Wake to Darkness. Maggie Shayne

it was probably a false alarm. Maybe even a prank.

      “Fucking kids,” someone muttered.

      I saw Mason talking to the woman whose office I’d just left and looking at his watch, making excuses to leave and follow up with her later. Then he entered the stairwell. I passed her in the hall as I went to join him, but there were lots of people heading down and I had to wait until we were outside. He was ahead of me, and he got into my car and started the engine. I hurried the last few steps and hopped in on the passenger side.

      “You get it?” he asked.

      “Henry C. Powell of Sodus Point, New York. You know where that is?”

      “No, but your nav system does.” He poked buttons. “Street?”

      “Twenty-five Lake Street.”

      He punched a button, then another, and the nav system plotted a route and said it would take less than an hour to reach our destination. “We’re in business. You want to grab a bite first?” It was close to four-thirty, after the two-and-a-half-hour drive out here, and the time we’d spent executing our plan. Flawlessly, I might add. Neither of us had eaten lunch.