Neeley didn't know much about the Cellar because Gant hadn't known everything and he’d been reluctant to talk much about it with her. He understood that knowledge could be a very dangerous thing in the covert world. He had told her that he'd been contacted by the Cellar while he was still in the army, working in the Special Forces, well before he met her in Berlin. He'd done occasional, outside the line of military duty, jobs for the Cellar.
When they'd disappeared out of Berlin, Gant had left the army behind. And Gant's leverage had bought them not only that freedom but a monthly paycheck from the Cellar in return for his silence.
And now she was on her own and she needed to know what Gant and John Masterson had shared. Neeley felt foolish on the hill, directional mike in the briefcase at her side, earplug in, standing in the shadows. Worse than foolish, she felt vulnerable. She didn't have a very good cover story for her presence.
Neeley stiffened. Hannah Masterson looked straight up the hill at her. Neeley felt a shiver as they made distant eye contact. Neeley turned and walked away, out of sight. Returning to her truck, Neeley drove it to a point where she could wait, unobserved, for Hannah to leave the country club.
After forty-five minutes, her wait was rewarded as the black BMW pulled out. Neeley followed at a discreet distance and, when she was sure Hannah was returning home, she drove in another direction. She parked the truck over three kilometers away from Hannah's house.
Hannah lived in Manchester, a wealthy suburb to the west of St. Louis. The neighborhood was a juxtaposition of forest and development. Neeley had parked just off the main strip, Manchester Road, in the lot of a small shopping center where the truck would not stand out. The forest started right behind the stores.
Neeley turned on her hand-held Global Positioning Receiver. A flashing question mark appeared in the center of the screen for about ten seconds, then the receiver triangulated on the closest three global positioning satellites and locked in her position. Neeley entered Hannah’s address in the hand-held GPR. Then she punched the ‘go-to’ button. An arrow went from her position toward the house. Using the GPR Neeley moved unerringly through the woods to come out right behind Hannah's house.
The street Hannah lived on, Cedar Creek, was a dead end. Hulking, brick houses lined the way, evenly spaced apart, separated by the price of a lot of land. On Neeley's side, behind the Masterson house, the backyards ended in a tree line that extended back to a creek almost half a kilometer away from the shopping center. Neeley had followed that creek most of the way coming here. She'd climbed up over the bank and moved forward until she could see the back of the house.
Neeley had gotten the address from the phonebook. She’d checked it the previous night with a drive-by. That exercise had been dangerous, dead end street and exclusive neighborhood, but she was from out of town, and as such could have easily explained her presence to being lost. A weak cover but one she had felt would be sufficient.
Neeley pulled out a pair of field glasses and focused on the back of the house. She scanned the facade and frowned. No sign of life, but she was surprised, and pleased, that all the windows were basically uncovered except for a frame of drapes. She flicked left to the neighboring house and checked it out. Same set-up. Neeley thought about that for a second. Why have curtains back here anyway? No one should be looking in except woodland creatures. Still, she couldn’t imagine living inside such an open structure — it practically invited a sniper to take a shot.
Neeley checked each window, cataloguing the room beyond according to function. Bedrooms and bath on the top floor. The ground level was oddly shaped. The center of the back bulged out and a large window, slightly to the left of that center bulge, revealed what she supposed was the master bath. Neeley grinned as she compared the size of this one room to the entire inside of Gant's cabin and realized his wooden palace was several square feet short. To the left of the bath were the only windows with heavy curtains interdicting the view. To the right, on the ground floor, was the kitchen.
A light caused Neeley to shift left. She watched as Hannah walked into the bathroom. Her hair was disheveled and she wore a floor-length robe. She stood in front of the mirror for almost thirty seconds without moving. Hannah's position was directly in front of the huge window that must have been above a proportionally large tub that Neeley could just make out the far edge of.
Neeley twisted the focus knob, straining to see what thoughts were reflected on Hannah's face as she tugged the robe off her shoulders. After a few moments Hannah turned toward the window and then disappeared from view as she stepped into the tub. Neeley lowered the glasses and relaxed for a few moments.
Neeley looked back at the bathroom window. She could still see in despite the gathering steam. Hannah stood so quickly the water sloshed over the edge of the tub. Neeley followed window to window as Hannah wandered, naked, into the kitchen, picking up a drink.
Hannah strolled back to the bathroom and settled back into the tub, drink on the edge. Neeley watched as Hannah finished her drink. Neeley didn't know if Hannah knew anything about her husband's past activities or present location, but the bottom line was that she was the only link Neeley had to John Masterson.
Hannah slid into the hot water and pondered the recent developments in her life in a distant reflective manner. When her own parents had died, Hannah had gone to live with the first of a succession of foster families. Although she had been only six, Hannah had felt very separate from the members of her new family. She had tried hard, but she had never again felt like part of a family. Even with John she had sometimes wondered if she was forever meant to be an outsider. He had always been so secretive about his life before he met her and rarely ever talked about his work at Tyro Oil.
Hannah realized that John's leaving had taken something very important from her life. She wasn't exactly a soon to be divorced woman; she was a gardener without a garden, a shepherd without a flock. John had been her excuse not to think, not to dwell on her life by itself. His life had required lots of support and Hannah had allowed his daily existence to become her focus. Had that been love? Hannah unconsciously pushed her wet hair from her face and forced her thoughts elsewhere.
She looked down at her submerged body. It was a good one, not perfect but good. Slim with full breasts and a nice feminine flair at the hips. John had loved her breasts, especially braless under those silk blouses he bought her.
Eyes tightly closed, body completely still, she allowed the water to envelop her with its heavy weight. Hannah suddenly started, realizing she had briefly fallen asleep. A person could drown like this, she realized. Using a towel, she wiped some steam from the mirrored wall across from her. The woman in the mirror appeared to be alive. She crossed her slim legs yoga-style under the water and leaned forward to stare directly into her pupils. After her parents died, she had spent hours staring in mirrors, accepting that because there was a reflection she was alive, that she did have substance.
She reached toward the towels piled on the tub edge next to the wall. Her hand slid under the pile and her fingers curled around the handle of a knife. She pulled it out and stared at it in the mirror, holding it between her and the glass. She turned the point toward herself and placed it between her breasts. Her breathing grew shallow.