I shivered, then reached back into my car and grabbed my coat.
"So, we meet in the flesh at last," a deep voice behind me said.
I bit down a squeak and spun around. A tall man dressed in dark jeans and a black sweater stood in front of me. My gaze traveled up the long, lean length of him, and clashed with the darkness of his. Recognition stirred.
"Markel Sanchez," I said, relief evident in my voice.
"Indeed." He bowed slightly. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you on this plane."
"I wish it was in better circumstances," I muttered, and pulled on my jacket.
"Indeed." His gaze moved from me to the street. "I have done a brief reconnoiter. Number twenty bristles with hardware, some of which is cameras."
The rest no doubt being the bombs Taylor had mentioned, as well as other nasty stuff. "How many people are inside the house?"
"Only one. I presume it is the guardian, Rhoan Jenson."
I hesitated, then asked, "Is he still alive?"
Markel's dark gaze returned to mine. "At this moment, yes."
I released the breath I hadn't even realized I'd been holding. "What about the other houses in the court? Have you checked those?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Of course. I am the professional here, remember."
Yeah, he was. But it was my life on the line, not his. "So did you find anything unusual?"
"No. Taylor and his accomplice are not in this street as far as I was able to discern. That does not mean he is not nearby."