coming. Leave your cell phone on and I’ll call you when we’re in the building.”
She disconnected, slipped on a hooded sweatshirt, and stuck the phone in her pocket. “He got in a service door with a broken window.”
Eli and Franny both grabbed their shoes and put them on.
“Let’s find a night watchman,” Arden suggested. Adrenaline was still racing through her veins. “Hopefully he has a master key.”
Two pairs of eyes locked on her. “We can’t tell him Noah was roaming around, breaking into buildings.”
Of course, it would be much too anticlimactic to simply alert a guard. “He didn’t break in.”
Arden was glad she wasn’t their age anymore. Everything was such high drama, and Noah’s little performance an obvious plea for attention.
Eli tugged a gray sweatshirt over his head, then produced two plastic flashlights, one red, one yellow. “He could get kicked out of the study.”
He had a point. Not a very valid one, but a point.
“How old are you?” Arden asked as they headed out the door.
“Twenty-two,” Eli said.
Arden wasn’t so much older. Not in people years, anyway, but in FBI-agent years it created quite a gap. Agents grew up fast. But then, if you spiced that up with months of denial and shook well, it might just even out.
“Twenty-one,” Franny said.
Daniel had turned twenty-two in August. Arden had sent him a birthday card with her return address. No response. Was he okay?
The quest for Noah was nothing to do with her. A hip version of a lovers’ quarrel. The practical thing would be to continue to her room and try to catch a few hours of sleep before her eight-thirty meeting.
On the other hand, she didn’t feel comfortable leaving this bunch to their own devices. They were naive. Not that she thought anything would happen. It was just that they seemed capable of finding trouble without even trying.
But he’s in Cottage 25. You don’t want anything to do with Cottage 25, remember?
At the last minute, when she should have headed toward her room, she changed course.
Eli handed her one of the flashlights. Not wanting to attract the attention of the night watchman, they took the stairs, moving as silently as possible in shoes with soles that sometimes squeaked, using sign language instead of talking.
Shh.
This way.
Wait. I hear something.
Okay. Let’s go.
The only thing missing was Scooby-Doo.
On the first floor, Arden peered through the rectangle of safety glass. She motioned that all was clear; then they slipped out the heavy, noisy door.
The rain had stopped.
Arden pulled in a deep breath. The air was spectacular. Washed clean. She could see the stars.
Not nearly as spectacular as a New Mexico sky, but the lack of pollution was quite amazing. Her lungs didn’t know how to react to the absence of refinery fumes.
There was a brief flurry of conflict as Eli and Franny struggled for the leadership role. Eli relented and Franny took off, moving quickly through the wet grass, sticking to the shadows.
It was cold and damp. Arden wished she was dressed in more than a T-shirt.
As they hurried in the direction of Cottage 25, she began to recognize landmarks. The apple orchard was around a corner and down a hillside, near where Fury was staying. There would be a wide wooden bridge that led across a stream, and a circle of gravestones, broken and unreadable, covered with lichen, clustered at the bottom of a small hollow.
Like the other buildings, Cottage 25 was made of red brick. It wasn’t as tall or as big as the main structure, but it was every bit as unsettling. Four stories. Rows and rows of windows, all dark.
Franny waved them to follow. Moving single-file, they circled the building, checking doors until Franny ran down a short set of cement steps and came upon a door with a broken window.
Franny turned the knob and pushed open the door. Come on , she rapidly motioned.
Arden froze.
It was like the time she’d called Daniel and couldn’t speak.
She disconnected, slipped on a hooded sweatshirt, and stuck the phone in her pocket. “He got in a service door with a broken window.”
Eli and Franny both grabbed their shoes and put them on.
“Let’s find a night watchman,” Arden suggested. Adrenaline was still racing through her veins. “Hopefully he has a master key.”
Two pairs of eyes locked on her. “We can’t tell him Noah was roaming around, breaking into buildings.”
Of course, it would be much too anticlimactic to simply alert a guard. “He didn’t break in.”
Arden was glad she wasn’t their age anymore. Everything was such high drama, and Noah’s little performance an obvious plea for attention.
Eli tugged a gray sweatshirt over his head, then produced two plastic flashlights, one red, one yellow. “He could get kicked out of the study.”
He had a point. Not a very valid one, but a point.
“How old are you?” Arden asked as they headed out the door.
“Twenty-two,” Eli said.
Arden wasn’t so much older. Not in people years, anyway, but in FBI-agent years it created quite a gap. Agents grew up fast. But then, if you spiced that up with months of denial and shook well, it might just even out.
“Twenty-one,” Franny said.
Daniel had turned twenty-two in August. Arden had sent him a birthday card with her return address. No response. Was he okay?
The quest for Noah was nothing to do with her. A hip version of a lovers’ quarrel. The practical thing would be to continue to her room and try to catch a few hours of sleep before her eight-thirty meeting.
On the other hand, she didn’t feel comfortable leaving this bunch to their own devices. They were naive. Not that she thought anything would happen. It was just that they seemed capable of finding trouble without even trying.
But he’s in Cottage 25. You don’t want anything to do with Cottage 25, remember?
At the last minute, when she should have headed toward her room, she changed course.
Eli handed her one of the flashlights. Not wanting to attract the attention of the night watchman, they took the stairs, moving as silently as possible in shoes with soles that sometimes squeaked, using sign language instead of talking.
Shh.
This way.
Wait. I hear something.
Okay. Let’s go.
The only thing missing was Scooby-Doo.
On the first floor, Arden peered through the rectangle of safety glass. She motioned that all was clear; then they slipped out the heavy, noisy door.
The rain had stopped.
Arden pulled in a deep breath. The air was spectacular. Washed clean. She could see the stars.
Not nearly as spectacular as a New Mexico sky, but the lack of pollution was quite amazing. Her lungs didn’t know how to react to the absence of refinery fumes.
There was a brief flurry of conflict as Eli and Franny struggled for the leadership role. Eli relented and Franny took off, moving quickly through the wet grass, sticking to the shadows.
It was cold and damp. Arden wished she was dressed in more than a T-shirt.
As they hurried in the direction of Cottage 25, she began to recognize landmarks. The apple orchard was around a corner and down a hillside, near where Fury was staying. There would be a wide wooden bridge that led across a stream, and a circle of gravestones, broken and unreadable, covered with lichen, clustered at the bottom of a small hollow.
Like the other buildings, Cottage 25 was made of red brick. It wasn’t as tall or as big as the main structure, but it was every bit as unsettling. Four stories. Rows and rows of windows, all dark.
Franny waved them to follow. Moving single-file, they circled the building, checking doors until Franny ran down a short set of cement steps and came upon a door with a broken window.
Franny turned the knob and pushed open the door. Come on , she rapidly motioned.
Arden froze.
It was like the time she’d called Daniel and couldn’t speak.
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