“Snow?” The man jumped, startled, “Yes, Mr. Tidewater.” He had been completely absorbed by what was on the computer screen. “Waiting for that information,” the agent demanded softly. He had an expression on his face that the Indian hadn’t seen before, sort of a cross between hatred and numb shock, with a fleeting coarse little smile thrown in. Marion Tidewater had not been in a good frame of mind since yesterday, but the moment Russ had come within sight of him this morning, the agent had turned uglier than usual. “Right, yessir,” Russ Snow shook his head, put a finger on the screen. “As far as I can see from airline bookings and her credit card use, Barbara Monday is still in New York. She had a reservation yesterday on American Airlines to Miami, Florida, but she cancelled it right after our meeting at Kennedy.” “Miami?” Tidewater’s voice didn’t have the usual clipped terseness.
