I said, "Okay, take it down a notch. She's already spooked and you don't want to push her into full-blown panic."

Jack took over. "Like I said, it's a routine check only. Private adoption can be a very tricky area, Mrs. Keyes, and we have to be absolutely certain no one from the birth mothers to the agency to the prospective parents misuses the system."

"Prospective parents? You think we we misused the system?" misused the system?"

"At the moment, our investigation focuses entirely on the Byrony Agency."

In the moment of silence that followed, I could picture Leslie, looking from one "agent" to the other, not believing their "routine check" line. That was fine. We didn't want her to.

Quinn and Jack took turns asking about her ex perience with the agency. Most of the questions were mundane how much advance notice was she given before the home visits, did she have any difficulty understanding the forms. But every now and then they'd toss in a zinger like, "Did anyone ever offer you additional services for an additional fee?" before swinging back to the general queries.

After ten minutes, I swore I could hear her heart pounding against her ribs. Then, as they reached the end, I did did hear a sound the distant fussing of a baby. hear a sound the distant fussing of a baby.

"Ignore it," I said quickly. "Unless the baby starts crying, pretend you don't hear anything. If it's Destiny, she'll fuss for a while before wailing. Finish up and get out of there. If she cries, you'll have to call Keyes on it, and I'd rather you didn't."

As Quinn finished the questions, Jack asked to use the washroom. In the silence that followed, you'd think he'd just demanded permission to conduct a full search of the premises.

"There's one right here on the main level," she said finally.

A low chuckle. "In a house this big, I hope so."

A few fl.u.s.tered words. Obviously, she'd mistaken Jack's request for a ploy to go upstairs, maybe investigate the gurgling and whimpering. That wasn't his intent at all. He just wanted to lay a bug.

While Jack was gone, Quinn asked the final questions, then chatted with Leslie, saying it seemed like a nice neighborhood, a great place to raise kids, he hoped that worked out for her and her husband... All benign small talk, but the woman was probably convinced she heard a note of sarcasm behind his words, that he knew she already had a child.

When Jack returned, she bustled them to the door.

"Oh, I left a card on the table," Jack said. "In case you need to contact us."

She thanked him and hurried them outside. By the time she realized the card wasn't on any table, they'd be gone.

The guys drove over and parked near me at the minimart. Quinn hopped in my pa.s.senger side, as Jack made his way, at half the speed, from their car to mine, across the minimart parking lot.

"Has she ?" he began.

I motioned Quinn to silence, nodded, and turned up the volume as Leslie took that critical next step placing a call to her husband. Jack hadn't had time to bug the phone, so we were limited to her side of the conversation. First came the rush of words, as she explained the visit from "the FBI"... having apparently completely blocked everything after the words "federal."

"They found Miranda's rattle and I know I shouldn't have lied we have the papers but I wasn't taking the chance, Ken. I won't lose her "

A moment's pause.

"I'm not panicking," she snarled, sounding a lot less fl.u.s.tered than she had with Jack and Quinn, her protective instinct taking over. "They asked a lot of questions about the Byrony Agency, like whether they'd offered us anything different or special, but they didn't specifically say "

A sharp intake of breath as he presumably cut her short.

"d.a.m.n it. Right. Okay I'll meet you "

Pause.

"I'll be right there."

A click as the phone returned to the cradle.

"He told her to shut her mouth," Quinn said. "Prob a bly thinks the phone's bugged."

Jack watched the house through binoculars as we listened to footsteps pattering up the stairs, a baby crying, then Leslie quieting her as she came back down.

More noise, then the slam of the front door.

"Who's got the most experience tailing?" I asked.

"Probably Quinn," Jack said. "Switch."

We hoped Leslie was heading to see whoever had sold her the baby. Instead, she drove to an Applebee's down the road and met a man, presumably her husband, who hugged her and took the baby carrier. They went inside. Talking in a public place. Smart.

"Too bad we couldn't get a bug into her purse," I said.

"Did," Jack said. "But she left it behind."

Leslie carried only a diaper bag probably having been too rushed to grab her purse. d.a.m.n.

I followed them inside, hoping to get a seat near enough to overhear their conversation. No such luck. Though it was still early for dinner, the place was filling fast.

I did manage to walk near the table, after Leslie had taken the baby from her snowsuit and hat. If asked earlier, I'd have said I'd never recognize Destiny all babies looked the same to me. But the moment I saw that baby I knew, without a doubt, that Miranda Keyes was Destiny Ernst.

I retreated to the car, where we waited for close to two hours before the Keyeses finally emerged, hand in hand, Kenneth carrying the baby seat.

"Did he convince her she's overreacting?" I murmured. "Or that he'll take care of it?"

"Could go either way," Quinn said.

"Maybe I was wrong, getting you guys to back down. Maybe you should have pressed harder. Been more specific. More threatening." I glanced at Jack. "Okay, I'll stop fretting."

"Never said that."

"You don't need to."

We watched them get into their separate cars.

"So who do we follow?" I asked.

"Dad," Quinn said.

It didn't matter. They went to the same place. Home.

Jack and I spent the next hour monitoring the house as Quinn returned the rental car. Then Quinn caught a cab back, and we waited two more hours. Leslie put the baby to bed, the couple talked about their respective days, watched a pretaped episode of Desperate Housewives, Desperate Housewives, and, at ten-thirty, headed off to bed without a single exchange about their visitors from earlier. and, at ten-thirty, headed off to bed without a single exchange about their visitors from earlier.

Quinn yawned. "Wake me up if they start having s.e.x."

I cuffed him across the chest.

He opened one eye. "We probably wouldn't even notice anyway. Something tells me that bed doesn't see a lot of action. This has to be the most boring evening I've ever eavesdropped on. Are we done yet?"

Jack nodded.

So much for our hopes that the Keyeses would contact the Byrony Agency, spilling the details I needed to prove they'd bought their new daughter. There was still some hope from that quarter, but they were sleeping very soundly for a couple that believed their new baby was about to be ripped from their arms.

On then to the break-in portion of the evening. We stayed away until nearly midnight, only to discover the dessert shop was long closed, the theater presumably closed that night. And, with the actors taking the night off, our homeless guy was, too.

We arrived just as the cleaners were leaving. Twenty minutes later, we went in.

Chapter Forty.

Jack had decided he'd stand guard, since Quinn and I had more experience conducting searches. He did, however, provide locksmith services, while Quinn and I stood at opposite ends of the block, whistling when the coast was clear, and ready to whistle again if a car approached. But the night was quiet, and the streets empty, and we stayed silent. By 12:25, we were in.

We started by downloading files. After Evelyn booted us out, I couldn't very well ask for tips on bypa.s.sing computer security, but Quinn knew how, and even gave a quick demonstration, promising more later.

Once the e-mail, accounting, and word processing files were on a flash drive, we moved on to the locked filing cabinet. A key in the receptionist's desk meant we didn't even need to pick the lock.

Quinn took the top drawer and I took the bottom, working together.

"d.a.m.n it, this isn't easy wearing latex," Quinn muttered. "The pages all stick together."

"You don't usually need to be discreet, do you?"

"Discreet... sometimes. But avoiding prints, no."

I thumbed through another folder. "I'm trying very hard not to put the pieces together, you know. Figuring out what federal agency you're with."

I tried to make my voice light, teasing, but in the moment of silence that followed, I cursed myself for mentioning it. When I glanced up, his expression was puzzled.

"You don't know? You said Jack told you my specialty was No, I guess I misinterpreted that to mean Jack had told you who I work for. I thought he would t.i.t for tat. I'll keep you guessing..." His wide lips curved in a grin. "At least for another hour or two. After we're done here, we'll see how close you are."

I finished with my drawer all very old records then pulled out the next one and set it on the floor.

"Man, all these files," he said. "All these couples wanting kids. Hard to believe."

I laughed, keeping it quiet. "I take it you don't want any... or don't want more."

"More?" He paused. "s.h.i.t, I keep forgetting. We've been talking online for six months and we couldn't even do the 'first date basic info exchange.' No, I don't have any kids. As for wanting... I'm not saying no, just..."

"It's not in the forecast. Same here."

He exhaled, as if correctly answering a quiz question. "I've got a pa.s.sel of nieces and nephews. I love being an uncle. Taking them to movies and minigolf and baseball games. Even coach their teams. But when it's all done, and I've tired them out and loaded them up with soda and ice cream, I get to drop them off at home."

"That's the way to do it."

"Everyone's always trying to set me up with nice divorcee moms. But just because I like kids doesn't mean I want my own, you know?"

I pulled out a thick folder. "I hear you."

"Have you got nieces and nephews?" he asked.

I shook my head as I returned the folder. "I've just got the one brother and he hasn't reproduced yet... at least not as far as I know. We aren't close."

"Really?"

I shrugged. "We never were and then... what happened with me, it was tough on him and my mom, so that pretty much nailed the coffin shut." When Quinn looked confused, I said, "The shooting. It got ugly afterward, with the media. Huge embarra.s.sment for them."

"Embarra.s.sment?" His voice took on an edge. "You made a mistake. h.e.l.l, I wouldn't even call it that, except the part about getting caught. But your family should have been the first ones to step up and " He shook his head. "Sorry, I just mean..." He shrugged. "Their loss anyway."

I smiled. "Thanks."

"So " Another head shake. "Sorry, I'll shut up and work. We'll have plenty of time to talk later. It's just..." He met my gaze. "There's a lot to say."

"I know."

He nodded and returned to the files.

We didn't find anything in the paper files, though we did copy the employee records. There would probably be more in the computer files.

By the time we got out, it was almost two, but no one was ready to call it a night. So when we pa.s.sed a plaza advertising both an all-night liquor store and take-out pizza until three, we pulled in. Quinn went for the liquor store, Jack into the pizza parlor, and I kept the car warm. Quinn returned first, with a twelve-pack of beer.

"Even got Labatts," he said as he climbed in. "Just for you."

"Having tried American beer, you have no idea how grateful I am."

He grinned. "I'm tempted to ask 'how grateful,' but I did say I'd cool it, didn't I?"

"You did."

"d.a.m.n." A dramatic sigh. "So, changing the subject, have you picked an agency yet?"

"Ag ? Oh, your job. I know you've done fieldwork searches, stakeouts, tailing suspects. Given how much help you were with the Wilkes case, keeping us abreast of the FBI investigation, the most obvious answer is FBI. But Jack said something last fall that made me think that wasn't it."

"It's not. I could help because I have a lot of contacts, in a lot of different branches friends really and no one thinks twice if I'm nosy or curious, because that's normal for me."

"Next, I considered DEA, which would fit, especially with the cross-border visits, but it doesn't feel right."

"It isn't."

"CIA, NSA... Maybe ATF."