Silken Prey

evening, which Schiffer had said would go until ten-thirty or so, and then they’d head downtown to the Radisson Hotel for the victory party, if there was a victory party. The house party was reserved for political big shots and large donors.
    He punched Dannon’s number, and Dannon came up: “Yes.”
    “Is she winning?”
    “Yes. Looks like it’s in the bag. You at the house?”
    “No, but I’m heading that way now,” Carver said. “I need to talk to you. Privately. Right now. I got hit hard by Davenport.”
    Dannon said, “We’re doing the last show. We’ll be back there by five-thirty.”
    “I’ll be waiting,” Carver said.
    •   •   •
    K IDD AND L AUREN HAD a bad moment when they turned Jackson over to the babysitter. The babysitter was a middle-aged nurse who was grateful for the extra under-the-table cash money from Kidd; five hundred a month, with babysitting services on a moment’s notice. She worked the day shift, and was available anytime after three o’clock in the afternoon, seven days a week. She adored Jackson, and Jackson liked her back.
    But leaving Jackson, a thin child, tall for his age, strong, with a happy smile morning to night . . . Kidd got desperately tight in the throat, and Lauren said, “I know: but we’re doing it. I need this, Kidd.”
    So they left him.
    •   •   •
    A T 45 DEGREES NORTH, the night comes early in November. They rolled out a few minutes after seven-thirty into the kind of autumn darkness that comes only with a thick cloud layer, no hint of starlight or moonlight, and no prospect of any. Lauren drove.
    She was already dressed in her black brushed-cotton suit. Her hood, and her equipment, were locked in a concealed box behind the second row of seats. They chitchatted on the way across town, through enough traffic to keep things slow; Jackson wasn’t mentioned.
    They were a mile from Grant’s place at eight-fifteen. The day before, they’d spotted a diner with a strong and reliable Wi-Fi and no protection, with parking on the side and in back, out of sight from the street. Kidd signed on from a laptop and dialed up another laptop, which was hooked into his cell phone, back at the condo. His phone made a call to a friend who, at that moment, was playing a violin in a chamber quartet at the birthday party for a St. Paul surgeon’s wife. Kidd let the call ring through to the answering service, left a message that suggested handball on Friday.
    “Done,” he said, when he’d hung up. An alibi. Both of their desktop computers would be roaming websites all through the evening, and they’d send out a couple of e-mails.
    “Let’s see what’s going on.”
    Kidd signed on to Taryn’s security system. All the cameras were operating, the interior cameras showing perhaps two or three dozen people in suits and dresses with cocktails, all apparently talking at full speed. The bedroom was dark, which was perfect. If it hadn’t been, Lauren would have had to come in through a dead-ended hallway, at a seating area, that would have been more exposed to a visitor, but was free of cameras. This way, she could go in through the en suite bathroom. Outside, the cameras showed several uniformed men behind the fence along the line of the street, and a few people standing in the street, looking at the house.
    “The uninvited,” Lauren said. “Check the backyard.”
    Kidd cycled to the backyard cameras. They saw one guard, moving along the perimeter of the huge lot. A side camera showed the dog kennel, with both dogs sitting inside, alert, apparently watching the guard.
    “There’s the competition,” Kidd said.
    “Not if they’re penned up,” Lauren said. “They can’t see my entry point. As long as they’re not set loose . . .”
    “They’ve got noses like radar,” Kidd said.
    “Yes. Keep an eye on them. If they turn them loose, I’ll call it off.”
    They watched for fifteen minutes, until Lauren said, “Okay, we’ve got it.”
    Just before Kidd killed the image from the cameras, they saw a security man in a coat walk through the picture. “Mean-looking guy,” Kidd said. “I think that’s Carver.”
    “I’ll stay away from him,” Lauren said.
    “Yeah. Far away.” He reached out, put his hand on top of her head and turned her face toward his, and kissed her and said, “Let’s call it off.”
    “No. I’m going in,” Lauren said. “Tomorrow, I’m back to little housewifey.”
    “Fuck me,” Kidd said, as he