Edge

story about Ryan the hero. “I remember that. Sure.”
    Garcia was walking around the ground floor, glancing out the windows. He was good, careful not to give anything away to anybody outside.
    And not presenting any target himself.
    Joanne and Ryan came down the stairs, two suitcases in the cop’s beefy hands. They stopped in the hallway and he set them down. They joined us in the kitchen and I introduced them to the agents.
    “Messing up your weekend,” Freddy said. “Sorry about that.”
    I asked, “Is Maree up? We have to go.”
    “She’ll be down in a minute.”
    I suggested, “Amanda might feel more comfortable if her aunt goes with her to your friend’s place in Loudoun.”
    For some reason Ryan replied, after a hesitation, “Probably not.” Joanne agreed.
    Freddy’s radio clattered. “SUV approaching. Registered to William Carter.”
    I told him, “The friend. The Kesslers’ daughter’s staying with him.”
    A moment later Bill Carter was at the door. He entered without knocking and joined us, huggingJoanne hard, then he shook Ryan’s hand warmly. The white-haired man was in his early sixties, tanned and fit, six-two or so. His face grave and gray eyes sharp, he looked me over through large, clear aviator glasses as he gripped my hand. He greeted Freddy and Garcia too, carefully examining all the IDs. I caught the crown of a holster and shiny butt of a pistol under his jacket.
    “This is for real, then,” he muttered.
    “It’s terrible, Bill,” Joanne said. “One day everything’s fine and then . . . this.”
    I handed Carter another of the cold phones and explained it to him.
    “Who’s after you?” he asked Ryan.
    “The devil incarnate” was the dry response.
    I replied to Carter’s very nonrhetorical question—the former cop would want details: “His name’s Henry Loving. He’s white, midforties, about two hundred pounds, dark hair. Had a scar, his temple. Probably doesn’t anymore.” I typed on the computer. “Here’s an old picture. He’s good at changing appearances but it’ll give you a rough idea.” My principals and Carter had fallen silent, looking at the benign face of Henry Loving. Put a white band of collar on him and he could have been a minister. A navy blue suit, an accountant or salesman at Macy’s. His face was as placid as mine, merely a little fuller. He didn’t look like a killer, torturer and kidnapper. Which worked to his advantage.
    I said to Carter, “I think we’re on top of things and he doesn’t know about you. But be alert. You have wireless in your house in Loudoun?”
    “Yessir.”
    “Can you disable it?”
    “Sure.”
    I added, “And make sure Amanda doesn’t configure your computer for dial-up.”
    “She’d know how to do that?”
    “She’s a teenager,” I said. “She could build a computer out of kitchen appliances.”
    “Suppose you’re right about that.” He looked at the Kesslers. “How much did you tell her?”
    Ryan said, “Pretty much everything. But I didn’t overdo it.”
    “She’s got some grit, your daughter. It’d take a lot to get her rattled. But I’ll keep her distracted.”
    “Thanks, Bill.”
    “And when you leave,” I told him, “keep her down. Have her look for something you lost under the front seat. Just for a block or two.”
    Maybe Carter thought this was excessive but he agreed.
    Amanda bounded down the stairs, clutching a pillow in a red-and-white gingham case. It seemed teenagers couldn’t travel without pillows, girls at least. Security blankets maybe.
    “Uncle Bill, hi!” She hugged the man and sized up Freddy and Garcia, the new arrivals.
    “Hey, this’s some weird adventure, honey,” Carter said.
    “Yeah.”
    “We better hit the road,” the former cop said.
    I was amused; the solidly built teenage athlete had around her shoulder a purse in the shape of a plush bear, with a goofy smile and a zipper down its back.
    Joanne grabbed the girl and hugged hard, to her stepdaughter’s embarrassment.
    Then her father did the same. He too was treatedto a stiff return embrace. “Come on, humor your old man,” Ryan said affectionately.
    “Dad . . . okay.” She stepped back, though her father kept his hands on her shoulders.
    “You call us anytime. About anything.”
    “Yeah, okay.”
    “It’s going to be fine, honey.” Then the bulky detective released his grip, apparently worried that his coddling might give his daughter more cause to worry. He smiled.
    “Like,