She was in Los Angeles. He knew by the pressure on his mind.
"I've got to hurry. Listen. I want you to keep the workers here as long as necessary, hear? This schedule's got to be kept. And you take a thousand dollars. And listen, Hickle. This is just chicken-feed, remember that, when you're working for us."
"Yes, sir!"
He had her located, keeping his mind open to try to center on her.
He could center on her! She was only partially shielded, and she made no protest. She was not moving, and he could ... except that there was something wrong with the pressure. He was overlooking something. But she was not moving. Not yet.
"I've got to talk fast. All these final deliveries. You'll be busy. If you need help, hire it. And listen, I'll be here from time to time if I can."
"There's something wrong, Mister Parr?"
Parr searched for an excuse. "It's personal ... my wife, yes, my wife, it's...." He wondered why he had used that one. It had sprung automatically to his mind. "Never mind. I'll phone in from around town. I'll try to help you all I can by phone."
She was not moving, but the pressure seemed different ... alien!