"I'll be right there."
A click as the phone returned to the cradle.
"He told her to shut her mouth," Quinn said. "Prob a bly thinks the phone's bugged."
Jack watched the house through binoculars as we listened to footsteps pattering up the stairs, a baby crying, then Leslie quieting her as she came back down.
More noise, then the slam of the front door.
"Who's got the most experience tailing?" I asked.
"Probably Quinn," Jack said. "Switch."
We hoped Leslie was heading to see whoever had sold her the baby. Instead, she drove to an Applebee's down the road and met a man, presumably her husband, who hugged her and took the baby carrier. They went inside. Talking in a public place. Smart.
"Too bad we couldn't get a bug into her purse," I said.
"Did," Jack said. "But she left it behind."
Leslie carried only a diaper bag – probably having been too rushed to grab her purse. Damn.
I followed them inside, hoping to get a seat near enough to overhear their conversation. No such luck. Though it was still early for dinner, the place was filling fast.
I did manage to walk near the table, after Leslie had taken the baby from her snowsuit and hat. If asked earlier, I'd have said I'd never recognize Destiny – all babies looked the same to me. But the moment I saw that baby I knew, without a doubt, that Miranda Keyes was Destiny Ernst.
I retreated to the car, where we waited for close to two hours before the Keyeses finally emerged, hand in hand, Kenneth carrying the baby seat.
"Did he convince her she's overreacting?" I murmured. "Or that he'll take care of it?"
"Could go either way," Quinn said.
"Maybe I was wrong, getting you guys to back down. Maybe you should have pressed harder. Been more specific. More threatening." I glanced at Jack. "Okay, I'll stop fretting."
"Never said that."
"You don't need to."
We watched them get into their separate cars.
"So who do we follow?" I asked.
"Dad," Quinn said.
It didn't matter. They went to the same place. Home.
Jack and I spent the next hour monitoring the house as Quinn returned the rental car. Then Quinn caught a cab back, and we waited two more hours. Leslie put the baby to bed, the couple talked about their respective days, watched a pretaped episode of Desperate Housewives, and, at ten-thirty, headed off to bed without a single exchange about their visitors from earlier.
Quinn yawned. "Wake me up if they start having sex."
I cuffed him across the chest.
He opened one eye. "We probably wouldn't even notice anyway. Something tells me that bed doesn't see a lot of action. This has to be the most boring evening I've ever eavesdropped on. Are we done yet?"
Jack nodded.
So much for our hopes that the Keyeses would contact the Byrony Agency, spilling the details I needed to prove they'd bought their new daughter. There was still some hope from that quarter, but they were sleeping very soundly for a couple that believed their new baby was about to be ripped from their arms.
On then to the break-in portion of the evening. We stayed away until nearly midnight, only to discover the dessert shop was long closed, the theater presumably closed that night. And, with the actors taking the night off, our homeless guy was, too.
We arrived just as the cleaners were leaving. Twenty minutes later, we went in.
Chapter Forty
Jack had decided he'd stand guard, since Quinn and I had more experience conducting searches. He did, however, provide locksmith services, while Quinn and I stood at opposite ends of the block, whistling when the coast was clear, and ready to whistle again if a car approached. But the night was quiet, and the streets empty, and we stayed silent. By 12:25, we were in.
We started by downloading files. After Evelyn booted us out, I couldn't very well ask for tips on bypassing computer security, but Quinn knew how, and even gave a quick demonstration, promising more later.
Once the e-mail, accounting, and word processing files were on a flash drive, we moved on to the locked filing cabinet. A key in the receptionist's desk meant we didn't even need to pick the lock.
Quinn took the top drawer and I took the bottom, working together.
"Damn it, this isn't easy wearing latex," Quinn muttered. "The pages all stick together."
"You don't usually need to be discreet, do you?"
"Discreet… sometimes. But avoiding prints, no."
I thumbed through another folder. "I'm trying very hard not to put the pieces together, you know. Figuring out what federal agency you're with."
I tried to make my voice light, teasing, but in the moment of silence that followed, I cursed myself for mentioning it. When I glanced up, his expression was puzzled.
"You don't know? You said Jack told you my specialty was – No, I guess I misinterpreted that to mean Jack had told you who I work for. I thought he would – tit for tat. I'll keep you guessing…" His wide lips curved in a grin. "At least for another hour or two. After we're done here, we'll see how close you are."
I finished with my drawer – all very old records – then pulled out the next one and set it on the floor.
"Man, all these files," he said. "All these couples wanting kids. Hard to believe."
I laughed, keeping it quiet. "I take it you don't want any… or don't want more."
"More?" He paused. "Shit, I keep forgetting. We've been talking online for six months and we couldn't even do the 'first date basic info exchange.' No, I don't have any kids. As for wanting… I'm not saying no, just…"
"It's not in the forecast. Same here."
He exhaled, as if correctly answering a quiz question. "I've got a passel of nieces and nephews. I love being an uncle. Taking them to movies and minigolf and baseball games. Even coach their teams. But when it's all done, and I've tired them out and loaded them up with soda and ice cream, I get to drop them off at home."
"That's the way to do it."
"Everyone's always trying to set me up with nice divorcée moms. But just because I like kids doesn't mean I want my own, you know?"
I pulled out a thick folder. "I hear you."
"Have you got nieces and nephews?" he asked.
I shook my head as I returned the folder. "I've just got the one brother and he hasn't reproduced yet… at least not as far as I know. We aren't close."
"Really?"
I shrugged. "We never were and then… what happened with me, it was tough on him and my mom, so that pretty much nailed the coffin shut." When Quinn looked confused, I said, "The shooting. It got ugly afterward, with the media. Huge embarrassment for them."
"Embarrassment?" His voice took on an edge. "You made a mistake. Hell, I wouldn't even call it that, except the part about getting caught. But your family should have been the first ones to step up and – " He shook his head. "Sorry, I just mean…" He shrugged. "Their loss anyway."
I smiled. "Thanks."
"So – " Another head shake. "Sorry, I'll shut up and work. We'll have plenty of time to talk later. It's just…" He met my gaze. "There's a lot to say."
"I know."
He nodded and returned to the files.
We didn't find anything in the paper files, though we did copy the employee records. There would probably be more in the computer files.
By the time we got out, it was almost two, but no one was ready to call it a night. So when we passed a plaza advertising both an all-night liquor store and take-out pizza until three, we pulled in. Quinn went for the liquor store, Jack into the pizza parlor, and I kept the car warm. Quinn returned first, with a twelve-pack of beer.
"Even got Labatts," he said as he climbed in. "Just for you."
"Having tried American beer, you have no idea how grateful I am."
He grinned. "I'm tempted to ask 'how grateful,' but I did say I'd cool it, didn't I?"
"You did."