Ingrid Bauer lived in a penthouse overlooking the Stadtpark, the kind of apartment that spoke of old money and careful discretion. The building was pre-war, its facade decorated with carved angels and stone gargoyles that watched the street with blank, weathered eyes. Khalid had been surveilling it for six hours before we arrived, and his report was not encouraging.
"She hasn't left the apartment since yesterday. No visitors. No deliveries. She's either working or waiting for something."
"Or someone," Dante said. "Vane may have warned her we're coming."
"If he did, we're walking into another trap." I studied the building through the car window, watching the darkened windows of the penthouse. A single light burned in what looked like a study. "But we don't have a choice. She's the closes
