At the soft knock, he went to the door and looked through the peephole before opening it. He stood aside and motioned the two men to come in.

As they filed past him, Gifford Lewis said, “The girl at the desk stopped us to ask if we were Mr. Easton’s associates. She’s moony for you.”

“Anything Mr. Easton wants,” Mike Mallory grumbled. “As long as she was offering, I could have done with the fruit platter and pastry selection. You could still call down.”

Out of habit, Drex checked the hallway—which was empty—then shut the door and flipped the bolt. “You wake me up at dawn, say, ‘Find a place where the walls don’t have ears.’ And don’t waste any time doing it, you said. I don’t waste any time, I find a place, and here we are. Never mind the fruit platter and pastries. What’s up?”

The other two looked at each other, but neither replied.

With impatience, Drex asked, “What’s so top secret we couldn’t communicate through ordinary channels?”

Gif stationed himself against the wall, a shoulder propping him there. Mike rolled the chair from beneath the desk and wedged his three hundred forty pounds between the protesting armrests.

Drex placed his hands on his hips, his expression demanding. “For crissake, will one of you speak?”

Mike glanced over at Gif, who made a gesture that yielded the floor to Mike. He looked up at Drex and said, “I’ve found him.”

Mike’s tone conveyed all the gaiety of a death knell. The him didn’t need specification.

For years Drex had been waiting to hear those words. He’d imagined this moment ten thousand times. He’d envisioned himself experiencing one or more physical reactions. His ears would ring, his mouth go dry, his knees buckle, his breath catch, his heart burst.

Instead, after his hands dropped from his hips, he went numb to a supernatural extent.

Gif and Mike must have expected an eruption of some sort, too, because they looked mystified over his sudden and absolute immobility and silence, which were downright eerie, even to himself.

A full minute later, when the paralyzing shock began to wear off, he walked over to the window again. Since last he’d looked out, nothing cataclysmic had occurred. Traffic hadn’t stilled on the crisscrossing freeways. No jagged cracks had opened up in the earth’s surface. The sky hadn’t fallen. The sun hadn’t burned out.

He pressed his forehead against the window and was surprised by how cold the glass felt. “You’re sure?”

“Sure? As in positive? No,” Mike replied. “But this guy looks real good on paper.”

“Age?”

“Sixty-two. So says his current driver’s license.”

Drex turned his head and raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

“South Carolina,” Mike said. “Mount Pleasant. Suburb of—”

“Charleston. I know. What name is he going by?”

“Un-huh.”

That brought Drex all the way around. “Excuse me? What does that mean?”

Gif said, “Means that you’re not getting a name until we know what you plan to do with the information.”

“What the hell do you think I plan to do with it? First thing is to haul ass to Charleston.”

Gif exchanged a look with Mike, then pushed himself away from the wall and squared off against Drex. He didn’t take a combative stance, which would have been laughable because Drex was physically imposing and Gif was nowhere near. But he set his feet apart and braced himself as though Drex’s self-restraint was iffy and reasonableness was way too much to hope for.

He said, “Hear me out, Drex. Mike and I talked about it on our way over here. We think you should consider…That is, it would be advisable to…The smart course of action would be to—”

“What?”

“Notify Rudkowski.”

“Not a fucking chance in hell.”

“Drex—”

Louder and with more emphasis, Drex repeated his statement.

Mike shot Gif a droll glance. “Told ya.”

Drex’s ears had begun to clamor after all. Now that the reality was setting in, his blood pressure had spiked. The window glass had felt cold against his forehead because his face was feverish. The blood vessels in his temples were throbbing. His scalp was sweaty beneath his hair. His torso had gone clammy.

He pulled off his suit jacket and tossed it onto the bed, wrestled off the shoulder holster and dropped it on top of his jacket, loosened the knot of his necktie, and unbuttoned his collar, all as though he were preparing for a sparring match, which, if necessary, this argument might result in.

Willing himself to at least sound composed, he asked again, “What name is he using?”

“Assuming it’s him,” Mike said.

“You assume it’s him, or you wouldn’t have suggested this secret meeting. Tell me what you have on him, starting with his name.”

“No name.”

Mike Mallory was an all-star when it came to excavating information from a computer, but a people person he wasn’t. He harbored a general contempt for his fellow man, considering most to be complete morons, Drex and Gif being the only possible exceptions.

He was so good at what he did that Drex put up with his truculent attitude and lack of social graces, but right now he muttered an epithet that encompassed both Mike and Gif, who, on this point, had taken Mike’s side.

“Fine,” Mike said, “call us nasty names. We’re thinking in your best interest.”

“I’ll think for myself, thank you.”

“After you hear everything, you may decide against taking matters into your own hands.”

“I won’t.”

Mike shrugged. “Then it’ll be your funeral. But I’m not digging your grave, and I’m sure as hell not climbing in with you. Fair warning.”

“Fair enough. I’ll find out his frigging name myself. Just put me on the right track.”

Mike nodded. “That I’ll do. Because I don’t want him to get away, either. If it’s him.”

Drex backed down a bit and rolled his shoulders, forcing them to relax. “Does the mystery man hold a job?”

“Nothing I could find,” Mike said, “but he lives well.”

“I’ll bet,” Drex said under his breath. “How long has he been in Mount Pleasant?”

“I don’t have that yet. He’s lived at his current residence for ten months.”

“What kind of residence?”

“House.”

“Leased?”

“Purchased.”

“Mortgaged?”

“If so, I couldn’t find it.”

“Cash purchase, then.”

Mike raised his beefy shoulders in an unspoken I guess.

Gif speculated that maybe the property had been inherited, but none of them really thought that, so no one pursued it.

Drex asked, “What’s the place like?”

“Based on the real estate listing, it was pre-owned, not new,” Mike said. “But an established neighborhood. Upscale.”

“Price?”

“Million and a half and change. Looks spacious and well kept on Google Earth. It’s all on here.” Mike groped beneath his overlap for his pants pocket and produced a thumb drive.