"What is she doing?" Toby whispered, leaning so far out of his chair he nearly tipped it over. "Gray, she's circling back."
Grayson didn't blink. He sat in the shadows of the microfiche archives, his eyes locked on the pristine, cream-colored cashmere of Veronica Lyle's sweater as she drifted through the aisles of the basement computer lab.
"She is waiting for an operational window," Grayson replied, his voice a low, clinical murmur. "Predators rarely attack when the prey is looking directly at them. They wait for a distraction. They wait for fatigue."
"Fatigue?" Toby asked, looking over at Quinn Harper's terminal.
At that exact moment, Quinn let out a long, shuddering sigh. She pulled her hands away from the keyboard and rubbed the heels of her palms against her closed eyes. She looke
