Travis said distractedly. She knew he tuned her out whenever the subject of emotions came up.
"The important point is that if he did attack this other woman, it shows he's capable of going beyond fantasy, of actually taking action."
"He was younger then, maybe more reckless. He may be more cautious now.
We don't know."
"But we do know he's at least gotten within striking distance of Kris."
Travis expelled a breath.
"How could he get that close? The Reserve has tight security.
Perimeter fencing, a gatehouse manned by two guards, and two more guards in constant patrol."
"Have you checked the fence for signs of egress?"
"Sure. That was one of the first things we did. The fence is heavy-gauge steel wire topped with razor wire coils."
"Wire can be cut."
"We didn't find any gaps."
"Have your people checked recently?"
"Daily." He moved away from the window, circling the room.
Her gaze followed the sweep of his reflection on the long table's glossy surface.
"You'd better have them look again, more closely," she said.
"Is there any other way into the compound?"
"The gate, but it's always guarded."
"How carefully do they screen delivery trucks, visitors, repairmen?"
"Most of the Reserve's security officers are retired cops. They're pretty sharp. And they've got Hickle's photo posted inside the guardhouse. I don't think he could get by them."
"What about the beach? It can't be completely sealed off. Below the high tide mark it's public property like all California beaches."
"True. There's a fence at the boundary, but it doesn't go far into the water, and anybody could step around it. But we've covered that angle too. We installed a hidden camera that feeds a live image of the beach access point to the Barwoods' guest cottage. The agents stationed there monitor the video at all times."
"Unless they screwed up, got careless."
"Once, maybe. Not three times."
"Well, however he did it, Hickle found a way in, and he can do it again.
Next time he may bring a gun instead of a camera, and then Travis looked away.
"Devin Corbal, part two."
Abby winced.
"That's not how I would put it."
"Sorry. You know what I mean."
"Yes. I know."
The air-conditioning system hummed, and somewhere far below, a siren fluttered past. Abby wondered if she ought to mention the other significant development of the past twenty-four hours-the attack that had nearly taken her life last night.
She decided not to. She had no idea how to make sense of that incident, no idea if it even tied into the Barwood case. And she didn't want Travis second guessing his decision to bring her in. She didn't want him to think she was in over her head… so to speak.
"It won't end up like the Corbal case," she said quietly.
"I won't let it."
"I wasn't trying to imply…" His words trailed off.
She finished for him.
"That I was responsible for what happened to Corbal?"
"You weren't Abby."
"Maybe not. But the fact remains that he's dead, and you're meeting every day with your CFO to figure out how to keep this company running with a skeleton crew, and sometimes it sure as hell feels like it was my fault."
"I told you before, you're too hard on yourself.
Look, forget I ever mentioned Corbal, all right?"
"Sure. Forgotten." But she knew it wasn't and couldn't be.
"Anything more to tell me?"
"Lots, but it'll have to wait." She hopped off the table and slung her handbag over her shoulder.
"You'd better resume number crunching, and I have to get back to Hollywood. I have a big night planned."
"Do you?"
Abby nodded.
"Hickle doesn't know it yet, but he's taking me out on a date."
Wyatt knew he ought to stop thinking about her. It was stupid, the way he couldn't get her out of his head. He wasn't the type to lose control over a woman. It wasn't like he was desperate or anything.
He'd never had trouble with the opposite sex. In high school and college he'd played football, and he could vouch that everything ever whispered or imagined about the private lives of cheerleaders was true.
He hadn't done too shabbily as a cop either. That cliche about how women preferred a guy in uniform-he had verified it. Repeatedly.
All in all, there was absolutely no reason for him to be tooling down Wilshire Boulevard at four-thirty in the afternoon on his way to Abby's condo.
Probably she wouldn't be home. Most people were at their place of employment during the day. They didn't get stuck on the night watch, working from 6 p.m. to 2 a.m.-his current schedule from Thursday through Monday. Still, he had a feeling Abby didn't keep regular hours, and he wasn't sure she had a place of employment to go to.
He parked his Camaro on a side street and walked past dainty one-story houses cowering in the shadow of the Wilshire Royal, then took a shortcut across the oval of manicured grass that bordered the Royal's driveway.
The sky was blue and cloudless, reflected in fourteen floors of windowpanes, and a breeze from the ocean a few miles away flapped the flags in the forecourt.
As he approached the lobby, he found himself selfconsciously brushing his hair with his fingers. He wondered if he looked okay in his civilian clothes. Then he wondered why it mattered. Come on, this was no big deal, right? He was just dropping by. He'd been in the neighborhood, and since he had some free time before work he would see if Abby wanted to grab a cup of coffee.
That was his story, and he meant to stick to it.
The doorman nodded at him in a way that seemed disapproving. Wyatt ignored the guy. He focused on the two guards at the desk. One was young and had a shaved head. His partner was older and rumpled.
"I'm here to see Miss. Sinclair," Wyatt said. For some reason he added!
"I don't think she's expecting me."
The guards exchanged a glance. The older one answered, "Miss. Sinclair isn't here."
"Oh." So he'd missed her. He should have figured.
"Well, maybe I can leave a message."
"Don't know when she'll be back. She's out of town."
"She is?"
Shrug.
"She travels a lot. Hardly ever see her."
The younger guy spoke up.
"You're not in software, are you?"
Wyatt was baffled by the question.
"Software?"
"Her gig. Thought maybe you were in the same line."
"I run a web commerce distribution center," Wyatt said smoothly, stringing words together with no particular regard to their meaning.
"Abby's working with us on a project. Upgrading our server capabilities, developing some multitasking options."
"That's cool." The young man nodded as if he understood.
Maybe he did. Maybe everything Wyatt had said actually made sense.
"Hey, I'm always looking for freebies.
You got any beta testing you want done, I'm there."
"Not right now, sorry. You, uh get any freebies from Abby?" "Nah. She said it was against company policy, which is weird, because she calls herself a consultant.
What's the good of being a consultant if you gotta play by somebody else's rules?"
"I'm pretty sure Miss. Sinclair plays by her own rules," Wyatt said quietly.
"She been out of town long?"
"Left yesterday-" His partner cut him off.
"We can't give out that information."
You already did, Wyatt thought.
"No problem," he said cheerfully.
"I was just wondering. Thanks for your time." He headed for the door.
"Didn't you want to leave her a message?" the older guard asked in a mildly suspicious tone.
"I'll send her an e-mail. That's the best way to reach her. She spends most of her life online."