do something. I don’t yet know what that is, but I will, and I’ll expect your help.”
She got no response, which was better than the alternative. They both just sat there in silence.
It was past midnight when Sam finally saw the woman leave, at the same time as Bailey grunted at his watch. Kirin must’ve been having quite the party. The woman had always enjoyed being the center of attention, and having had to lay low for a few days must have taken its toll.
Inside, men must’ve been dancing attendance on her. But when she emerged into the bright, artificial light shining on the club entrance, she was all alone. All Sam could see was red.
Rubies on Kirin’s fingers and blue amethysts in her earlobes, gold and diamond and emerald necklaces all draped around the woman’s throat. Kirin sparkled in a gaudy display of stolen wealth.
Sam growled low in her chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Bailey must have noticed. The woman had met with some dealer already—it must have been today in her hotel room right under their very noses. Now she was wearing her ill-gotten gains. Flaunting the wealth she’d gotten over poor Harold’s dead body.
Sam felt a rage rising from deep in her heart as she stood there staring at the gall of the woman.
The indignation burned so hot inside of her, it seemed her gaze might sear the woman to ashes as she stood on the curb. It didn’t, but Kirin must have felt the glare. She suddenly raised her eyes to look into the night, down the street and across into the darkness where Sam stood.
The same shock passed between the two as had that first time—when Sam had seen Kirin standing over Harold’s corpse. And as when she’d watched the woman standing on those steps in the park.
Kirin couldn’t possibly have made out Sam so far away and in shadow, but the woman must have felt her presence. Sam could see her looking down at her wrist. Bailey was doing the exact same thing—checking his locator screen.
He glanced over at Sam. “When she left, she got that bit closer. We’ve become blips.”
“No. As close as we are, and so far from her, we will only be one blip. You’re as good as invisible.”
Kirin had discovered she was still being chased, and she’d think she knew by whom. But she didn’t know about Bailey, so that advantage remained—if they got the chance to use it.
Sam knew what would happen next, and it did. Kirin ran. She didn’t wait for the hired car that had not yet shown but hailed one of the waiting taxis.
Pulling two twenties from her cache as she ran down the street, Sam waved them at the other cabs and went straight for the one that was quickest off the mark to pull toward her. The advantage of surprise was gone.
Now it was a race, and Sam always ran to win.
The taxi popped its door open for her, and she jumped in, handing the forty dollars to the driver as Bailey ducked his tall frame in after her.
“Follow that cab.” Sam pointed at the taxi that had just pulled away with Kirin inside. “Whatever you do, don’t lose her.” Sam fixed her eagle eye on the target, not wanting to lose track of that particular cab among the swarm of taxis in the street.
The driver leaned back and looked at her over his shoulder. “Excuse me, miss, but—”
“That woman is trying to escape justice. Now get moving.”
“Then you should call a cop.” But as he said it, he pulled away with a screech and started following the other cab.
Sam needed his continued cooperation. “If she gets away, we won’t know where to find her, and the authorities won’t be able to find her either.”
She squinted as she tried to memorize the details of the cab Kirin had taken while she could still make them out—the number and the slightly bent rear bumper were the only distinguishing features Sam could discern, though. Beside her in the back of the taxi, Bailey said nothing, but she trusted that he was keeping an eye on his locator app. It would be needed if she lost sight of the woman’s cab.
The distance Kirin had already gained troubled Sam—if they couldn’t rely on the woman having to wait the full twenty-four hours, then she might be able to Travel at any time. And she would try when she thought she’d gotten far enough away that Sam wouldn’t be taken along for the ride.
Sam knew Kirin was intelligent. However safe the woman had imagined herself until now, she had to have realized that she’d brought her pursuer into the past with her. Twice. Kirin was bright enough to reach the same conclusions about the real range of the Travel field as Sam had.
The woman would try to put as much distance as she could between herself and her pursuer, not relying on what her locator screen indicated.
None of them knew how much difference there was between the supposed range of the Travel field and the reality, though. As Kirin created as much of a gap as she could, Sam would have to try to stay as close as she could manage. Unfortunately the woman was already a good fifty meters ahead of them.
Sam spoke to the driver. “Where do you think she might be heading?”
The man shook his head but kept his eyes on the road. “We’re moving through the Upper West Side toward Harlem. If she keeps going this way, it will take her into the Bronx. If she’s running, could be she’s headed for a bridge, to get off the island.”
“And how far will that taxi driver be willing to take her?”
The man laughed. “Depends how much she can pay him, I suppose.”
Sam knew Kirin had the money to go as far as she wanted, and a lot farther than Sam. She didn’t tell the driver how limited their own funds were.
If Kirin had realized she didn’t have to outrun Sam but simply outlast her, or more accurately outspend her, they’d be sunk. Even now Kirin might be racing to an airport to lose them entirely.
Though that might be a moot point, the way she had her driver racing along. The distance between the two taxis was steadily increasing.
Sam felt her stomach start to tie in knots as they crossed one of the bridges and followed Kirin’s cab onto a broad highway.
Sam handed a wad of bills up to the driver. “Go faster, please. We have to catch up somehow.”
The cabbie accelerated. “I’ll go as fast as I can, safely. But I won’t risk my life trying to keep up with a lunatic.”
“I wouldn’t want you to.” She was willing to risk her own life, and maybe even Bailey’s, but she didn’t want the death of a bystander on her conscience.
After a few minutes, the driver volunteered another comment. “It looks like they’re gonna stay on 95 for a while—does that give you any idea where she might be headed?”
“It might if I knew where this 95 went.”
“It’ll take them up into Westchester County and then along the coast into Connecticut. I don’t know how far you think this bird is gonna fly, buy it’ll take a lot more money to go that far.”
Sam caught the hint. The man was willing to be helpful, but he wouldn’t be taking them any farther than they could pay. She covertly checked her cash reserves. She didn’t have much left, but it was all or nothing now, so she handed the last of her hoard up to the driver.
“Tell me when that’s running out.” She held out her hand to Bailey. His face was grim, but he handed over the money he’d tried to give her earlier that day. “And please try to keep from falling any farther behind.”
Sam could still see Kirin’s cab ahead in the distance, but the woman had already put more than a hundred meters between th
em. Either her battery hadn’t recharged enough for Travel, or more likely she wanted to gain more ground first—as she was managing to do quite easily.
Fifteen minutes later, Sam estimated that they had fallen a good quarter mile behind the other taxi—or four times the supposed range. However much of a fudge factor there might be, it couldn’t be that big. Kirin was too far away.
If the woman Traveled now, she wouldn’t take them with her, and Sam could see no way to catch up.
It was then that the driver coughed and glanced back at her with a sheepish smile. “I’m afraid I’m going to need more money soon. Not that I’m saying you’re not good for it, but...”
Sam nodded. She wasn’t ‘good for it’—not for much longer even if she used Bailey’s supply. The chase had become futile already, and she refused to compound her failure by defrauding the cabbie.
“You’d better find a place to pull over and let us out then. We can’t afford to go much farther.”
The driver kept speeding along. “I can’t just let you off on the side of the highway. What’ll you do?”
“I don’t know—but we’ll be fine. Please just let us out.”
Sam wanted to cry as the cab began to slow and drift across the lanes toward the shoulder. But she held back the tears as she watched Kirin’s taxi speed off toward the horizon. Sam wouldn’t allow herself to indulge in self-pity.
She fought against just giving up. She knew the general direction the woman was headed in. Maybe they could guess where she was headed, find a way to get there ahead of her. Before she used her watch to Travel. There was another branch of the bank in Boston—Kirin could be going there.
Sam let her eyes drop to her lap and looked at her clenched fists. Admit the truth. You’ve failed. Kirin would Travel, and then there would be, could be, no more pursuit. It was over.
Then Sam was tumbling and skidding along the ground.
Chapter 10
The Realtor’s Tale
July 7th, 2000 Little Piece, NY
ANYA leaned back in her chair, and Mrs. McGlinty shoveled scrambled eggs from the pan and onto the plate. Tate was forking down his fried potatoes fast to try and make room for plenty of eggs. Turner and Nye were munching on cereal and slurping coffee—even though the pair were already stimulated to the point they could barely contain themselves.
“Of course, I don’t mind getting up early,” said Mrs. McGlinty as she moved down to spoon the rest of the eggs out for Tate. “I mean, I always do myself. My guests don’t usually get started so early though. I’m not used to making a big breakfast at this hour.” Outside a rooster crowed.
Anya smiled. “Don’t worry, Helen. This meal is wonderful. And we wouldn’t want you to put yourself out for us anyway.” Despite their being paying guests. “It’s incredible that you whipped all this up so fast.”
Anya wasn’t sure whether their hostess had intended to sound apologetic or aggrieved—the truth was, Mrs. McGlinty was fishing. The woman wondered why they were all getting up before dawn and heading out so early. She wouldn’t just ask, though.
Anya and Tate were used to rising this early and liked it. Turner and Nye had plenty of practice getting up with the sun, even if they didn’t care to, but today they meant to get a quick start back into the city—not that they’d been gone long enough to miss it yet. Anya certainly didn’t.
It had taken until midday on Wednesday to finish all their preparations before hiring a car to drive them to Little Piece. Now Nye insisted on turning right around and heading back. The girl wanted to hurry up and document the baseline for the current version of New York City, and Turner had generously volunteered to chaperone her this weekend. I can count on him to keep her out of trouble.
By the time the two returned Sunday evening, Anya hoped to have already found the right property and settled everything. Then they’d no longer need to stay at the bed and breakfast.
Mrs. McGlinty was nice, and a great cook, but it was awkward enough trying to keep their business private—living under the roof of an inveterate gossip was taking its toll on Anya’s nerves.
She decided to throw the woman a scrap. “The young people are traveling into the city this morning, and there’s plenty they want to get done before they come back.” Nye had her research, and Turner not only needed to keep an eye on the girl, Anya had him checking on the classified ads they’d placed in several papers, as well as investigating their other options. So he’d have his hands full.
A genteel honk sounded from outside, so Anya quickly added, “And Tate and I are going with Mrs. Grant to take a look at a few properties. I’m afraid I asked her to come at dawn.”
Nye remained focused on her coffee, but Turner was paying attention. Tate shoveled his remaining eggs down the hatch and stood. Anya followed his example and pushed back from the table, smiling at Mrs. McGlinty as she rose. “Thank you, again, for a really marvelous breakfast.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Anya.” Their hostess chuckled. “You’re not setting up your own bed and breakfast are you? Not that I’d mind—”
“Nothing like that. We’re just looking for some kind of summer retreat. For ourselves and some of our colleagues.”
Mrs. McGlinty’s eyebrows rose. “The work you people do—”
Anya cut in again, “I really don’t want to keep Mrs. Grant waiting.”
Turner stepped into the breach. “Your place is so nice here, Helen, I’m tempted to stay and forego the trip into the city.”
Nye shot Turner a hard glare under her bangs, but Mrs. McGlinty blushed. “Oh, you!”
This afforded Anya the opportunity to grab her bag and scurry out of the dining room without further conversation—she just waved to their hostess and flashed a final fretful glance at Turner and Nye. As Anya strode to the front door and onto the porch, she hoped they’d be moving into a new home today. Tate trundled out after her. At least he didn’t seem to be anxious about anything.
She worried about the arrangements she’d had to make with the bank, in order for them to be able to purchase some property—and that was in addition to getting the debit card. She’d been assured everything would go smoothly once they found the place they wanted. But she didn’t want to rush and pick the wrong one, so she tamped down her eagerness and sense of expectation.
She breezed down the walkway with Tate in tow to the curb, where Mrs. Grant sat in the driver’s seat of her station wagon playing with her cell phone. Of course, it wouldn’t be play but business. From her limited interaction with the woman, Anya thought the realtor must breathe business like most people breathed air.
Mrs. Grant nodded at them as they approached the car but kept talking on the phone. Anya opened the back door for Tate and then slid into the passenger seat next to the realtor.
“—and I’ll call back as soon as the papers have been signed.” Mrs. Grant ended her call and turned to Anya with a practiced smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but there’s always something.”
The woman turned her smile on Tate and then returned to Anya. “I have three potentials to show you today, and they should all satisfy your requirements.” The realtor handed Anya a stack of folders. “Take a look while we drive if you want, but I’ve got the details memorized so I can just rattle them off.” Mrs. Grant paused, but when Anya didn’t respond, the woman continued, “This first property I’ll show you is probably the one. You may not need to even look at the others.”
The realtor continued talking while the station wagon glided down the early morning streets. The people in this small rural town were already up and around, but there just weren’t that many of them, so it felt quiet and peaceful. Anya would love it here, and so would Tate. It might drive Nye crazy though, staying too long in this isolated spot, which would mean she’d make even more trips into the city.
Anya would have to figure out how to supervise the girl to keep her out of trouble. If Turner didn’t want to spend so much time in the city chaperoning Nye, the job would fall to Anya,
since Tate was solid but not up to a lot of running around.
She’d recovered three of her fellow Travelers—she needed to find the others, not lose any of those she’d managed to gather so far.
She jerked her head up as the car turned onto a nicely paved driveway. A vast Colonial mansion sat on a slight hill. But she didn’t see a barn.
Mrs. Grant glanced her way. “You see how it’s sitting up there on the hill. It has a great view of the countryside. And you said you needed a big house.”
What Anya saw was an expensive luxury, and one that sat almost in the middle of the town. She’d asked for a place with more acreage, more privacy. And while they had plenty of money to spend, they didn’t have it to waste. “What about the barn?”
The realtor looked slightly uncomfortable. “Of course it has a barn. I don’t know that it’s exactly the kind of barn you asked for, but as for the house itself—it’s magnificent. You’ll see.”
“I’m sure it is, Mrs. Grant.” Anya smiled. “And since the house is that lovely, let’s take a look at the barn first.”
Mrs. Grant’s smile had returned, but faltered a bit before regaining form. “You’re the client.” No doubt the seller was a client, too.
Ms. Dervan had explained how things tended to work in the kind of small towns they’d be searching for property in, and so far Little Piece accorded with her description. It made Anya consider how much the realtor might talk. Their group couldn’t expect their conduct to go without comment, but it would be better if Mrs. Grant didn’t spread the word about their peculiar requests.
The station wagon turned to drive down a worn path around the side of the house. Behind it sat the so-called barn, which was more of a shack. Just by looking at the outside of it, Anya could tell it didn’t meet her specifications. They would require a big empty space for Traveling, since even if they stood right next to each other they’d still separate some. And they didn’t want to worry about being seen, and that meant indoors—a big empty barn.
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