her jacket zipper. She couldn’t transmit a grainy photo back to Double-O headquarters, where they’d computer-scan for known perverts and then send the ID to her through a radio hidden in her barrette.
And besides, at some point a lot of these riders were going to get off the ferry. At each destination the crowd would thin, until she would stick out here like a sore thumb. Unless the blackmailer planned to pick up his money very soon, she’d have to get off, too, just to keep from being spotted herself.
Another anonymous, cloaked man walked by. His path seemed headed straight for the money. Mallory held her breath until he turned left and sat down next to a woman who smiled up at him, then leaned her head gratefully against his shoulder.
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