The Queen estate. [He watches the building as it looms up over the drive, pensive, tensed. If he can get her upstairs without running in to any of the household's other main players, they can work out the details of a story without anyone to overhear. Given that it's the wee hours of morning, he's hoping the legacy of Queen family insomnia hasn't kept his mother and sister awake.

He gets out first, paying the cabbie with a chunk of money from the safehouse, and opens Cissie's door. He offers her a hand, voice low.] If anyone's up, I'll do the talking.

[A pause, and that damnable uncertainty again.] Please. I know what to say to get them to stop asking questions.