Page 167 of Buried Too Deep

“All of these photos are on that cube. If my father marked even one of the photos on the cube with a number, we can figure the rest of the order from the dice.”

Phin grinned. “I think you found the key, Cora.”

“Where is the photo cube, Cora?” Stone asked, not even bothering to hide his impatience.

“In the attic. Hold on.” Cora ran up the stairs, Val and Phin close behind her.

“Dammit, Cora,” Val gritted out. “I’m on duty. Let me go in first.”

“Sorry,” Cora said as she made it to the top floor and burst into the attic. She exhaled with relief, half expecting the room to have been ransacked or burned. But it was just as they’d left it.

She went to the box by the window seat that had the special photo…thing. “Found it. It’s an icosahedron,” she muttered, the word suddenly coming to mind. “I know it’s not a cube, Antoine.”

Phin laughed. “I’m not sure if I want to know how you knew that, but good for you. Come on. Let’s see what Antoine can do with this.”

Then the doorbell rang.

Phin looked down from the window to the front porch and muttered a curse. “Harry’s here.”

“Dammit.” Cora had forgotten all about him. “Val, can Molly and Antoine clean off the table? You and Phin and I can keep him busy in the foyer until it’s safe to bring him into the kitchen. See, I know that I need to have you with me to do your bodyguard stuff.”

Patting her shoulder, Val took possession of the photo icosahedron before heading down the stairs. “I’ll give this to Antoine.”

Phin made an unhappy sound. “Looks like we’ll need to wait a little longer to explore what your father hid on that hard drive.”

She was impatient, too, but Harry might have more answers. “Be nice to Harry, okay?”

“I reserve the right to continue disliking him for leaving you alone on the street on Tuesday.”

She pulled his face down for a light peck on his lips. “I wasn’t alone. You were there.”

He smiled down at her. “Yes, I was.”

22

Metairie, New Orleans, Louisiana

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 16, 9:15 A.M.

“YOU’RE LATE,” ALAN SNAPPED WHEN Sage waltzed in.

“I stayed with some friends last night.”

Staying with friends meant that Sage was at the clubs again. Fornicating and doing God only knew what else. At least Sage disguised his face, but all it would take would be one floozy he’d taken back to his hotel room to rip off his wig and he’d be recognized.

Sage’s golden hair was his most recognizable feature.

Alan stopped himself before he said something that would make Sage too angry to follow his commands. “I have something for you to do.”

This is it. The moment he’d been bracing himself for since Cora Winslow had tracked down that VanPatten woman. Because Cora knew. Or at least she thought she did.

If she learned the whole truth, all would be lost.

Sage studied him. “What is the job?”

“There’s a family that’s causing trouble for our ministry.”

Sage slowly straightened in the chair. “What kind of trouble?”

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