Claire was in a cab heading for Queens before James could stop her.
He caught up two blocks later in a company car, sliding in beside her with his jacket still half on, his expression caught between exasperation and genuine concern.
“You cannot just run out alone,” he said. “Not while Vanessa is still in play.”
“That is my father’s store,” Claire said, eyes fixed ahead. “He has run it for thirty years without a single violation. This is not a coincidence, James.”
“I know that,” James said. “I am not trying to stop you. I am coming with you.”
They found the store shuttered, a bright orange closure notice plastered across the front door, a small crowd of regulars from the neighborhood standing on the sidewalk with the particular disbelief of people watching a landmark disappear.
Clair
