Christmas Male(45)

He was right. She studied him for a moment. “You think she’s going to back them up, don’t you?”

“I do. But she could have several reasons for doing that. They’re her students. And she let them into her house. My guess is that she’ll want to protect them from being harassed by the police.”

“Even if they weren’t at her house yesterday?”

“Especially if they weren’t at her house.”

“You think she’s involved?”

“She’s the one person who might know if Billy is talented enough to break through the security at the National Gallery. And we don’t want to spook her, either. Not yet. At least not until you remember who she reminds you of. Or until Jase finds something.”

As they continued down the drive, D.C. called his brother and asked him to run deep background checks on Kathryn Lewen, Charity Watkins and Regina Meyers.

When he was finished, Fiona said, “I can’t argue with your logic, but I wouldn’t have done it your way.”

“I know. But we learned more my way than if we’d just walked up to the door and asked if Billy, Carla and Mark were at her house from three o’clock on yesterday.”

Fiona ran a hand through her hair. “I guess we did. Don’t you ever take a straight path?”

He slung a friendly arm around her shoulder. “I prefer crooked ones. You never know what’s around the next curve.”



“YOUR HUNCH WAS RIGHT,” Fiona said as she disconnected her cell. “Professor Kathryn Lewen claims that the three musketeers were at her house yesterday from about three-thirty until nine.”

D.C. flicked her a glance as he drove the car down a ramp. “You think she was lying?”

“Yes. She seemed totally surprised by the call. That’s hard to believe since they’re right there in her house, telling her about our visit.”

D.C. grinned. “See? We wouldn’t have known that if we hadn’t done our Peeping-Tom thing through her window.”

Fiona might have smiled if she hadn’t suddenly realized where they were headed. “This is the way to Billy’s apartment.”

“Right.” He made a left and eased into a parking space directly across from the building.

“Wait.” But he was already out of the car. Fiona unhooked her seat belt and scrambled after him. “This is the real reason we didn’t ask Kathryn Lewen face-to-face. You planned on coming back here while they were gone.”

“This is our chance to get a closer look at those computers.”

“No.” She clamped a hand on his arm as he stepped off the curb. “I saw that equipment. It’s state-of-the-art. If they were skilled enough to hack into the security system at the National Gallery, how much do you want to bet that if you start working on them you’ll leave a trail? We need a search warrant.”

Frustration shone in his eyes. “You already said we don’t have enough to get one. I’m good, Fiona. Give me half an hour and—”

“What happened to the don’t-spook-them plan? If they even suspect we’re onto them, they’ll delete everything. They could even get rid of the equipment, and we’ll have nothing.” Past his shoulder, she caught a flicker of movement from a window on the second floor. “Besides, Billy has a neighbor who’s watching us right now.” She tightened her grip on his arm. “Don’t look.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.” D.C. steered her across the street. “That was a good catch, Lieutenant.”

“I’m not going to let you break into Billy’s apartment.”

“Relax. I can’t fault your logic. We’re going to call on the person who’s watching us.”

“Fine.”

“Since I’ve been so reasonable, I’ll take the lead.”

If she hadn’t been so relieved that he wasn’t going to break into Billy’s apartment, she might have objected.



D.C. KNOCKED ON THE DOOR of apartment 205 and felt someone examine him through the peephole. Then the chain rattled and the door opened on a plump woman in jeans and a paint-stained Orioles sweatshirt. She’d twisted her hair onto the top of her head and tucked a paintbrush into the bun. Sprays of crystals dangled from each ear, and a pair of glasses with rhinestone-studded frames perched low on her nose.

For a moment she merely studied the both of them. “If you’re selling something, you’re out of luck. My trust fund ran out years ago.”

“We’re not selling anything,” D.C. said with a smile.

“Thought not.”

Beyond her, he noted the apartment had the same layout as Billy’s, but this one was crammed with an eclectic blend of furniture. Rugs, tables and chairs formed tightly grouped conversation areas. Curio cabinets stuffed with china and glass lined one long wall. A canvas rested on an easel angled toward the window.