One of Philippe’s guys hurried over to him. At first Philippe thought he intended to valet the Mercedes around back, but his face indicated otherwise.
“What is it?”
“Her phone’s up. The mark-the Stevens woman. Her cell phone logged on to the PacWireless network a few minutes ago.”
Philippe’s face tightened. It was too good to be true. The timing couldn’t be coincidental. “Now? After what, three days?” He thought a second. “They know about the meeting. They’re using this to try to distract us. They don’t want this meeting taking place.” He looked for what else it might mean. “Do we have a fix?”
The guard lowered his voice and spoke quickly. “The phone is transmitting from here on the compound.”
Philippe felt it as a blow to his chest. Eyes darting, looking for an answer in all that darkness, he muttered, “Not possible. Impossible. Here?”
“Here,” the man answered, feeling obliged to say something.
Philippe’s eyes landed on the tortured face of Paolo. The man’s objections to the treatment of the girl rang loudly in his head. “Oh, shit,” he said, under his breath.
He carefully instructed the guard to show Paolo into the study and for him and one other to stand by once he had Paolo inside.
Philippe suppressed a rush of panic. The one-eyed dog had betrayed him, had carried her cell phone with him in order to lead the marshals to his doorstep. He composed himself, struck a solid, confident expression and pose, not wanting to reveal any of his suspicions. He glanced around one last time, peering into the darkness, and strode inside.