Swann knew that if anyone noticed he was missing and called security, he would quick-change his clothing and return to the ground level via the south stairwell.

Most important, he knew about the clock’s lighting. He had detailed drawings of the schematics, had pored over them for years. Originally, the clock’s faces were lit by 552 individual lightbulbs. Now gold-colored fluorescents illuminated them.

Yes, he knew everything Antoinette was going to say about the legendary timepiece that graced architect John McArthur’s garish, breathtaking building.

And yet he only cared about one of the clock’s faces.

The one facing north.

The one facing the Badlands.

“…WAS A STORY that began in 1906. It seems that so many people relied on these clocks for time, because they could be seen from great distances, that each evening, at 8:57, the lights in the clock tower were turned off,” Antoinette prattled. “Do you know why they did that?”

Everyone on the tour exchanged a bemused glance.

“Because three minutes later, when they turned the lights back on, the entire city knew it was exactly nine o’clock!”

Antoinette Ruolo glanced at her watch. “Speaking of time, I’m afraid we have to wrap up this tour in a few minutes.” This was her favorite segue. “I’ll meet you all back at the elevator in ten minutes.”

Antoinette walked over toward the elevator, a low grumbling in her stomach. She sat down on the bench, thought about taking her shoes off and giving herself a quick foot massage, but decided against it. It wouldn’t be right for a former City Hall Bunny to be seen with holes in the toes of her support stockings, would it?

TEN MINUTES LATER Antoinette found herself in the lobby, waving good-bye to her last tour of the day.

She looked around the reception area. Had the nice man who had asked about the clock come down with them? Of course he had. Where else would he be?

Antoinette Ruolo signed out, then headed for the exit at the south portal. As she pushed open the door, and stepped into the steaming afternoon, she felt a little better. For at least a dozen reasons, Antoinette was glad it was Friday, one reason eclipsing all others.

No more tuna for a week.

THIRTY-TWO

LILLY SCANNED THE food court at the train station, more with her nose than her eyes. She thought back to her last full meal, a $1.99 breakfast special at a roadside diner on Route 61, a tacky plastic place with a water-stained ceiling and prehistoric gum under the stools.

But now, forty-eight hours later, sitting in the food court of the Thirtieth Street station, her stomach rumbled like one of the trains passing beneath her.

This was the life of a runaway. She knew what she had to do.

Desperate times and all…

THE MAN WAS WATCHING HER.

Lilly had always had the ability to sense when someone was observing her, even if that person was behind her back, even if they were on the other side of the room or the other side of the street. She registered the feeling as a slight warming of her skin, a minute tingling of the hair at the nape of her neck.

She turned, glanced at the man, then looked away. He could have been thirty, he could have been fifty. He sat two tables away. He moved closer.

“Hi,” he said.

Lilly took a moment, playing it out. Here we go.

“Hi,” Lilly replied.

The man’s face lit up. He clearly wasn’t expecting a response. He cleared his throat. “Have you just come in by train?”

Lilly nodded.

“Just now?”

She nodded again, a little too animatedly. She felt like a bobblehead doll. She backed off on the act. “Well, just a few minutes ago.”

“How exciting,” he said. “I love train travel.”

Oh, yes, how exciting, she thought. Train travel. Let’s see: burnt coffee, stale sandwiches, smelly passengers, grimy windows, crappy houses passing by that were so low-rent they were built right on the train tracks. Yeah. This is my dream vacation. This and Cozumel. “It’s okay,” she said.

“Is this your first time in Philadelphia?”

“Yes, sir.”

He arched his eyebrows. “Sir?” He laughed, but it sounded phony. “I’m not that much older than you are. Am I?”

He clearly was, and it was so gross. “No,” she said, trying her best to sound sincere. “Not really.”

He smiled again. His teeth were the color of old mushrooms.

“Well, seeing as this is your first time in the City of Brotherly Love, I’d be happy to show you around,” he said. “If you have the time, of course. It’s a great city. Lots of history.”

Lilly glanced toward the doors that led to Twenty-ninth Street. It was almost dark. The lights on the street shone in the near distance, a grainy canvas of green and red and turquoise. She looked back at the man, assessing him. He wasn’t that much taller than she was, did not look all that strong. She, on the other hand, had played soccer and lacrosse since she was seven. She had strong legs and deceptively strong arms. And she was fast. Lightning fast.

“That would be totally great,” she said, infusing the word with just enough enthusiasm.

The man looked at his watch, then at the huge area of the food court. The evening commuter rush had long since faded. There were just a few stragglers.

“Tell you what,” he began. “I have to make a few calls. I’ll meet you at the corner of Twenty-third and Walnut. We can take a stroll.”

He didn’t want to be seen leaving with her. She understood the play. This told her just about everything she needed to know. “Okay.”

“Do you know where that is?”

“I’ll find it,” Lilly said.

“Are you sure you can?”

Lilly laughed. It sounded creepy, almost sinister, but she was certain this man would not notice. “I found my way to Philadelphia, didn’t I?”

The man laughed with her. Those teeth. Ugh.

A few moments later the man got up, looked at his watch again, and crossed the huge room toward the Thirtieth Street entrance. She saw him adjust the front of his trousers. She wanted to hurl.

Lilly closed her eyes for a moment—not having any idea how she was going to handle this. She thought about her house, her bedroom, her TV and cell phone, her dog, Rip. Rip was a thirteen-year-old cairn terrier, almost blind. Lilly started to tear up at the thought of Rip and his scuffed white bowl, Rip bumping into door jambs, then retreating, embarrassed. She stopped herself. This was no time for weakness, for sentimentality or dependency on the past. She had something to do.

HE TRIED TO MAKE small talk. He succeeded. It couldn’t possibly have been any smaller. “You know, Philadelphia was once the capital of the United States.”

She knew this. Every school kid in America knew this. “I didn’t know that.”

“Do you know who discovered the place?”

Gee, she thought. Penn and Teller?

“William Penn, of course.” He pointed down Market Street, toward city hall. The statue of William Penn glowed in the dusk.

“Wow.”

She felt his hand reach out, try to hold hers. Gross. She reached around to her backpack, covering. She unzipped it, pulled out some gum. She didn’t offer him any. He didn’t notice. Every time she caught him looking at her he was staring at her chest.

“There’s something down here I think you should see,” he said. “ There’s history everywhere.”

They walked down the alley, around a corner. They stopped. There was nothing to see.

“You know what?” he asked.

“What?”

“You’re very beautiful.”

And there it was. On top of it, she knew it was a lie. She looked like crap. She probably smelled, too. She was a runaway. Runaways were skanks. “Thank you,” she said.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Lilly almost laughed. “Sure.”