Twisting aside only a few times, Zackie had shifted up to an eager run, then did an all-claws slide as she attempted to turn a one-eighty on the slick linoleum. She led them into a kitchen where a person had turned on a few lights and was priming a large heating urn with water. At having his lunchroom invaded by an armed squad of American soldiers—and a dog—he barely blinked as if he’d seen it all. Then he spotted his commander and froze.
56
“Anyone come through here?” Abby asked the person holding aloft a half-emptied water pitcher as if carved from marble in that position.
He set it down so abruptly it was surprising that it didn’t shatter. He jerked to attention and saluted Cutcher. “I was first in, Group Captain.”
“At ease.”
“See if anything’s missing,” Abby told him.
He glanced at his commander.
“Do it.”
Zackie was zigzagging back and forth across the kitchen. Miss Watson must have spent time here.
“Two knives and—” the server held up a half-empty packet of cookies. “Right on the center of the counter so as I couldn’t have missed it.”
Zackie sat and stared up at the chalkboard.
She, Derek, Cutcher, and Dilya circled up close behind the dog. The dog remained focused on the very left end of the chalk tray, with good reason. “We found your cookies.”
“Biscuits,” the server corrected her. “Digestives.” There was a stack of four of them barely on the tray.
“Digestives. They look as dry as a—” now it was Abby’s turn for an inappropriate laugh.
“—as a dog biscuit?” Derek finished for her, nudging his shoulder against hers.
“Miss Watson guessed you were on her trail, Dilya. And, of course, you’d have Zackie with you.”
But Dilya was busy pushing Cutcher out of her way. She inspected the chalkboard, the tray, the underside of the tray, and where it attached to the wall. When a tug wouldn’t free it, she ran her fingers along the edge.
“She must have left a message other than biscuits.” Dilya’s motions became more and more frantic as her search turned up nothing of interest.
That’s when Abby spotted the chalk on the back of Dilya’s left knuckles. She grabbed Dilya’s wrist and checked her other hand. No chalk marks. Picturing Dilya’s motions…
“Miss Watson is a very smart woman.”
“She is. Why do you say that?” Dilya inspected her own knuckles.
“The biscuits were teetering on the edge, as if telling us to look beyond the edge.” She slapped a thigh pocket of her flightsuit and extracted a small flashlight but it didn’t show anything when she shone it at the white-painted cinderblock wall. “Kill the lights.”
Someone did.
Abby shifted the flashlight to strike the wall beside the chalkboard at a grazing angle. The paint was a gloss white but, with just the right angle of light, she could see that non-reflective areas had been chalked to form letters.
“White chalk on a white wall. As I said, very smart.”
Derek’s hand clamped firmly on Abby’s shoulder. “Speaking of…” He whispered to her as he squatted beside her.
All her life, her brains had pushed men away. Derek didn’t let go and his training meant he didn’t need contact with her to keep his balance. Instead he squeezed her shoulder for a long moment as he picked up a piece of chalk and began recreating the message on the lower corner of the chalkboard. It required shifting the light several times and making a few guesses, but the message finally came clear.
D, Run! No follow. W.
“What in the world could ever make her think I’d listen to that?” Dilya stood with both fists on her hips.
“Maybe she didn’t think we’d be with you,” Derek teased her.
