THE RECORDING
Danny had bought the listening device online. It was small, no bigger than a thumbnail, with a battery that lasted seventy-two hours and a range of five hundred feet. She had practiced with it for two days, hiding it in her backpack, in her jacket, in her shoe.
“Museum gift shop,” she said, handing it to Maya. “That’s where I bought it.”
“They sell listening devices at museum gift shops?”
“They sell everything at museum gift shops. You just have to know what to ask for.”
Maya turned the device over in her palm. It was light. Almost weightless.
“Where do I put it?”
“Somewhere he won’t think to look. Under his desk. Behind a bookshelf. Inside a plant.”
“His office is clean. Minimalist. Not a lot of hiding places.”
“Then get creative.”
Maya thought about Vance’s office. The tall windows. The leather chairs. The bookshelves filled with psychology texts.
“The bookshelf,” she said. “There’s a gap behind the spines. If I wedge it there, he won’t see it.”
“You’ll need to get back into his office.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Maya had been thinking about that. Vance kept a key under a loose stone by the back door. She had seen it during her first visit, when she had pretended to tie her shoe.
“I have a way in.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
Danny nodded. “I’ll be outside. With the receiver.”
“Absolutely not. You’re staying home.”
“Mom—”
“You’re sixteen. I’m not putting you in that building. If something goes wrong, I need you safe.”
Danny’s jaw tightened. But she didn’t argue.
“Fine. But you check in every fifteen minutes. And if you don’t, I’m calling the police.”
“The police aren’t exactly on my side right now.”
“Then I’m coming in after you.”
Maya looked at her daughter. At the fear in her eyes. At the stubborn set of her chin.
“Fifteen minutes,” Maya said.
Danny nodded.
They waited for dark.