CHAPTER 7
SHE LEFT HER car in the packed parking lot of the Lehman’s and walked home in the warm darkness. Every last reporter had gone. There was a black van with smoked windows and diplomatic plates parked across from her house, probably a spillover from the Lehman bash. Entering, she cut the main lights to avoid interest and repeated her New York conference lie into the answering machine. A growing sense of vulnerability was getting on her nerves. Moving distractedly about the house, she found herself obsessively checking the street, gazing into the darkened driveway. A freak gust of wind sent twigs hurling by a lamppost. Everything alarmed her. She peered into the road at the shiny black van parked by the curb. Was it bad suspension or something more sinister that caused that gentle r
