Revolutionary (Clandestine Magic #3)

Rydell was not in his chair. One of his hired watchers slouched in it, half-asleep, and Peter wondered if the gossip columnist really had no notion of what they’d planned—or if he was already in the church, clutching his pen.

Mrs. Martinelli, who’d been surprised but willing to come to a seemingly random church dinner when he’d showed up unannounced an hour earlier, tsked under her breath. “Does he make people sit there all night?”

“At least until eleven,” he said. “That’s as late as I’ve bothered to look.”

He helped her snag the last empty seat in the sanctuary—no sign of Rydell—and then poked his head into the fellowship hall and every other nook and cranny of the building. Rydell wasn’t there, either. Yet.