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Everyone piled back into the same vehicles and left.
    She watched her mirrors and told herself to stop being paranoid. Herself didn’t listen.
    She blew out an impatient breath and punched two on her speed dial. The outgoing call to St. Kilda was automatically scrambled, just as incoming calls from St. Kilda were automatically decoded by her phone, which could use either satellite or cell connections. All of St. Kilda’s field agents carried the special phone. In a pinch, it could double as a camera, still or video, with or without sound.
    â€œFaroe’s phone,” said a woman’s voice. “Grace speaking.”
    â€œEmma Cross. Is he around?”
    â€œAnnalise has her daddy in a chokehold. Anything I can do for you?”
    Emma laughed. “I’d like to see that.”
    There was a brushing sound, then Faroe’s voice said, “Where are you and—”
    â€œI’m north of Seattle, heading for a Puget Sound waterfront town called Rosario,” Emma cut in. “The captain is about six foot two inches, rangy, stronger than he looks, unusual coordination, maybe thirty-five, very dark brown eyes, short black hair and beard, no visible scars or missing digits or teeth.”
    â€œName?”
    â€œMacKenzie Durand, called Mac, no ‘k,’ according to his card.”
    â€œImpression?” Faroe asked.
    â€œWarm smile, cold eyes. Very smart. In the right situation, I bet he’d be damned dangerous.”
    Faroe grunted. “Somebody wasn’t happy to find out that Blackbird is the same vessel that left Shanghai.”
    â€œSomebody will have to be happy with the radiation patch and business card I passed off in Seattle.”
    â€œSomebody is never happy.”
    â€œYeah, I get that. The Blackbird is either owned or brokered by Blue Water Marine Group in Rosario,” she continued. “I’d like a fast run on them from research. Mac is a transit captain. Is the research in on him yet?”
    â€œStill pulling threads. Stay on him and watch your back.”
    â€œHow carefully?”
    â€œHow many backs do you have?”
    Emma closed her eyes. “Right.”
    â€œIf research turns up anything useful, it will appear on your computer or as a text on your phone.”
    â€œFaroe…”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œI’d swear I was being followed when I left the Belltown Marina.”
    â€œDescription?”
    â€œThat’s the problem,” Emma said. “I never saw anyone. I just had this feeling I was being watched. I did all the standard things for dumping a tail, both on foot and after I got in my rental. Nothing popped.”
    â€œHow are you feeling now?”
    â€œA little foolish for wasting time, but I’d do it all over again.”
    â€œThe dumping tail thing?” Faroe asked.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œKeep it up. Everyone who ever worked with you at the Agency mentioned your good instincts. Some folks didn’t like what you found with those instincts—”
    â€œI’m shocked,” she cut in.
    â€œBut that’s why St. Kilda hired you,” he continued. “We’re not politicians. All we want are answers. Get them.”
    Faroe disconnected before Emma could say anything.
    She sat, staring at the phone, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, thinking.
    I left the Agency because I got tired of shadows within shadows within darkness. Every shade of black and gray.
    And now all my instincts are twitching like I’m in Baghdad.
    Bloody hell.
    She snapped the phone shut, started her rental Jeep, and headed north on Interstate 5.

7
    DAY ONE
BEYOND ROSARIO
8:03 P.M .
    M ac Durand slid the black-hulled yacht through the narrow channel at dead idle. By dark or sunlight, Winchester Passage was beautiful, distracting, something he didn’t need while single-handing a complex new boat in the ever-changing waters of North Puget Sound. The long-lasting twilight made everything