Hell, she didn't need to see his expression to know what he meant.

She opened the door. “I'll find my own antidotes.”

11

Jesus, she was hungry.

It would go away, Carmela thought as she made her way carefully up the rickety staircase to the third floor of the warehouse. Just think of something else right now. Tomorrow she'd go down to the Salvation Army on Third Street and let them feed her.

God, she hated the idea of being a charity case. She'd had such big hopes when she left her mom's place in Louisville. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was going to be on her own and not have to take all the lies her mom and her new boyfriend had thrown at her. She'd had enough money to last a couple weeks, and getting a job would be a cinch.

But the money hadn't lasted more than a few days, and no one wanted to hire a fifteen-year-old for anything but sex. Yeah, she'd run across plenty of pimps who were willing to help her sell her body.

Screw them. She wasn't stupid. She knew that whoring was a one-way street, and she wasn't going down it. She'd take the charity and then she'd keep on looking for work. She wasn't beaten yet.

Not beaten, but chilled and lonely and scared. This dark, drafty warehouse smelled of tobacco that had been stored here years ago and the sour stench of rot. Every step she took caused the wood floor to creak, and there were other sounds, she thought with a shiver. Rats scurrying in the walls, and last night she'd thought she heard footsteps when she was roused from sleep.

Imagination. No one but her would be desperate enough to stay in this condemned building. But it had made her frightened enough to go out to the park this morning to find a branch to use as a club. Her hand tightened around it now as she pushed open the door to the tiny accounting office where she'd set up her quarters.

She lifted the flashlight, and the beam danced around the room.

Nothing was there but a desk, chair, and the pallet she'd made of the clothes she'd pulled from her suitcase. No reason for her to be scared. She grabbed the chair and pushed it under the handle of the door before she moved across the room and huddled down on the pallet. She forced herself to turn off her flashlight to save the batteries, and darkness overwhelmed her. Don't panic. She was safe. There was nothing here that could hurt her, except maybe those rats she could hear scampering in the walls.

If she could sleep tonight, she'd get stronger, and tomorrow she'd have a meal and she'd be stronger still. She'd find a job and everything would start going her way. Life didn't always suck. It was just pretty lousy right now.

But, Jesus, she was hungry.

Fourteen hundred commercial warehouses in the D.C. area,” George said as he came into the library. “At least two hundred thirty-four are unoccupied at present. There may be more. Some owners don't like to report a lack of occupants to the insurance company.”

“Shit.” Silver grimaced. “No wonder he felt safe telling Kerry a warehouse was the target.”

“He's not safe,” Kerry said. “You told the Secret Service they had to search those warehouses right away, George?”

“I didn't have to tell them. They want Trask as much as we do. But that's a lot of territory to cover.” He looked at the pile of telephone books on the desk in front of Kerry. “And you're not going to find him in the yellow pages.”

“I don't know that. I think he wants me to find that warehouse. But he won't make it easy. I thought maybe I might see something that would strike a chord.” She rubbed her eyes. “But no luck so far.”

“Then what's next?” Silver asked.

“We go driving around and see if I can sense the son of a bitch.”

“Sense?” George asked.

She ignored the question. She had made a slip, but she was too tired to follow it with a lie. “Will you get us the list of unoccupied warehouses, George?”

“I have it printing from the list Ledbruk gave me right now.” He turned and left the room.

She turned to Silver. “Will I be able to sense Trask?”

“Possibly. If he's around. He may be waiting until the last moment to put in an appearance.”

“We've got to try. I can't wait until he—” She broke off as her cell phone rang.

“Her name is Carmela,” Trask said when she picked up the phone. “She's not of Italian descent after all. She's Hispanic.”

She went rigid. “I thought you weren't going to call me back, Trask.”

Silver straightened in his chair.

“I couldn't resist when Dick—when my employee called to tell me that he'd found out some information about our sweet little girl.”

“And how did he do that?”

“He followed her around town today. She's trying to get a job, but she's only fifteen and she evidently doesn't have the money to buy phony papers. Poor child. She's having a hard time.”

“Then why don't you give her a break?”

“Because she's perfect. She's turning out to be everything that I could want for Firestorm.”

“You're sick.”

“And knowing Carmela is trying so hard to make her way in the world is making you admire her and want to keep her alive. It's giving you additional incentive, isn't it?”

“I didn't need incentive.” She paused. “At least tell me a general location.”

“Are you getting discouraged? I told you that it wasn't going to be easy. So many warehouses . . .”

“You want me to know, dammit. You want me there.”

“Maybe I'd get just as much satisfaction out of having you find Carmela after the fact. No, you have to work for it, Kerry. Now, don't sulk. After all, you can always have the wonder dog try to sniff her out.”

She tried another tack. “Who is Helen?”

“Helen—” He was silent a moment. “That's right, I did mention her, didn't I? It shouldn't surprise me. I've been thinking of her a good deal since you came on the scene.”

“Why? Do I look like her?”

“Not at all. She was brunette and quite beautiful. Don't be offended, but you're merely interesting-looking.”

“Who is she?”

“An exceptional woman. She loved Firestorm almost more than she did me.”

“Past tense? Did she leave you?”

“Don't be inquisitive.”

“You're the one who barged into my life and turned it into hell. Don't I have the right to know about you?”

“Only what I wish you to know. But it encourages me to realize that I'm dominating your thoughts. We're growing closer, aren't we?” He hung up.

She turned to Silver. “Her name is Carmela. She's fifteen, Hispanic, and looking for a job.” She swallowed hard. “And he can't wait to feed her to Firestorm.”

“He didn't tell you a general location?”

She shook her head. “The bastard told me to tell Sam to sniff it out. Dammit, there's not much time. One more day if he told me the truth. It could be sooner.” She had to drown the panic fostered by that thought. What else had he said that might help? “One of his employees was following Carmela. He broke off right away but I think he said . . . Dick.”

“A first name?”

“I don't think so. It sounded like he cut it off. Maybe a last name with that as first syllable?” She shook her head in frustration. “I don't know. It could be a first name. Even if it's not, it may not be a help.”

“And then again it may. Anything else?”

“He spoke of this Helen in the past tense. She was brunette and beautiful and had some involvement with Firestorm. Trask said she loved it almost more than she did him. If they were that close, why isn't there a mention in the dossier?”

“Travis is trying to find out,” Silver said. “He'll get back to us as quick as he can. Carmela. No last name?”

“No, but if she's fifteen and a runaway, somebody must have reported her missing. There are all kinds of databases these days for missing children. We have to find her. Maybe she called somebody and told them where she was and what she was doing. Probably not her parents, but maybe a friend?”