Edge

principals focusing on—sometimes obsessing over—the little things. Things they can control.
    Ryan said, “We should do what Agent Corte says. Get out of the house for a little while.”
    “Leave?”
    “Yes,” I said. “Just a precaution.”
    “Now?”
    “That’s right. As soon as possible.”
    “But where? A hotel? One of our friends’ . . . We’re not packed. Leave now?”
    “You just need to take a few things. And you’d go to one of our safe houses. It’s not far away. It’s a nice place.” I wasn’t more specific about the location. I never was. I didn’t blindfold principals before I drove them to a safe house and they could probably figure out some general idea of where it was located but I never told anybody the address. “Now, if I could ask you to pack your—”
    “Amanda,” Joanne interrupted and, perhaps forgetting she’d mentioned it before, said, “We have a daughter. She’s sixteen. Ry! Where is she? Is she back from school yet?”
    Principals often slipped into a hyperactive mode,and their minds jumped from thought to thought. At first I guessed she’d forgotten it was Saturday morning but it turned out the girl was taking a computer course for extra credit at a nearby community college on weekends.
    “I heard her come in a half hour ago,” Ryan said.
    Joanne was staring at the bright yellow gloves. She tugged them off, twisted the faucet closed. “I’m thinking . . .”
    “Yes?” I prompted.
    “I don’t want her there, Amanda, I mean. I don’t want her with us at that safe house.”
    “But she’s as much at risk as Ryan is. So are you . . . what I was saying earlier, about the edge Loving wants.”
    “No, please,” she said.
    It seemed important to Joanne that the girl be separated from them. I recalled that Amanda was Ryan’s alone and I wondered why the Kesslers had not had any children. Maybe he’d had a vasectomy during his first marriage or maybe Joanne had been unable to conceive or maybe they’d simply chosen not to have a family together. Preferring to know all I can about my principals, I consider information like this. It can make a difference. Joanne stared at the dishes and put down the gloves.
    Ryan was considering this too. “I agree. Let’s get her someplace out of harm’s way.” I realized he’d be thinking of what I’d mentioned—about the possibility of a firefight to take Loving.
    Joanne said, “ We’ll go to the safe house. But she goes somewhere else. It’s the only way I’ll agree.”
    Then Ryan said to his wife, “You and Amanda go.”
    “No,” she said adamantly. “I’m staying with you.”
    “But—”
    “I’m staying.” She took his hand.
    I stepped to the window once more and looked out. Joanne noted this, the same way her husband had earlier, and she was uneasy with my apparent concern. I turned back. “I don’t mind in theory but I don’t have enough people to put your daughter in a separate safe house. Can you send her away somewhere? As long as the place she goes to has no connection to you or your family at all and her name isn’t on travel records or credit-card purchases.”
    Loving and other expert lifters managed liberal access to data-mined information.
    “Bill,” Joanne said suddenly.
    “Who?”
    Ryan said, “William Carter. He’s a family friend. He was in the department with me. Retired about ten years ago. She could stay with him.”
    I wondered if Loving could track him down because of his past association with Ryan. “Was he your partner, were you ever assigned together? Is he Amanda’s godfather?”
    “No. Just a friend. We were never on the same detail. He’s got this place on a lake in Loudoun County, near White’s Ferry. They could go there. Amanda likes him. He’s sort of her uncle.” He reiterated, “And he’s a former cop.”
    “You’re absolutely sure nobody could place you two together? You don’t own anything together, a fishing boat, a car? Ever loaned each other money that was part of a public filing, bought property from each other?”
    “No. Nothing.”
    “Can he be here in ten minutes?”
    “Five. He lives a neighborhood away. He was going to the game this afternoon but he’ll change his plans on a dime for something like this.”
    I opened my bag and withdrew my laptop. I booted it up and began typing commands into a new window. I examined the information scrolling past on our organization’s secure database. Nothing about William Carter or his