strat talent with a twist that made it possible for him to plot patterns and follow complex paths in the new dimension that was cyberspace. He wasn’t a true hunter like most of the other males in the Sweetwater family, but he possessed all the right instincts. If anyone could track a hacker back to his lair, he could.
“Tell Jon to keep looking,” he said to Alison. “We’ve got time. Mistakes are embarrassing.”
“I’ll get back to you as soon as I know anything more.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“How’s Maui?”
“Warm. Balmy breezes. Palm trees. Beach. Hell, it’s an island.”
Alison laughed. “I can always tell when you’re working. You never take time to stop and smell the plumeria flowers.”
“Not when I’m on a job.”
But even as he said the words, an uneasy sensation twisted through him. A few minutes before, he had been running wide open, doing some basic recon on the beachfront path. But somewhere along the line he had unintentionally relaxed and slipped back into his normal senses. That wasn’t like him. He always stayed at least partially alert while on a job. He had been taught from the cradle that it was critical to maintain constant awareness of the immediate environment. The smallest details could lead to disaster. Screwups were not good for business.
So what the hell had happened to him out there on the path? The thought that he might be losing his edge at the grand old age of fifty-nine was depressing. His father and grandfather had worked into their seventies. Sure, they had slowed down a little with the passage of the years, but experience had more than compensated for what they lost in raw speed and psychic sensitivity. In the end it wasn’t a decline in talent that had forced them into retirement. They had both been dragged into it, kicking and screaming, by their wives.
“How’s Theresa doing?” he asked.
“She’s fine, just a little impatient. She’s more concerned about Nick. He’s turning into a basket case. It’s been a long nine months for him.”
He smiled. His eldest son was a stone-cold hunter when he was working but when it came to his beloved wife and his soon-to-be firstborn kid, there was nothing icy about him. Nick had scheduled his jobs so that he could attend prenatal classes with Theresa. He had devoured every book on the subject of birth and parenting that he could find on the Internet. He had even insisted on hiring a decorator to design the baby’s room in order to create what one of the texts had called a “nurturing environment.” Now he was determined to assist at the birth.
“He’ll survive,” Harry said. “I did.”
“Hah. Every time you came into the delivery room with me, I was afraid you would faint.”
“Okay, maybe I got a little pale around the edges but I didn’t keel over.”
They chatted for a few more minutes and then signed off with their customary ritual.
“Good night, Gorgeous.”
“Good night, Handsome.”
The phone went silent in his hand. He dropped it into his pocket and stood looking out at the black mirror of the ocean. Something had definitely happened back there on the path. He tried to remember exactly when his other senses had shut down. He had passed an elderly couple who had been holding hands. Next he’d noticed a man using a cane and a woman. They had been walking side by side, not touching. Something about the man had drawn his attention. His jacked-up hunter instincts had recognized another potential predator. But an instant later he had lost interest.
The next thing he knew he was several yards down the path, cranked back to normal. Relaxed on a job when he had no business being relaxed.
ELEVEN
The dream was familiar, one of a handful of repeat nightmares connected to the day she killed Martin Crocker. But there was something different about it this time. For one thing, she was aware that she was dreaming. The most striking aspect, however, was that she was not afraid.
. . . Martin was
“Tell Jon to keep looking,” he said to Alison. “We’ve got time. Mistakes are embarrassing.”
“I’ll get back to you as soon as I know anything more.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“How’s Maui?”
“Warm. Balmy breezes. Palm trees. Beach. Hell, it’s an island.”
Alison laughed. “I can always tell when you’re working. You never take time to stop and smell the plumeria flowers.”
“Not when I’m on a job.”
But even as he said the words, an uneasy sensation twisted through him. A few minutes before, he had been running wide open, doing some basic recon on the beachfront path. But somewhere along the line he had unintentionally relaxed and slipped back into his normal senses. That wasn’t like him. He always stayed at least partially alert while on a job. He had been taught from the cradle that it was critical to maintain constant awareness of the immediate environment. The smallest details could lead to disaster. Screwups were not good for business.
So what the hell had happened to him out there on the path? The thought that he might be losing his edge at the grand old age of fifty-nine was depressing. His father and grandfather had worked into their seventies. Sure, they had slowed down a little with the passage of the years, but experience had more than compensated for what they lost in raw speed and psychic sensitivity. In the end it wasn’t a decline in talent that had forced them into retirement. They had both been dragged into it, kicking and screaming, by their wives.
“How’s Theresa doing?” he asked.
“She’s fine, just a little impatient. She’s more concerned about Nick. He’s turning into a basket case. It’s been a long nine months for him.”
He smiled. His eldest son was a stone-cold hunter when he was working but when it came to his beloved wife and his soon-to-be firstborn kid, there was nothing icy about him. Nick had scheduled his jobs so that he could attend prenatal classes with Theresa. He had devoured every book on the subject of birth and parenting that he could find on the Internet. He had even insisted on hiring a decorator to design the baby’s room in order to create what one of the texts had called a “nurturing environment.” Now he was determined to assist at the birth.
“He’ll survive,” Harry said. “I did.”
“Hah. Every time you came into the delivery room with me, I was afraid you would faint.”
“Okay, maybe I got a little pale around the edges but I didn’t keel over.”
They chatted for a few more minutes and then signed off with their customary ritual.
“Good night, Gorgeous.”
“Good night, Handsome.”
The phone went silent in his hand. He dropped it into his pocket and stood looking out at the black mirror of the ocean. Something had definitely happened back there on the path. He tried to remember exactly when his other senses had shut down. He had passed an elderly couple who had been holding hands. Next he’d noticed a man using a cane and a woman. They had been walking side by side, not touching. Something about the man had drawn his attention. His jacked-up hunter instincts had recognized another potential predator. But an instant later he had lost interest.
The next thing he knew he was several yards down the path, cranked back to normal. Relaxed on a job when he had no business being relaxed.
ELEVEN
The dream was familiar, one of a handful of repeat nightmares connected to the day she killed Martin Crocker. But there was something different about it this time. For one thing, she was aware that she was dreaming. The most striking aspect, however, was that she was not afraid.
. . . Martin was
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