Pomander Walk was on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, a tiny alley between Ninety-Fourth and Ninety-Fifth Streets. If you weren’t looking for it, you could walk right past it. It resembled a little London side street, Tudor-style homes painted in bright colors, surrounded by actual gas lamps and locked security gates. I could see why Dominic had chosen to meet with his mistresses here. Angelo hadn’t said whether or not he was British, but you wouldn’t have to be an Englishman to appreciate reinforced security on a hidden alley if you were hiding something else, something much bigger than a mistress.
The street was a little busy, nothing too unusual for a Friday night in Manhattan. It didn’t matter, though, I knew I could get that lock picked open without anyone noticing. That’s the beauty of working in New York: no one will acknowledge anything you do. If I had tried to open that lock with a blowtorch while wearing a Big Bird costume, people would have kept walking by. (Not that I would ever do that. All those feathers near an open flame? I’d be flambéed in ten seconds and definitely earn top ranking in the Worst Spy Ever contest.)
I pulled a pin out of my pocket and gently started to scrub at the gears on the inside of the lock. Whatever the residents at Pomander Walk were paying for security would have been better spent hiring some Dobermans because the lock cracked open in less than ten seconds and I slipped through the gate, looking like just another normal girl on her way home.
Oh, how looks can deceive.
I knew Dominic’s house would be empty, but I glanced in the window as I crept past, looking for any light or sign of life. It was dark, though, the only glow coming from the gas lamp, and I could hear evening sounds coming from other town houses on the narrow street. Dinner dishes clanking, a baby screeching, a horn in the distance. If that baby got louder, it would be great, but I knew better than to rely on an infant for distraction. A crying baby had once kept my dad from being captured in Milan a few years ago, though. He still talks about it and my mom and I are like “WE GET IT ALREADY.”
I suspected Dominic’s house wouldn’t be easy to break into, and I was right: the lock was way more than just a standard deadbolt. It had two deadbolts and a paltry lock that resembled the one on the front gate. Then once I got through the door, I still had to crack the security system in sixty seconds before the alarm went off. Apparently Dominic was allergic to dogs so I didn’t have to worry about Fido tearing my leg to shreds, but I knew these locks would keep me busy for at least five minutes. I was lucky that there wasn’t a fingerprint scanner like we had at home. Pomander Walk, after all, was supposed to be a quaint residential area, and a fingerprint scanner on the front door would basically be like putting a sign on the house that read: HELLO, THERE ARE VERY SUSPICIOUS THINGS GOING ON BEHIND THESE DOORS! I’m pretty sure the Neighborhood Watch would frown on that.
The first two deadbolts clicked fairly quickly, and I burned through the flimsy lock in mere seconds, but the weight in my bag made me lose my balance for a second and I jiggled the doorknob as I grasped at it in an effort to remain upright. “Crap,” I whispered, staying perfectly still for a few seconds just to make sure that I hadn’t accidentally started the sixty-second countdown to the alarm going off. I knew I had only one minute and I needed every one of those sixty seconds. My personal best was seven seconds … and my personal worst was sixty-one seconds.
I said a quick prayer that I would have a personal best sort of night, then carefully turned the knob and opened the door.
My muscles tensed as I waited for the alarm to start its warning beeps. My heart was racing like a rabbit’s, my pulse so loud in my ears, but my hands weren’t shaking. They never shake when I’m nervous. It’s one of the reasons I’m so good at my job.
I waited a few seconds for the alarm to start beeping, then a few more, but it never did. My heart sped up to a barely manageable pace and I knew something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. That alarm should have started ticking down. There was no way Dominic would have left the house without setting it, right? He’s a professional, a former Collective agent. He wouldn’t just leave without setting it because—
Oh my God. He hadn’t set it because he hadn’t left.
Dominic Arment was still in the house.