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they?”
    “Yes.” He felt no need to enlighten her further. Better to have her think he was almost omnipotent. “It all comes with practice,” he added modestly.
    “You know, you just don’t look the type.” She closed the folder and reached for another one.
    “What type?”
    “Oh, you know. Hardened criminal and all that.”
    He considered making a crude joke, but resisted the impulse. While he might consider the past few hours in the nature of an adventure, Jane Dexter took it much more seriously. “We’ve already agreed,” he said solemnly, “looks can be deceiving. You, for instance, look like a very conventional middle American. Instead, beneath that mild exterior hides the heart of an adventuress.”
    “Beneath my mild exterior hides a panic-stricken woman,” she said tartly. “We’re getting nowhere. There isn’t even any mention of Richard’s name in the personnel files. No contracts, no insurance packages, nothing.”
    Sandy nodded. “You’re right. Which in itself is a sign we’re on the right track. There should be some trace of your brother, some mention. How long did he work here?”
    “Seven and a half years.”
    “Someone has carefully expunged all trace of him from the records. The only way to get his files will be through the computer.” He eyed the silent screened monolith in the outer room with deep misgivings. “I don’t suppose it would hurt to check. We don’t have much time left. I’ll clean up in here and you can see what the computer has to offer.”
    “See what the computer has to offer?” she echoed. “I don’t know a thing about computers.”
    “Why not? I thought you read a lot.”
    “Not about computers, if I can possibly help it. I’ll clean up and you try the computer.”
    Sandy sighed. “It would be a waste of time. I don’t know anything about computers, either.”
    She just looked at him for a long moment. And then to his surprise she laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle at complete odds with her prim exterior. “We make pretty inept spies.”
    “But I’m hell on wheels at breaking and entering.”
    “You’re hell on wheels at finding keys,” she corrected. “Better put Uncle Stephen’s back in his drawer.”
    She didn’t miss much, he had to grant her that. For a moment he wondered how long it would take her to realize the newspaper made a mistake, that she wasn’t consorting with a dangerous felon but a mild-mannered lawyer. And what would her reaction be when she did find out? He thought he might prefer the Dobermans.
    “We’d better get out of here,” he said suddenly, remembering. “It’s ten of one, and those guys might be early.”
    Together they slammed the teak file drawers shut. Sandy almost forgot to relock the outer office, but Jane reminded him, and then they were racing down the hallway, their sneakered feet silent on the heavy carpeting. He didn’t know whether the sound, of traffic from 206 had gotten louder, or whether it was his own over-stimulated heart roaring like that. The heavy glass door clicked shut behind them, and they were outside in the damp night air.
    Headlights split the darkness as someone pulled into the parking lot, and he grabbed Jane’s hand, pulling her along, panic and adrenaline rushing through him. She went with him, her gloved hand tight in his, and moments later they were off the property, heading toward the highway. The streetlights were bright, too bright, illuminating their figures, and Sandy could hear the slam of car doors, the muffled growl of ferocious canines as the two of them slid down the embankment, landing in a tangle of limbs.
    They’d been seen. A flashlight shone in their direction, more like a spotlight, and a rough voice called out. “Hey, what are you two doing down there?”
    Sandy didn’t have much choice in the matter. The dogs were coming closer, the strong beams from the spotlight circling over their heads. He ripped off his gloves and stuffed them in his pocket, noting