things. Old habit. "-He's gone."
"And what if he comes back?" Eamon asked, reasonably enough. "Seems persistent."
"I can take care of myself."
He turned that look full on me, and I felt something inside both shudder and jump at the force of it. "Can you?"
I straightened and nodded.
"Well, then," he said. "I suppose I'll have to take your word for it."
"But-" Sarah frowned.
Eamon took her hand in his, and she went quiet. Well, I would've, too. There was something gentle and persuasive in the way he did it, not a shut up kind of gesture, but something reassuring. Comforting. "Let's talk over breakfast," he said, and led her back to the rental car. Handed her into the open passenger side door with an old-fashioned grace, then turned to me as he shut it. He was wearing a dark shirt today, top two buttons undone, and a freshly pressed pair of dark pants. Long, thin shoes-I was no expert on men's couture, but the shoes looked vaguely like Bruno Magli. Expensive. Maybe even custom.
He sure didn't look poor. Not at all.
"Coming?" he asked me, and quirked his eyebrows.
I took a deep breath. "Sure."
He opened the back door and held it for me like a gentleman while I slid inside.
INTERLUDE
For something so powerful, a storm is oddly vulnerable. This one-born out of the heat of water and a whim of air-is no different. All it will take is a powerful west wind from the middle latitudes to cut the top off its clouds, stall it in place to starve and die. Or maybe it avoids the west winds, but it moves into cooler waters, which would slow it down. It might find drier air that would leave it tired and weak, blown apart by the first little challenge.
But none of that happens.
It advances at the rate of about ten miles an hour, sometimes slower as it encounters small patches of cooler water; it captures the cooler air it finds and wraps it around-insulates itself, keeping its energy-producing warmer air inside. Clouds find resistance at higher elevations, and pile up like soldiers storming a wall. The fluffy, blunt-headed anvil thunderheads are its war flags.
As it pushes forward-an army on the march-inside the huge, thick mass of clouds there are bright blue-white pops of energy as the generator bleeds off excess.
Just small flares. It isn't ready yet.
But it's getting there fast.
THREE
Eamon had exquisite table manners. For some reason, that fascinated me. The neat, precise movements of his hands, the elegance in the tiny adjustments of his knife and fork. Elbows off the table at all times. He didn't talk with his mouth full. In fact, he didn't say much at all, just listened politely as Sarah rambled on. And on. And on.
"I just can't believe that happened in broad daylight!" my sister said for about the twentieth time. I took a bite of French toast, made sure it was liberally dosed with maple syrup, and savored the sugar rush. "Don't those people you work for have any security? It's awful!... There should be security lights in that parking lot!"
"Well, I don't believe it would have helped, Sarah. It was broad daylight," Eamon pointed out reasonably. Bless him, he sounded more amused than irritated. "Do you have much trouble with such things around here? Criminal trespass, assault... ?"
"Couple of car break-ins," I said, and washed down the sugar with coffee. Which accounted for two of the major food groups. "Nothing serious. Kids, probably."
"And am I to think he was just another hooligan?" He ate a neat mouthful of eggs and arched his eyebrows at me.
"Not him," I admitted.
"Sarah said you were being followed," he continued after a polite pause to chew and swallow. "The same kind of van."
"The same van," Sarah insisted, and turned her big eyes to me. "Was it the guy? The one from the mall?"
No point in lying about it. "Yes. But-it's all right, really. I'll handle it."
"Are you certain that's the right thing to do? You might want to go to the police," Eamon asked. He sounded neutral about it. Around us, other diners clinked silverware on plates and went about their daily lives, which probably didn't involve getting stalked by out-of-state cops. I shook my head. "Ah, I see. Any particular reason why not... ?"
"I know him, sort of," I said. "I'll