Suddenly, she was concerned. Rain had sophisticated enemies, and look what had happened to Dox. What if someone had…

Then she told herself she was being ridiculous. The hotel’s security was designed to protect Hollywood glitterati. They were safe here. And even if his judgment were off, Rain was still the most thorough, cautious, paranoid tactician she’d ever known. He was just out-taking a swim, or using the gym, or maybe strolling in one of the gardens.

She walked into the bedroom, scanning reflexively. Still no sign of him-no clothes lying around, not even an impression in the bedspread where he might have been sitting. Ah, there, on one of the dressers-a bottle of 1971 Glenmorangie. A good single malt, that was John. She glanced inside the walk-in closet, and saw a navy cashmere blazer on a hanger, and a pair of Camper loafers she recognized as his tucked neatly into a corner. She smiled. She knew there were women who would kill to have a man so neat, but it could be a little spooky at times. It was in Rain’s nature to move, and to live, without leaving sign.

She walked into the enormous bathroom with its soft white tile and mirrors and sensible light, and found a few toiletries in a drawer. And then, next to one of the sinks, a note. Okay. She picked it up.

On the grounds, the note read. Back by 7:00.

She looked at her watch. It was 6:15 now. She was mildly annoyed that he wasn’t waiting for her, and wondered what he was doing. She recognized the note itself was a concession: he didn’t like revealing anything that might enable someone to anticipate him, whether it was a restaurant reservation or a simple note describing his whereabouts. The vague reference was a compromise, but because she knew him, she could probably fill in the blanks, as he knew.

She guessed a workout. The gym was right around the corner. If he wasn’t there, she would just wait for him here. She peeked out at the private patio-half security habit, half curiosity-and liked what she saw: a hot tub sunken among the flagstones, rising steam illuminated by an underwater light; a pair of chaise longues, surrounded by ferns and hibiscus flowers; a high brick wall surrounding it all. She imagined the hot tub with John later and it gave her a little shiver. She took a quick shower and went out to find him.

The gym was a large former cottage that had been gutted, carpeted, and outfitted with the latest equipment. It had a high ceiling and large windows. Delilah glanced inside, and immediately saw Rain. He was in a corner, barefoot, in shorts and a tee-shirt, doing squats. She watched, fascinated. She knew he worked out and he’d told her a bit about his solo routines, but she’d never seen him. He was going fast now, squat, stand, squat, stand, occasionally brushing a wet strand of hair back from his eyes. She didn’t know how many he’d done before she started watching, but she counted two hundred and fifty, and then fifty more where at the end of every rep he leaped into the air.

He paused for a moment, and she sensed he was going to scan the windows. She stepped to the side and waited for a moment so he wouldn’t see her. She wanted to keep watching.

After a few seconds, she looked back inside. Rain was doing handstand push-ups, freestanding, not against the wall. Slowly this time: up, down onto his forehead, hold, then up again. She counted ten, and then he dropped over into a back bridge and did fifty more push-ups, inverted. A dark line of sweat ran down the front of his tee-shirt.

He flipped over and stood, and Delilah moved out of the way again. When she looked back inside, he was hanging from the horizontal bar of one of the machines, his hands spaced widely. She looked more closely…was he using just his fingertips? Yes, he was. He did twenty pull-ups, then dropped down and shadowboxed in front of the mirror. No, it wasn’t just shadow boxing, she realized; he was incorporating other elements, ripping and grappling movements she recognized, like some kind of customized karate kata. As he circled around, she caught a glimpse of his face. His eyes were closed, and she was surprised, even disconcerted, at the intensity of his expression. This was no dance for him, she knew; the movements were techniques he could use, had used, to kill. She wondered what, or whom, he was picturing right then that would produce such mimed ferocity, and imagined it must be Hilger.

She knew there was a dark skein of intensity deep in Rain’s nature, something that only rarely revealed itself at the surface. It was a quality that intrigued her, and, she had to admit, was part of what attracted her to him, but he never let her see it, and her only previous glimpses had been brief and inadvertent. She wondered why he was letting himself cut loose like this now, in a room with so many windows. It must have been the sense of privacy the hotel grounds fostered. Then she realized she had probably posed the wrong question: maybe he wasn’t letting himself. Maybe right now he couldn’t help it. Regardless, this was the longest she’d ever watched him unbeknownst, and it fascinated and excited her in equal measure.

After five minutes of the drills, Rain started stretching, and Delilah knew he was warming down. She eased away from the window and returned to the room.

A short while later, sitting in front of the fireplace, the lights turned low, she heard the key in the lock. She stood and watched the door open a crack, then swing wider when Rain saw it was her.

“Hey,” he said, looking her over. He was pumped from the workout and she liked the way the tee-shirt clung to him.

“Hey,” she said, smiling. She had planned on giving him a hard time about not being there when she arrived, but now she was just glad to see him.

He bolted the door, then walked over and kissed her lightly. She reached around for the back of his head, holding him there, prolonging the greeting, letting it turn into something more.

He raised his glistening arms like a doctor prepping for surgery. “I’m all wet,” he said.

She let out a little laugh. “Me, too. But I’m starving…why don’t you shower and we’ll get something to eat?”

They decided on the low-key lounge rather than the more formal dining room, and sat adjacent to each other at a corner table amid dark paneling, low light, and a wood fire. He looked good to her after a week away, casual in faded jeans, a checked oxford cloth shirt, and the cashmere blazer, his dark hair still wet from the shower. Delilah ordered filet of beef with Stilton; Rain, roast chicken with polenta, and they shared terrine of foie gras and a lobster corn custard. Rain chose a bottle of ’89 Lynch-Bages Bordeaux, and while they ate and drank, she asked him questions, and worked to sift through the responses.

“What does Hilger want?” she asked, quietly. “Why is he doing this?”

For almost a minute, Rain was silent, rolling the stem of his wineglass through his fingers, his eyes on the liquid inside. Just as Delilah thought he wasn’t going to answer, he said, “He wants me to do three jobs.”

There was no need to ask what the jobs would consist of. And she knew he wouldn’t tell her the details. In fact, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

Again he was silent for a long time. Then he said, “If I don’t do the jobs, Hilger will kill Dox. If I do the jobs, he’ll kill Dox as soon as I’m done.”

“Not just that. He might…”

“Yes, he’ll probably be using one of the jobs as a setup to take me out, too. I know. That’s why I have to find out where Dox is being held, and free him. There’s no other way he’s coming out of this alive.”

She couldn’t disagree with his assessment. She said, “You’re playing for time, then.”

Rain nodded. “Time, and information. Part of the reason I wanted to see Hilger in person was to make him move. Tracking someone who’s frozen is hard. Moving, he’ll leave a trail.”