Page 108 of Eyes in the Shadows

I grin. “Good job. Now, look past his head, look surprised and say you have to go. If he tries to stop you, start making a scene and he’ll let you go.”

She executes it nearly perfectly—her gasp is maybe a bit over dramatic.“I have to go!”

“Wait! Who is he? What’s his name?”McCloskey demands.

“He’s the Ghost,”she stage-whispers.

There’s a beat of stunned silence on the line at her improv, then Wes chuckles.“And the Oscar goes to…”

Okay, yeah, now she’s getting a bit too dramatic. Better get her out of there now, before she goes any further off book. I hear her power walking away, butthere’s no sound of shuffling or further cries from McCloskey, so I take it she didn’t have to resort to making a scene.

“Good job. Hang a right at the end of the block. Slow down and turn around, like you’re making sure you’re not being followed. If you see him, pretend you didn’t. Don’t make eye contact.”

“I’m almost there,”she says a second later.“He’s like 20 feet behind me. He didn’t duck behind a car fast enough so I saw him, and he’s definitely following me.”

“Good girl. Go into the alley on your left, try to look casual about it.”

“Try to look casual,”she repeats, scoffing.“My heart is fucking racing. I don’t think I can do that.”

“You’re almost there. I’m in the mustang. Get in.”

She’s breathless as she slams the door behind her. “Is he still there?”

“Running back to his car, I think. You did so good, baby. We’re almost done. Almost there.”

I put the car in gear. The mustang was a fully intentional choice—one of the easiest cars to pick out on the street, which is a good thing for the old cop who thinks he’s being sly, following us. I wait a few seconds, then ease out onto the main street slowly and go just above the speed limit.

Officer McCloskey is old school—he uses the two-cars-between rule of thumb. Luckily for us, Officer McCloskey isn’t old school enough to want to hold the phone, so he makes and takes the calls on his car’s Bluetooth. Wes’s bug broadcasts his voice to both of our ears.

“Ulysses Sheriff’s office,”comes the voice we both recognize from earlier.

“Hey, Irene.”

“Oh, hi, Chris,”she says, mustering up quite a bit more enthusiasm.

“Can you get me some info on this address?”He rattles off what’s written on the paper.

“Uh… sure. Hold on a sec.”There’s some slow typing and clicking.“Looks like a warehouse, a couple counties over.”

“A warehouse?”McCloskey repeats, his tone heavily confused.

“Yeah…”She laughs sharply.“Kind of a shitty one, too. I just pulled it up on maps. I went out that way once with my niece to a pumpkin patch. It’s all farms out there.”

“Who owns it?”

“Uh… hold on a sec. These ancient computers… Ha! Some guy named Ivan Ivanokov. Is that really someone’s name you think?”

“Yeah… Okay, thanks,”he says slowly, not laughing at what I’m sure Wes thought was fuckin’ hilarious.“Do me another favor while you’re at it? Have Bill run me a plate.”He gives the mustang’s license plate.

“Okay, I’ll have him call you.”

“Great, thanks, hun.”

“I live to serve.”

He hangs up on her, and waits a little. We’re almost at the hotel when he makes another call.

“What happened with the girl?”comes Rossi’s voice immediately. He sounds pissed.

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