“I’m coming.” She got into the car with Gray. On the front seat beside him was a shopping bag. “What’s that?”
“Supplies. What’s that?” he asked, pointing to her leather satchel.
“Camcorder,” she said absently. “Do you truly think Daily will be all right, or were you just saying what he and I wanted to hear?”
He braked the car and turned toward her. “You don’t have to go,” he said. “It might be a better idea if you stay with Daily, protect him, and let me do this alone.”
The ease with which he could dismiss any contribution she would make infuriated her. “Go to hell, Bondurant.”
“I think that’s where we’re headed.”
* * *
They drove to a middle-class suburban neighborhood, where he parked the car at the curb in the middle of the block. “Keep a look out,” he told her as he got out of the front seat and into the back. “I’m going to change.”
“Change what?”
“My clothes.”
He swapped the hippie-style faded jeans and tie-dyed T-shirt for a charcoal-gray suit, white shirt, and dark tie. “You should have told me,” she remarked. “I’m underdressed.”
“Didn’t your mother tell you it was better to be overdressed than under?”
“Probably. I didn’t listen very well to anything she told me.”
“Well, listen up now,” he said, opening the car door. “Don’t make a sound and do exactly what I tell you.”
Keeping to the shadows, they walked to the house on the corner. Lights shone in nearly every window. A TV set in the front room threw dancing bluish light on the walls, seen through the open blinds.
In the driveway were a car and a pickup with a camper mounted over the bed. Gray signaled Barrie to wait beside the evergreen hedge dividing the property from the neighbor’s. Leaving the shopping bag with her, he approached the camper from the rear. The door was locked, but Gray picked the lock within seconds and waved her forward. She scampered from her hiding place to the back of the camper. When they were both inside, he closed the door and relocked it from the inside.
“Have a seat.” He indicated a padded bench running along one wall. He took off his jacket and folded it over his thigh as he sat down.
She spread her arms wide. “What are we doing?”
“Waiting.”
“I hate to be the one to clue you, Captain Marvel, but this isn’t Tabor House.”
“The guy who lives here works there. I found the hospital early this morning when the night shift was getting off. I followed him home.”
“How do you know this isn’t his night off?”
“I don’t.”
“How do you know this will work?”
“I don’t.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“I’ll try something else. Now will you give the questions a rest? Somebody might hear us in here. Sit.”
She sat and lapsed into a moody silence. Soon the padded bench no longer felt padded. After about an hour, she said, “Being a commando isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s boring.”
“Shh.” He held up his hand, signaling for quiet.
Through the walls of the camper, she heard what sounded like a screen door slam. Then she distinguished two voices, one male, the other female. “Drive carefully,” the woman was saying.