When Harper woke on the sofa the next morning, a soft gray light illuminated the room. She sat up, kicking her legs out from under the blanket that covered her.
Hearing a rustling sound, she twisted around to look over the back of the sofa. Miles was at the kitchen table where he’d been when she fell asleep.
‘Test test test,’ he said quietly.
He pushed some buttons on a black metal device in front of him. After a second, his recorded voice played back to him, clear and crisp: ‘Test test test.’
‘It’s working?’ she asked hoarsely.
He glanced at her over the top of his glasses.
‘So far,’ he replied, adjusting something with a tiny screwdriver, ‘so good.’
The shadows under his eyes indicated that, while she might have had a few hours’ rest, he hadn’t.
Throughout the day, they tested the device at different distances. First, Harper stood in the bedroom whispering as Miles recorded her. Then out in the corridor. And finally downstairs.
The system needed minute adjustments, but each time, it transmitted and recorded at impressive distances.
After that, they raised the stakes – moving outside his apartment. Harper stood in the rain at the far edge of the building’s parking lot while Miles stayed inside with his receiver, recording her talking quietly.
‘Hello hello. I’m getting drenched,’ she said. ‘Over.’
It recorded perfectly.
Later, when the weather worsened, they tried the device in wind. That was less successful – the wind cut out her voice enough to cast doubt on what she was saying.
There was only so much Miles could do about this. They would need a still night if they wanted a decent recording – clear and unambiguous enough to stand up in court.
After endless discussion, they’d chosen a location – Harper would meet Smith at The Watch.
Miles had been dead set against it at first – too isolated. But Harper had insisted.
‘Smith will know he’s safe there – he’ll think nobody could ever hear what he’s saying,’ she said.
Of course, there was more to her thinking than she let on to him.
She knew The Watch. She felt safe there.
It rained all afternoon. Harper sat near the windows, her phone in her hand, gloomily watching the water run down the pane. The storm front was due to pass in the early evening, and a dry night was forecast, but it was hard to imagine at this moment.
‘If the wind’s not blowing, we can still do this even if it’s raining,’ Miles told her as they sat on his sofa rehashing the plan for the umpteenth time. ‘If there’s a bit of light, I could even film the whole thing.’
‘I don’t know,’ Harper said doubtfully. ‘It’s pretty dark at The Watch.’
‘It is at that.’ Miles rubbed a hand across his jaw. ‘Still, there might be a way. I could go down there early, set up a camera with a night-vision lens in the trees. It would give you more protection. And I’ve been thinking more about the logistics. If I park down below the bluffs, you’d be right above me. Close enough to operate the camera by remote control.’
Without waiting for her response, he jumped to his feet and flung open a closet filled with boxes of equipment. Mumbling to himself, he rummaged through it and then emerged, holding a box with both hands triumphantly.
‘I knew it was in there somewhere.’
He carried the box to the table and pulled out a small camera.
‘This’ll work, Harper,’ he said, reaching for his glasses.
As he began tinkering again, Harper checked her phone.
Still no message from Luke.
But she could do this. She’d be fine. The worst part of it, she’d decided, would be calling Smith. Tricking him into meeting her. If she could get through that, she could do the rest.
All day long, the idea of that call lying ahead of her like a wolf waiting around the next bend turned her stomach to acid. It was a relief when five o’clock finally came and they agreed it was late enough to leave Smith with little room to maneuver, while still giving Miles time to set up.
Outside, the rain was finally ending. Weak evening sun was forcing its light through the clouds when Miles picked up the phone and dialed the main police number. They suspected Smith would refuse a call from her, so they’d decided to get Miles to make the call.
‘Lieutenant Smith, please,’ he told the receptionist. ‘Tell him it’s Miles Jackson.’
Harper sat on the sofa watching him, anxiously biting her thumbnail.
After a moment, he held out the phone.
‘They’re putting me through.’
Letting out a long breath, Harper took it from him.
The hold music was a cheerful cover of some fifteen-year-old pop song she probably would have recognized if she weren’t so terrified.
A click interrupted the song, mid-chorus.
‘Smith.’ The lieutenant’s gravel voice sent her stomach plummeting to her shoes.
She swallowed hard.
‘Lieutenant,’ she said faintly. ‘It’s Harper.’
Silence.
She could imagine Smith in his office – the one he’d wanted so badly – picking up that heavy Montblanc pen, and toying with it as he decided what to say.
‘I’m not entirely certain we should be talking,’ he said at last.
‘Me neither,’ Harper told him. ‘But I’m afraid we have to.’
‘And why is that?’ His tone turned suspicious.
‘My landlord found something at my house – a police ID. I have proof your guys did this.’ She made her voice just angry enough. But not so fierce that he might hang up. ‘Now, I don’t want to take this to Baxter – we both know what she’ll do with it. I don’t want to go to war with your guys. I want to end this. Let’s meet, you and me, and work this out.’
On the sofa across from her, Miles was very still, his eyes fixed on her face.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Harper.’ Smith sounded frosty. ‘I told you the police had nothing to do with the break-in. I believe your imagination’s gotten out of hand this time.’
Harper pressed her fingertips against her forehead. This time, when she spoke, the emotion was real.
‘Oh, Lieutenant. Can we not do this?’
Another long silence followed.
She imagined him sitting in his chair, the cool stream of air conditioning from the vent above his office door. The muffled voices in the busy corridor.
‘Fine.’ Smith sounded curious now, and less prickly. ‘What exactly do you want?’
‘I want to meet,’ Harper said. ‘Tonight. You and me. Let’s see if we can work this out in a way that helps both of us.’
His chair creaked – she guessed he was leaning forward, resting his elbows on his desk.
‘How is that possible?’
‘You want me to stop investigating the Whitney case. I want to put an end to this situation with the break-in so we can both get back to our lives,’ she said. ‘I want to talk about how we can exchange what you want for what I want.’
She held her breath. If he was going to refuse, now was the time when he would tell her he didn’t know what she was talking about. When he accused her of being dramatic.
He did none of that.
‘Where do you want to meet?’
Her heart kicked hard. He was going for it.
She looked at Miles and nodded. His shoulders sank.
‘Meet me at The Watch,’ she said. ‘At midnight.’
‘Midnight?’ Irritation gave an edge to Smith’s tone. ‘Can’t we do it earlier?’
‘It has to be midnight,’ she said firmly.
He was quiet for so long she was sure he was going to refuse. When he spoke again, it was so abrupt she jumped.
‘Fine,’ he snapped. ‘Midnight. The Watch. This is it, though, Harper. No more.’
The dial tone buzzed loud in her ear. He’d hung up.
She looked at Miles.
‘We’re on.’