The intercom buzzed.
I flinched.
Security again.
“Ms. Vale,” the guard said, “Ms. Shaw is here.”
I looked at the black box. The note. The laptop screen frozen on the audio file.
“Which Ms. Shaw?”
A pause.
“Marina Shaw.”
Of course.
I walked to the camera panel.
Marina stood in the private elevator lobby wearing a slate-gray suit, her leather briefcase held at her side. Her expression was controlled, but there was something raw beneath it.
She knew.
Somehow, she knew.
I pressed the intercom.
“Did you send the box?”
“No,” she said.
“Did your sister?”
Her eyes closed briefly.
That was answer enough.
I let her in.
When Marina stepped into my penthouse, neither of us spoke at first.
The city behind her was turning violet with dusk.
Finally, she said, “Madeline is gone.”
“Gone where?”
“I don’t know. She emptied her apartment this afternoon.”
I laughed once, without humor. “Efficient.”
