Page 78 of The Midnight Lock (Lincoln Rhyme 14)

“Really?” Roonie asked.

“You bet,” he said, and lifted the heavy pack off her shoulder and slung it onto his own.

The threesome started south.

“So, Roonie, what routine do you like best in gymnastics?”

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Oh, I don’t know,” the girl tells me. “Balance beam, I think. Unevens, too.”

I nod at Roonie’s response.

I could tell her what Aleksandra said, about Russian girls: dancers or gymnasts.

Better not to.

Come to think of it, both Taylor and Roonie have a slightly Slavic cast of face.

Of the two, the girl is the prettier. Mom isn’t jealous of you. Not yet. I have a feeling it may happen.

As I walk along beside them—enjoying playing the role of Ben Nelson—I glance over pretty Taylor and skinny Roonie, thinking they have no idea what’s hit them.

It was just like picking a lock. I followed her from her apartment, trying to get Taylor to notice me. I actually had to step in front of a taxi to get him to honk. At last she turned and noted me and seemed to grow suspicious.

She looked once more a few minutes later and I knew the hook was in.

“And tell Mr. Nelson about the camp you have coming up.”

“Oh,” she says, smiling. “It’s the best. We’re going to Wilmington. It’s a famous place. There’ll be a hundred of us from all over the East Coast. Jenna Carson trained there.”

“No way,” I say, exhaling with the breath of the impressed.

After she arrived at the school, I ducked into the deli. Off with the coat, sunglasses and hat—all cheap and disposable. I stuffed them into a plastic bag I bought for a dollar from the clerk. Underneath was a Brooks Brothers suit.

When she wasn’t looking, I slipped around the corner to the back of Hawthorne Middle School and dumped the bag in the trash. I picked the Steel-Tec lock on the school’s service door in three seconds. Pasting a parent’s ID label on my chest, I climbed the stairs to the main floor and stepped outside.

Oh, you’re Roonie’s mom, right? Hi.

I stoked her paranoia about that sunglasses-wearing creep who might have been following her. If you think you’re being stalked and someone independently confirms it, well, then youarebeing stalked. Set in stone.

Almost too easy.

“Like, what’s your daughter’s sport?” Roonie asks.

I tell her, “She takes after my side of the family. Zip athletic skill. But she likes to act. I’ve done a little of that myself.”

“Cool.” Now it’s balance-beam Roonie’s turn to be impressed.

Taylor looks at me admiringly.

“We saw your gymnastics meet. You were really good. You nailed your routine!”

She grins shyly and I believe she’s blushing.

Taylor now chats, as they walk along the gritty, damp sidewalk and I’m in heaven. I’ve picked the lock of these two females’ lives.

I see that Taylor has fallen silent. She seems troubled and I wonder if she’s suspicious, even if she doesn’t know that the man beside her is not who he seems to be and has a very sharp knife in his pocket.

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