Rook

them shoot the other two and then shoot himself. Thomas continues on to the garage, leaving those footprints leading on down the corridor.
    Gosh. Well, good work, Thomas.
And with that mental tip of the hat to her predecessor, Myfanwy stepped gingerly over the corpses and set off along the tunnel.
    Despite the rotting bodies, Myfanwy was feeling markedly more cheerful as she went. The air was getting fresher, and if Thomas’s footprints still skidded awkwardly, and if there was a dropped hair clip lying on the ground, well, Myfanwy already knew how Thomas’s story ended. Right now she was interested in the details.
I really should see if any of those Retainers were carrying ID. Though I’m definitely not touching them without gloves
.
    Finally she came to a metal door with a keypad, and she punched in the code again. The door swung open, and she entered the garage and looked around with interest. Like the tunnel, it was well lit, but there was no dust on the ground here. An automatic door took up most of one wall and beyond it, the binder had told her, was a public parking garage, from which she could drive out easily and without attracting notice.
    She turned her attention to the contents of the garage. There were five cars, draped meticulously with dustcovers.
That’s Thomas’s work all right,
Myfanwy thought, remembering the dust sheets that had covered the furniture in the safe house she’d gone to.
Always taking care of the details.
Myfanwy smiled ruefully, thinking of her own work as a Rook. Ingrid had confirmed that she had the same talents as Thomas—the same eye for minutiae and the same ability to immerse herself in information.
    She peeled back one of the sheets and caught her breath.
It doesn’t matter what kind of outfit I pick for this evening, this car would be enough to get me laid.
It was red and had all the curves she herself lacked.
Who would have thought that under Thomas’s flower-embroidered cardigan therebeat the heart of a car freak? I wonder if they’re all in this vein?
In fact, they weren’t, but they were all quite clean and nice. A sedan. A Mini. A Land Rover. A truck. A motorcycle.
I see, a vehicle for every situation. So I guess this means I don’t need to get a cab,
Myfanwy thought as she opened the red car’s door and saw that the keys were in the ignition.
Let’s see if I can still drive a manual.
She pushed the button on the remote, and the automatic door to the private garage rolled itself up.
    Just before she drove out into the public area of the parking garage, her eye was caught by an open space and a discarded dustcover—the place where a car had been until it was driven away by another woman in her body.

28
     
    H ey, babe!” Bronwyn said enthusiastically when she opened her apartment door to find Myfanwy. “You look great! Except for what you’re wearing.” The sisters hugged, a little awkwardly.
    “What can I say? I came straight from the office, and this outfit is only this good because it was a casual Friday.” In fact, Myfanwy had been dressed in a suit, but she’d dug up a pair of neatly pressed jeans and a black T-shirt in the residence wardrobe.
    “Your office must be really dusty. I suppose the jeans will cut it, but we’re going to have to find you a better top. Come in.” Bronwyn ushered Myfanwy into the flat, which proved to be fairly untidy and was obviously a place where two very different people lived together. “Sorry about the mess. With Jonathan away, I’ve been free to throw my stuff around.” Myfanwy noticed some bolts of fabric on the couch, and a sewing machine on the kitchen counter.
    “I’m just going to finish getting changed,” said Bronwyn as she disappeared down a hallway. “And I’ll find something for you.” Myfanwy looked around curiously. If not for her being drafted into the Checquy, this might have been her life. She wandered across the room, absentmindedly trampling her sister’s creations underfoot, and peered at the photos on the mantel. There were several pictures of a couple who were obviously their parents, and others of Bronwyn and a guy who must be their brother, Jonathan.
    “Okay,” said Bronwyn, “I’ve got some stuff for you.” Myfanwy looked over at her and cocked an eyebrow. Bronwyn was dressed in the kind of outfit that heiresses wear to clubs in order to get theirpictures in the tabloids. It actually pushed attention away from itself and onto all the skin it wasn’t covering. Myfanwy