She had managed to see Burke for only a few minutes after he had shaved off the beard, but it was enough to significantly alter her perception of him. He no longer seemed just an old crony of her father's. She realized that she had been attracted to him from the start. She couldn't put a finger on the exact reasons why. He had flattered her, of course, been effusive in his compliments. He had a sort of boyish charm about him and a hint of some inner vulnerability. Was she experiencing the mother hen syndrome, seeking someone to gather into her nest? He had certainly looked younger without the beard, but not that young.
She had sensed the affection that he felt toward her, but she was not certain whether it was aimed at Lori Quinn or Cam Quinn's daughter. Was he just being paternalistic, she wondered, or did it go much deeper? And if it did, was she ready for it? Her Dad had called her a "confirmed bachelor girl," but that had been partly a defensive posture after the divorce. A divorce was one of life's most painful experiences, to her way of thinking, and she had no desire to hurt like that ever again. As a result, she had dated sparingly, careful to keep her emotions hidden away like secrets in a locked diary.
Burke drove down the tree-lined street in front of Lori's condo development just before dark. Rain danced steadily on the pavement, glistening in the headlights like bouncing crystals. A paved parking area ran in front of the complex, parallel to the roadway. Across the street toward one end of the row of townhouses sat a charcoal-colored van, resting starkly in its isolation like the fabled horse of Troy, a small antenna protruding from the top. A quick glance toward it revealed no faces, but he had no doubt that someone sat in the back compartment with field glasses and, most likely, a headset plugged into a receiver that was picking up signals from inside Lori's house. By constantly monitoring what went on inside, they probably saw no need for any additional lookout posts.
He stopped at a restaurant about a mile away and ordered dinner. While waiting for his meal, he took out a sheet of paper and an envelope he had picked up at the motel. He wrote out a note to Lori and placed it in the envelope, then printed a brief message on the front.
Burke drove back to the area of Lori's condo, parking on a side street on the opposite end of the complex from where the van sat. He wore black trousers and a black waterproof jacket. He had bought a tube of black greasepaint and smudged it over his face. He tugged a black rain hat down over his head until the turned-down brim was even with his eyes, then pulled on a pair of black gloves. He could have passed for a cat burglar ready to prowl.
Removing a small black case, he locked the car and slipped into a wooded area that flanked the end of the complex. As he reached the edge of the woods, he noted a chain link fence stretching across the back end of the open area that ran along the rear of the condos. He skirted around the end of the fence to avoid the necessity of climbing over it later on. Occasional trees dotted the lawns, thick-leafed maples and tall oaks that obscured the rambling outline of the condominium structure. The fence line lay far enough away from the houses to stretch in virtual darkness. There were fifteen units. He knew Lori's was the seventh from this end.
Burke kept a low profile and made his way cautiously along the fence line. He watched for any sign of movement, alert for any sound above the splattering of the rain. He strained his eyes to count the rear entrances as he crept past, finally reaching Lori's, where he recognized the tall shrubbery around the patio. As he moved closer, he could make out a figure standing beyond a curtained window. Picturing the layout of the house in his mind, he decided she was at the kitchen sink. Keeping away from the light of the window, he crept up to the patio and past the glass-topped table and chairs where they had dined the previous Friday.
He checked the black wrought iron security door that led in from the patio. As expected, it was locked. He took out the envelope from inside his jacket and slid it under the door. Then he crossed over to the patio furniture and upended a chair with enough force to generate a loud metallic clatter.
Lori heard the noise and rushed into the dining room, flipping on the outside light. Knowing the security door was locked, she opened the inside door and looked out. She was puzzled by the overturned chair. It had not likely been done by a dog, since dogs were forbidden in the complex. And the wind was not that strong. Then she noticed the small white envelope that lay just inside the door.
Picking it up, she read: Don’t say anything. Read note inside.
Taking another look outside and seeing no one, she pushed the door closed and ripped open the envelope.
Dear Lori,
There's a suspicious van down the street in front. I suspect your house is bugged. Please turn off the outside light and any lights beyond the door inside. Leave the outside door unlocked and the inside door open. See you in a minute.
Burke
She did as instructed and waited in the darkness. No more than seconds later, the security door opened slowly and an almost invisible black figure slipped inside. He relocked the outside door and pushed the inner one closed.
Lori rushed over to him, wide-eyed at the bizarre sight she saw in the dim light spilling out of the kitchen. He set a small case on the floor and held a warning finger to his lips. She reached over to feel the wet jacket and the soaked trousers. Then she took his gloved hand and tugged him toward the kitchen.
He pulled off the hat and gloves and she almost broke into laughter at the sight of his black-smudged face. He lacked only the exaggerated white mouth to have been a character out of an old-time minstrel show. Then she helped him out of the jacket, contorting her face at the sight of the soggy pants and muddy shoes. She took a note pad off the countertop beneath the telephone and wrote, "Get upstairs and get out of those wet clothes. There should be one of Dad's robes in the closet of the spare bedroom."
He nodded and watched as she knelt to untie the messy shoes and pull them off his feet. Then she hitched her thumb toward the stairs. After he left, she cleaned up the mess on the floor and set the case he’d carried in on the kitchen table.
Burke walked in a few minutes later wearing a blue robe that had belonged to Cam. Opening the small case, he took out a device designed to ferret out hidden transmitters. He began a systematic sweep of each room, locating one on the phone line in the laundry room, where a block connected the incoming line with all extensions. Another had been stashed atop a picture frame in the living room. He determined it was safe to talk upstairs but carried the jamming instrument just to make sure.
Lori led the way to her bedroom, which was frilly and pink, with a queen-size four-poster bed. She kicked off her shoes and perched cross-legged on the bed while Burke switched on the device and dropped onto a contrasting peach bedside chair.
"Tell me what's been going on," she said. "Then I'll clean that mess off your face."
He grinned, straightening the robe over his bare legs. "Thanks to your fast work, lady, I got out of Hong Kong with only a small glitch." He told her about the man who appeared to be approaching him at Kai Tak, admitting that it may have been merely his imagination working overtime. He related the results of his phone calls in Chicago and the call to Jeffries' room at the Acapulco Princess.
"The next move will be to fly to New Orleans," he said. "I need to get down there and see if I can track down that Cherokee Lance."
She had a worried look. "You'll have to watch your step, Burke. Judge Marshall asked this afternoon if I'd heard from you. He wanted me to call him first thing if I did."
Burke raised an eyebrow. "So the Director, himself, is on my case, huh?"