Strasser's first instinct after he got off the subway and walked the six blocks to Zanya's abandoned building – walking because there was a slim chance he might catch up with her on the street - was to find a way to get inside the building and go up whatever stairs there were. Or an elevator if it worked. The fire escape wasn't an option since she'd pulled the ladder back up after he'd left this morning. And, since she never bothered using it herself, that's where it stayed.

He checked the front and back entrances, wasn't surprised they were secured with heavy-duty locks, ones he might have been able to pick if he'd had his kit with him. There didn't seem to be any watchman to let him in, which was probably one reason Zanya had made this her sanctum to begin with. And he definitely didn't want to get any cops or security people involved.

He went around to the fire escape side anyway, stepped out onto the street and looked up at the window that opened into her loft. Didn't see anything up there that gave him any clue if she was home or not. He looked over at the packing crate he'd stood on last night to reach the ladder. Zanya had been there then, had leaped up to lower it to where he was able to grip it. But she wasn't here now and the ladder was a good twenty feet up there.

He crossed back over to the crate and, as long as he was here, climbed on top of it. He reached up with no expectations, the bottom rung of the ladder still at least eight to ten feet beyond his reach, couldn't have jumped to it even in his best basketball years.

"How 'bout I stand on your shoulders?"

Who the...?

At first he thought it was Zanya. But then he turned and saw the mini-skirt and spike heels. "How the hell did you get here?"

Kumi smiled. "I took a taxi."

"I mean..."

"And here I thought we were getting off to such a good start."

"This isn't..." He stopped himself, what the hell could he say?

"And," she said, "I decided I want to work with you guys."

"What?"

"Come on down and let's talk."

He looked hard at her, realized she had him boxed, swore to himself and jumped down off the crate. "How did you follow me?"

"I have my ways."

"I'm serious."

"Hey, mystery women come in all shapes and sizes."

She was FBI, they did have their ways, probably pinged his goddamn phone.

Kumi looked up the side of the building. "What's up there you need to climb fire escapes for?"

She probably knew damn well what was up there. Or could make a pretty good guess. Answer a question with a question, give himself room to think. "What do you mean you want to work with us guys? You talking, what, cops?"

"Stop with the bullshit, Strasser. You don't and I bring in my people."

So much for room to think. She had hooker street instincts to leverage that badge with. He had no doubt she would cut any corner she had to, him having experience in that area, to get whatever she wanted.

"Let's go meet your friend," she said.

# # #

Zanya had been watching them from her loft window. By the time Kumi had talked Strasser into taking her up there – had pretty much threatened him into it – and they had talked a passing trailer truck driver into backing his rig under the fire escape so they could climb onto his roof and reach the ladder – Kumi's mini-skirted legs and promise of a freebee one of these nights helping to persuade him – Zanya was out of there, over the rooftops, snake and all.

They made the climb up to her landing, it just starting to rain. Strasser went first through the window that had been left ajar, the first sign the place had been vacated. He confirmed it when he came in and looked around the tomb-like space, where he'd spent a few intimate hours last night. He let out a pent-up breath when he realized he wouldn't have to introduce the two touchy women.

"It looks like she's not here," he said as he gave Kumi a hand through the window.

She stood barefoot in the middle of the room, shoes left below for the climb, and shook the rain out of her hair. She looked around and took inventory – a few occult-looking artifacts, hot plate on the work bench against the wall, beat-up mattress on the floor in the corner... "It looks like she sank all her money into the décor."

Strasser was looking at the mattress, at the piece of white paper folded like a greeting card propped in the middle.

Kumi had spotted it as well. They both crossed the wide plank floor and Strasser picked up the paper.

Read the note Zanya had left:

Time to move on, chores to perform.

Tell your new friend I'll be in touch.

Kumi looked at the oddly old fashioned hand writing. "What does she mean, chores to perform?"

"I guess we'll see." He said it glibly but that wasn't how he felt. He'd seen Zanya at work, sensed the jealousy at play here.

"And I'm your new friend she'll be in touch with."

"You got your wish."

# # #

Raul was a man who spent the better portion of his time getting into places he shouldn't be going, mainly other peoples' computers. Mostly he worked alone, but he was also part of a network of occult hackers called Prang (a combination of prowl and fang that a member in Vancouver had coined), dark souls whose common bond was satisfying their taste for blood. They operated worldwide, some of them able to trace their demonic roots back to medieval times. They used their arcane digital abilities in a variety of ways to support themselves, even on occasion working sub rosa for carefully vetted legal people.

Which was what Raul was doing now, sitting in front of his iMac screen, probing into the financial affairs of a CEO that a hustling young assistant DA suspected was ripping off his shareholders.

Raul could hear the rain ticking off the tall picture windows across the room, his favorite feature of this waterfront condo he bought in 2008. The real estate shit had hit the fan and he'd gotten it for a song. Well, relatively. It was on the river and he probably had a better view than this billionaire corporate weaseler he was digging up all kinds of interesting dirt on.

He'd been working the new version of his invader program, the one he first designed with his friend Franco in computer school back in Buenos Aires, and had opened a crack in a bank account the CEO had set up in Montenegro. He pressed some keys and was widening the crack, getting into some details the assistant DA would love, when he heard some tapping.

It wasn't the rain, it was sharper than that.

And it was coming from the skylight above the open kitchen. It had the sound of kind of a code.

He got up and went over by his new granite counter and looked up.

Got a jolt when he saw a face looking back through the rain-streaked glass.

A female face, one he realized he knew.

No mistaking those green eyes.