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In the case of Devin Vaughn, no definitive proof existed that he knew he was under the eye of law enforcement, and the threat from Blas Urrea remained real and imminent. It was decided that the surveillance should continue across all platforms, but as a precaution, the two fixed locations were abandoned, and alternatives secured at considerable expense.

WHEN SEELEY AND THEwoman arrived in Manassas, the exterior of Vaughn’s home was being monitored by infrared and night vision cameras. The FBI had one electronic ear inside the house—a new recruitto Vaughn’s security detail, careless with his cell phone—aided by horn antennae, which blasted radio beams at the building from outside. The beams were modulated by the minute surface vibrations caused by speech, and the results then amplified and analyzed. So far, all the agents had picked up were discussions of women, pizza, and YouTube videos. Vaughn might have swept the house for devices, but he was still reluctant to say anything aloud that might be used against him in a court of law. Mostly, the FBI was relying on the fact that no living creature of any size could approach or leave the house without being picked up by a camera.

THE AGENTS AT THEeastern fixed-surveillance point—the top floor of a derelict office building, accessible only by a ladder as the stairs had collapsed—were watching two guards patrolling Vaughn’s yard, the thermal imaging revealing them as healthy blurs of red, orange, and yellow. The agents were sipping fortified water and thinking of the overtime when one of the guards slumped against a tree and slid slowly down the trunk.

“Wait,” said the first agent. “Is he—?”

A match flared, followed by the incendiary glow of a cigarette.

“No,” said the second, “he’s taking five.”

“If Vaughn catches him, he’ll take five in the ass.”

They returned to drinking their water and ranking the worst college football teams, which was easy until you got beyond Hawaii and UMass, maybe Colorado. It passed the time.

LA SEÑORA MOVED THROUGHDevin Vaughn’s house. Her feet were bare and made no sound as she climbed the stairs. The child, sensing her proximity, called out, but la Señora ignored her for the present.

Seeley had tried reasoning with la Señora as they sat parked near the property. The child was the priority, he reminded her. Vaughn could beleft until later. Seeley even offered to kill Vaughn for her before couriering his heart to Urrea. He wouldn’t even charge extra for the job.

“But the hearts are not for him alone,” the woman replied. “The hearts are also for me. You should know that by now.”

“Then I’ll deliver Vaughn’s heart to you in person.”

“Where?” asked the woman. “Where will you deliver it?”

To which Seeley had no reply, recognizing that, once they were done with this and the children were recovered, la Señora would not be seen again. She would vanish as surely as Seeley was set to vanish—except that while a man who resembled Eugene Seeley would continue to walk the earth under a new name, the woman would evanesce. He had a vision of her disintegrating, her integument fragmenting to be carried away like so much dust upon the breeze.

La Señora arrived at the master bedroom. She could hear water flowing and a female voice humming a tune. La Señora entered and saw a girl, not yet into her twenties, brushing her long fair hair in front of a mirror. The girl was naked from the waist up, her lower half concealed by a cream slip. To her right was the master bath, its door open and the faucet running inside.

The girl paused in her brushing. La Señora was already close enough to be able to make out the goose bumps forming on her skin. The girl turned, the tumi flashed, and a spray of blood washed over la Señora, the carpet, the bed. The girl staggered back but made no sound, so keenly did the blade cut. La Señora gazed at her dispassionately. There were no innocents here; the girl ought to have kept better company. The back of her thighs hit the bed and she collapsed backward on the mattress. La Señora did not stay to watch her die.

She was already moving toward the bathroom when Devin Vaughn emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist and a gun in his right hand. Again, the tumi gleamed, its edge almost severing the hand from its wrist before Vaughn’s finger could pull the trigger. Instinctively, he lashed out with his left, scratching the woman’s face but drawing noblood, though his nails dug deep. The tumi sliced Vaughn’s belly, and he cried out for help even as la Señora twisted the weapon, the spike entering Vaughn from below, gouging its way toward his heart. She gripped his chin with her left hand, jamming his mouth shut so that he made no further utterance as the life left him. Finally, she yanked free the tumi, shifted her grip once more, and commenced a more exquisite excavation of Devin Vaughn.

THE COLLEGE FOOTBALL DEBATEhad run its course.

“Has he even smoked that cigarette?” asked the first agent. “It doesn’t look like it’s shifted from his hand.”

“It doesn’t look like he’s moved, either.” The second agent leaned forward. “Could be he’s asleep.”

They’d lost sight of the second guard, who was now at the rear of the property. The first agent got on his Sonim and called the team on that side of the house.

“Do you have eyes on a guard?”

“Yeah, he’s sitting in a lawn chair with a cigarette.”

“How long?”

“Ten minutes, could be a little more.”

“Has he smoked the cigarette?”

“What? I guess. I mean, we haven’t had much motion. Ah, jeez—”

“We’ve got the same here. No movement.”

“Shit.”

The first agent took a few seconds to think. He didn’t want to go sounding the alarm unnecessarily. That kind of overreaction gained a person an unwanted reputation for flightiness.