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Daniel paled as he understood the implications.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Coltrane said. “But I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I put you at risk.”

The stairwell door banged open. “Doctor, we need—”

“Yes.” Daniel hurried back to the din of the emergency ward. “Jennifer.” He looked back. “What about—”

“I’m on my way to warn her.”

WHEN THE HEADLIGHTS OF A CAR VEERED OFF BEVERLY GLEN Boulevard onto Knob Hill Drive, Coltrane watched from where his Blazer was parked among other cars in the darkness at the side of the road. In this secluded residential area of Sherman Oaks, there was almost no traffic at 10:00 P. M., even on a Saturday. This was only the third set of lights in the past fifteen minutes. Identifying Jennifer’s BMW as it slowed on a curve and passed him, Coltrane redirected his attention toward the entrance to this street. One minute became two, then three. After five minutes, Coltrane decided that if Ilkovic had been following her, other headlights would certainly have appeared by now. Picking up his car phone, he pressed the numbers for Jennifer’s car phone, let it ring three times, and broke the connection, the signal to Jennifer that it was safe for her to keep descending into the valley and wait for him at the Sherman Oaks Recreation Center. He didn’t speak on the car phone because Greg had emphasized how easy it was for someone to use an audioscanner to overhear conversations on that type of phone.

The recreation center’s arc-lit parking lot was almost deserted as Coltrane pulled up next to Jennifer’s BMW. Her blond hair was suddenly visible, catching the glare of the security lights as she scrambled into his Blazer.

She hugged him tightly. “You’ve got me scared to death. What’s going on? Why the pay phone? Why did you ask me to meet you here?”

Coltrane had called her at home in Marina del Rey and told her to go to a specific phone booth near the docks, where he had gone earlier and noted the number. When she’d had enough time to get there, he had called from another pay phone in the area, telling her the route he wanted her to drive.

“You think my phone’s tapped?”

“I assume
mine
is,” Coltrane said. “Hell, my apartment’s bugged, so why not my phone? Why not Daniel’s? Why not yours?” Coltrane summarized his conversation with Greg. “We’re away from our homes so much, getting in and bugging our phones wouldn’t be hard to do. It’s a logical thing for Ilkovic to try, to keep pressure on me by knowing everything I’m up to.”

Hating what he had to say next, Coltrane hesitated. “Greg says that Ilkovic might be tempted to use you to get at me.”

Jennifer looked at him sharply.

“He thinks you’re at risk. He says you ought to stay away from your condo for a while.”

“What?”

“He says we ought to keep away from each other. When Ilkovic can’t figure out where I’ve gone—”

“Where you’ve gone?”

“I’m going to disappear, Jennifer. When Ilkovic can’t figure out where, he’ll probably follow you, hoping that you’ll lead him to me. Or he might decide to do worse, to force you to tell him what you know, even if it isn’t anything. There isn’t a choice.
You’ve
got to disappear, too.”

Jennifer pressed her hands against her stomach. “I thought I was scared driving over here, but that’s nothing compared with what I’m feeling
now
. My God, there’s got to be a . . . Where do you plan to hide?”

Coltrane didn’t answer.

“I’m going with you,” Jennifer said.

“But you just heard me explain—”

“It makes more sense for both of us to disappear together. That way, we don’t have to worry if he’ll be following me. He won’t be able to use me to get at you. We’ll
both
be safe while your friend tries to catch him.”

“I’m not sure that . . .”

“Mitch, this isn’t about crowding you. It’s about survival.”

JENNIFER RUSHED INTO THE AIRPORT. While she bought tickets for America West’s 11:45 shuttle to Las Vegas, Coltrane left his car in the parking garage. Out of breath, they met at the gate as the straggle of late-night passengers was boarding. Placing himself at the end of the line, Coltrane checked to make sure that no one followed them into the aircraft. Only after the jet pulled away from the terminal did he breathe easier.

“I need a drink,” Jennifer said.

“Me, too. But I’m afraid I’ll have to settle for coffee. We need to be awake for quite awhile.”

The jet arrived in Vegas at 12:44. They hurried to the America West counter and bought tickets on the next flight back to Los Angeles. By the time they reached the gate, the 1:45 shuttle was already boarding.

“Lord, I hope this fools him,” Jennifer said.

“I don’t see why it won’t work,” Coltrane said. “If Ilkovic did manage to follow us to the airport, we know he didn’t get on the plane with us. He has no way of figuring out we caught the next flight back to L.A. As far as he’s concerned, we’re in Vegas, and that’s where he has to search for us.”

“But what about when we get to L.A.?” Jennifer’s usually bright eyes dimmed with exhaustion. “Where will we hide? A hotel?”

“That’s the logical choice.”

But Coltrane had another idea, although he didn’t tell her. Their plane reached LAX at 2:41. A van took them to the Avis lot, where a weary clerk gave Coltrane documents to sign.

“A midsize car. Nothing flashy,” Coltrane said.

“A Saturn all right?”

“Perfect.” With so many Saturns on the road, nobody would notice another one.

The dashboard clock showed 3:31 as they drove out of the lot. The streetlights hurt Coltrane’s eyes. Using La Cienega Boulevard, he headed into the heart of the temporarily quiet city.

Jennifer yawned. “What hotel are we going to use?”

“Greg doesn’t want us to go anyplace that’s fancy, where we’ll attract attention when we check in without luggage. I know a couple of quiet places in West Hollywood.”

Jennifer yawned again. “As long as it’s got a decent bed.”

“We’ll be a little while getting there. Why don’t you close your eyes and go to sleep?”

Without traffic, Coltrane made good time, reaching his destination at 3:54. He got out of the car, unlocked the front door, and pressed buttons on an entryway monitor that disarmed the security system. To the left, he stepped into the single-stall garage and pressed a button that activated the door opener. As the overhead motor rumbled and the door rose, he returned to the car, pausing when he saw that Jennifer had wakened.

Groggy, she rubbed her eyes. “Are we there? Is this the hotel?”

“Yes, but it’s not exactly a hotel.”

Jennifer concentrated to focus her vision, gaping through the windshield when she realized what she was seeing. The glare of the headlights revealed a house that resembled a castle, its coral-colored stucco lovely even when harshly lit, the edges of its parapets trimmed with green copper strips that glinted in the shape of pre-Columbian arrowheads.

“
Here
?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Coltrane said. “Packard’s house.”

“BUT THIS IS CRAZY.” Jennifer’s voice echoed in the empty house. “We don’t have a right to be here. The neighbors will think we broke in. They’ll call the police.”

“This late, I doubt anybody noticed, but just in case, we won’t turn on the lights,” Coltrane said. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll go around to the neighbors and explain that I’m buying the place, that the estate let me move in a little early.”

He paused on the entryway’s landing, peering toward the darkness of the bottom floor. The vault was down there, and he had no intention of going in that direction. Upstairs, a night-light guided the way to the living room. Despite shadows, the white walls and hardwood floor looked clean and pure, myriad windows along the back wall enhancing a glow from streetlights and stars.

“But suppose the neighbors don’t believe you,” Jennifer said. “Suppose the estate gave them a number to call if anything seemed wrong.”

“The estate won’t have a problem.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Before I phoned you tonight, I called Packard’s assistant. While the Realtor’s getting the paperwork ready, it’s okay for us to stay here. That’s how I got the code for the security system. And we don’t have to worry about Ilkovic. He doesn’t know about this place.”

“But he followed you to all the houses you photographed.”

“Not this one,” Coltrane said. “When I saw the photographs he took of me, something seemed missing. Later, I realized what it was. There wasn’t any photograph of me at this house. He didn’t follow me that day.”

“You can’t be sure. His camera might not have been working.”

“That still doesn’t make a difference. Even if he did follow me, as far as he knows, this is just one more house in Packard’s series. He has no way to tell I’m planning to buy it. Granted, I went back there yesterday with you and Daniel, but we definitely know Ilkovic didn’t follow us then — because while we were gone, he was in my bedroom, setting up his surprise. He
can’t
know I’m interested. He doesn’t have the slightest reason to suspect I’d hide here tonight.”

Clouds must have obscured the stars, because the room became darker.

“You feel that certain,” Jennifer said.

“Otherwise, I wouldn’t have come.”

“You just can’t keep away from this house.”

“Hey, it’s better than staying in a hotel.”

“Is it? What kind of hold does Packard have on you?”

EVEN WITH SUNLIGHT STREAMING THROUGH THE WINDOWS, they managed to sleep until almost eleven.

Jennifer stood awkwardly and rubbed her back. “Ouch.”

Coltrane knew what she meant — from sleeping on the hardwood floor, his neck felt as if he’d been karate-chopped.

“You really know how to show a girl a good time,” Jennifer said. Rummaging through a bag of toiletries that Coltrane had bought at a convenience store on the way from the airport, she pulled out toothpaste, a toothbrush, and a bottle of shampoo. “Salvation.”

“Don’t forget the doughnuts I bought.”

“If I weren’t so hungry, I would. Really, this would be paradise if only we had clean underwear.”

Her sarcasm made him chuckle.

“Some towels wouldn’t hurt,” she added.

“Let’s make a supply run down to Hollywood Boulevard. First things first, though. I’d better speak to the neighbors.”

“In that case, you’re going to need this.” Jennifer handed him shaving cream and a razor.

By early afternoon, they returned with a fresh change of clothes, a coffeemaker, a few dishes and pans, and enough food to last them a couple of days. They scanned the street but didn’t see anyone who aroused their suspicion. They felt encouraged when they found that the alarm system was still engaged. But they didn’t relax until they had searched the house — except for the vault, which Coltrane had locked after showing it to Jennifer and Daniel the previous day, and which, Coltrane assured himself, remained that way.

Only then did they carry in their purchases. Coltrane had never been much for Christmas decorations, but saying that he might as well make the house a home, he had bought a two-foot-tall artificial Christmas tree that had ornaments attached to it. He placed it in the middle of the living room and spread out two sleeping bags.

“All the comforts,” he said.

They showered and put on jeans and pullovers they had bought. Then they made coffee and munched on bagels topped with smoked salmon, sliced tomato, cream cheese, and capers.

“I’m beginning to feel like a human being.” Jennifer stretched.

“Don’t move.”

“What’s wrong?”

“That pose is too good to . . .” Coltrane had kept his Nikon and his photographs when he abandoned his Blazer at the airport. He snapped her picture. “Beautiful.”

“I hate to say this.”

“Then you’d better not.”

“No, you’ll want to hear it. This house is beginning to appeal to me. The space and—”

“The light.”

Jennifer nodded. “I imagine it with Art Deco furnishings.”

“That would have been the style when this place was built.”

“I wonder what it looked like when . . . Were you serious about wanting to rip out the vault and restore the house to its original design?”

“Top of my list.”

“Then maybe . . .”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’ll be right back,” Jennifer said.

“Where are you going?”

“The garage. When we carried the groceries in, I noticed something.”

Coltrane raised his eyebrows with interest when she came back with a long cardboard tube.

“This was on a shelf,” Jennifer said. “Whoever moved everything out of here was meticulous — no junk left behind, nothing. Except for this.”

“You’re thinking it might
not
be junk?”

“When my parents bought an old Victorian five years ago over on Carroll Avenue” — Jennifer referred to an area near Echo Park that was famous for its Victorians — “they found a tube like this in the garage.”

Coltrane didn’t understand what she was getting at.

“The tube contained the house’s original blueprints,” Jennifer explained.

“You’re not suggesting . . .”

“It’s a logical place to leave them for a new owner.” She opened the tube and upended it, gently pulling out its contents.

Coltrane stared at a set of tightly rolled sheets of thick blue-tinted paper. They were faded and smelled musty with age. Helping her spread them out on a clean section of the counter, he marveled that the detail of the diagrams and notations was still visible.

“By God.” He ran his finger down the top sheet, stopping at a matted-off section on the lower right side that indicated the name of the architect and the year the house had been built. “Lloyd Wright — 1931.”

“AS MUCH AS I CAN TELL” — Jennifer studied the entrance to the vault, then shifted her gaze to the blueprints — “there was a bedroom here.”

“That’s what Packard’s assistant said.”

“Its dimensions were the same as the garage above it.”