On the other side of the window, the man who had taken the name Gaven Matthias decided he'd concealed himself long enough to dispel casual suspicion, and moved out of the shade to cross the street. As he did, he heard the groans of the two women and the one man who had been watching him, and smiled a little as he kept his jacket slung over his arm.
On the other side of the street, he walked down the block, went to a meter, took out a handful of coins, and counted them. Everyone who walked past him paid little attention to what he did; he was simply a man avoiding a parking ticket.
They were not aware that he'd claimed the spot many hours before dawn, or that he had spent the time either watching the phone booth next to the parking space or feeding coins to it so he might eavesdrop on every woman who came to use the booth. Fortunately in this era of mobile phones few seemed to have need of it, and there had been only two since dawn.
The third came as he selected a quarter to add to the meter. He heard the click of her heels on the concrete sidewalk and smelled her scent as she passed. He didn't look directly at her, but from the corner of his eye he saw the gleaming twist of black hair at the back of her head and the smooth fit of her gray jacket over slim black trousers.
She dressed like a man but smelled like good clear water, crisp and cool. He closed his eyes briefly, taking her scent deep into his chest and letting it warm him. Few of his boyhood beliefs had withstood the passage of time and life, but he still kept faith in his senses. They whispered that she had come to him at last, the one he was meant to find. She smelled of tears and melting snow.
She smelled of rain.
Coins chimed as she fed them into the phone, and then her voice brushed against his ears, low and sweet, a taste of dark honey. She asked for an agent by name, waited, and said, "I have important information for you. Please listen carefully."
Matthias pressed a button on his watch to switch it to its timing function before he fed another quarter into the meter and listened. The woman spoke rapidly, offering names, dates, monetary amounts, and the electronic method used to commit the crime. She gave the address of a hotel and the room number where the criminals responsible could be found. She finished the call with a polite refusal—probably for a sizable reward—and hung up the receiver.
She walked away without looking back once.
He checked his watch. She had related everything in one minute and thirty-eight seconds. As he watched her turn the corner, he saw her remove first one black leather glove and then the other.
He took out his own phone and pressed the number two before bringing it to his ear. "Whom did she call?"
"FBI headquarters in New York City," Drew told him. "Did you get a clear shot?"
"There was no opportunity." Matthias went around and climbed into his rental car. As he pulled out and drove around the block, he repeated everything he had heard the woman say. "You can check what she reported to see if it is true?"
"Already on it." The sound of tapping keys came over the line. "Got a hit. The details she gave the FBI match an unsolved case that happened two years ago. Electronic embezzlement. The company lost close to a million dollars. No suspects."
"Soon there will be."
"No doubt," Drew agreed. "Why doesn't she report them to the local office? They're there in Atlanta."
He considered that. "Too close to where she lives."
"Then you were right. She lives in the city."
"Lives, or perhaps works." Matthias searched the faces of the pedestrians walking on either side of the street before he spotted the woman standing at a corner and holding her hand in the air. "She came by taxi."
"Smart lady. No car, no license plate we can use to trace her identity. Do you think she suspects that someone is looking for her?"
"She would not stay here if she did." Matthias kept one hand on the wheel and used the other to lift his camera to his face. He was able to snap three profile shots as the woman entered the taxi that had stopped for her. "Find out what you can. I will call you later."
"Good hunting, boss."
Matthias noted the number and license plate of the cab before he pressed the number 1 on his phone.
"Hit me," Rowan's cool young voice said.
He gave her the numbers along with the company name stenciled on the side of the taxi. "The driver took her from the street at one thirty-three."
"He picked her up at one thirty-three," she corrected him. "Kidnappers like us take people. Cabbies pick them up."
The subtle and sometimes maddening intricacies of American language still challenged him. "But he does not lift her. He takes her to her destination."
"To pick up can mean lifting a person, seducing a person, or giving them a ride in a vehicle."
"Seducing." He didn't know the woman yet, but the idea of her giving herself to anyone did not sit well with him. "You are certain of this?"
"It's my language, pal," Rowan reminded him. "Drew's faxing a bunch of police reports. You think she's the one who's been tipping off the feds?"
Her scent still lingered in his head and chest, a silent waterfall. "I know she is."
Rowan's tone changed. "Then you should take her as soon as possible."
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