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“Just be cool,” Quinn spoke quietly, and Andy was unsure if that was directed at him or the driver of the approaching Nissan. Quinn’s profile was hard and unfamiliar. The face of a stranger. A face he would not want to see at the other end of a gun barrel.

Just when he thought his nerves couldn’t take another second, two things happened: the front door of the yellow house opened and a woman in a black plaid coat came outside, and the red Nissan suddenly sped up and roared past them, tires screeching as it raced down the street and vanished around the corner.

Quinn relaxed—until that moment, Andy hadn’t realized Quinn was as tense as he was—and grinned at him. “Having fun, Andrew?”

“If this is you retired, what were you like on the job?”

“Hey, this isyouradventure. I’m just keeping you company.” Quinn holstered his weapon, glanced past Andy toward the house and said, “We need to intercept.”

“Uh, okay.” As he climbed out of the sedan, Andy was fervently hopinginterceptwas not code forkidnap.

The bitterly cold air stung his face and lungs. The morning smelled of wet earth, fireplaces, warming car engines, and a thousand hurried cups of coffee. Quinn was already halfway across the front yard, his boots smashing the thin layer of ice as he followed the woman around the side of the house. Andy slipped and slid in pursuit, catching up with Quinn as they reached the back of the house and what seemed, based on a stack of tires and scattered car parts, to be a small junkyard.

The night had faded to a dreary gray—more snow in the near future—and the woman, standing as if at bay beside a black Camaro, looked small and frail in the gloom. She was young, despite the spiky white mop of hair. Not more than twenty-three or twenty-four. Her eyes, ringed in dark makeup, were huge and frightened.

“Leave me alone,” she cried. “He’s not here!”

Quinn said, “We just want to talk to you, Mrs. Robie.”

Mrs. Robie?But yes, as Andy studied her white-knuckled grip on the car door she was using as a barrier, he saw the gleam of a wedding band.

The fear on her face was hard to take, and Andy said, “We’re not going to hurt you.”

She directed her next words to him. “Itriedto find him. He’s not answering his phone. I explained all this to Mr. Sirius.”

Quinn and Andy exchanged looks.

“It’s nothing to do with me!” Mrs. Robie insisted. “I didn’t know anything about it until it was over.”

“Of course not. But until this gets sorted out…” Though Quinn’s tone was reassuring, she obviously found it sinister that he didn’t complete his thought.

“Mr. Sirius promised to give me time.”

“Unfortunately, the situation has changed.”

“Butmysituation hasn’t. I haven’t seen Paul in days. He’s not answering my calls. He’s not answering his mother’s calls either. None of his friends have seen him. I don’t have a way to find him if he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

There was motion in one of the windows on the other side of the ramshackle fence. Andy saw an elderly woman in the neighboring house peering out at them.

“Why don’t we go inside where it’s warm and talk?” he suggested.

Mrs. Robie protested, “I have to go to work.”

Quinn glanced at Andy, glanced back at Mrs. Robie. He said more kindly, “Maybe Orville’s right. Maybe we’ve got it all wrong. Why don’t we talk it out over a cup of coffee?”

If anything, she looked more frightened. “Are you acop?”

Jeez, and they hadn’t even mentioned doughnuts. No wonder Quinn looked disconcerted.

Lest he take the opportunity to addimpersonating a police officerto their expanding roster of crimes, Andy interjected, “Of course not. Do welooklike cops?”

She blinked. “Youdon’t. He does.”

“Which one of us did she just insult?” Quinn inquired, undervoiced.

Andy ignored him. “We’re not cops. And we don’t want anything from you but information.” He couldn’t help glancing at Quinn. “Do we, Wilbur?”

“Er, no.” Quinn, the bastard, actually looked like he might laugh. But then, his sense of humor had always been alarmingly mistimed.