She's accompanied by a bodyguard, but he usually hangs back a little.'

'There was no bodyguard in these shots. He must have been out of frame.

Doesn't matter anyway. A bodyguard wouldn't have done much good if Hickle had opened fire.'

'Does he have a gun?'

'At least two. Twelve-gauge shotgun and semiautomatic hunting rifle.

The rifle's equipped with a scope and a laser sighting system, but the shotgun seems to be his weapon of choice.'

'A laser sight…' Travis moved to the wide windows and stood gazing out, shoulders sagging, head downcast. He looked more exhausted than she'd ever seen him.

'So how serious do you think he is?' he asked quietly.

'I'm proceeding on the assumption that he's entirely serious. In fact, he may have already acted out his rage against another woman he was stalking.'

'What?'

She told him about Jill Dahlbeck.

'But we don't know Hickle was behind that attack,' she added.

'Even if he was, it doesn't seem to have been attempted murder, and he carried it out so badly that the only physical damage was to Jill's coat. Of course, the emotional damage is a different story.' 'Yes,'

Travis said distractedly. She knew he tuned her out whenever the subject of emotions came up.

'The important point is that if he did attack this other woman, it shows he's capable of going beyond fantasy, of actually taking action.'

'He was younger then, maybe more reckless. He may be more cautious now.

We don't know.'

'But we do know he's at least gotten within striking distance of Kris.'

Travis expelled a breath.

'How could he get that close? The Reserve has tight security.

Perimeter fencing, a gatehouse manned by two guards, and two more guards in constant patrol.'

'Have you checked the fence for signs of egress?'

'Sure. That was one of the first things we did. The fence is heavy-gauge steel wire topped with razor wire coils.'

'Wire can be cut.'

'We didn't find any gaps.'

'Have your people checked recently?'

'Daily.' He moved away from the window, circling the room.

Her gaze followed the sweep of his reflection on the long table's glossy surface.

'You'd better have them look again, more closely,' she said.

'Is there any other way into the compound?'

'The gate, but it's always guarded.'

'How carefully do they screen delivery trucks, visitors, repairmen?'

'Most of the Reserve's security officers are retired cops. They're pretty sharp. And they've got Hickle's photo posted inside the guardhouse. I don't think he could get by them.'

'What about the beach? It can't be completely sealed off. Below the high tide mark it's public property like all California beaches.'

'True. There's a fence at the boundary, but it doesn't go far into the water, and anybody could step around it. But we've covered that angle too. We installed a hidden camera that feeds a live image of the beach access point to the Barwoods' guest cottage. The agents stationed there monitor the video at all times.'

'Unless they screwed up, got careless.'

'Once, maybe. Not three times.'

'Well, however he did it, Hickle found a way in, and he can do it again.

Next time he may bring a gun instead of a camera, and then Travis looked away.

'Devin Corbal, part two.'

Abby winced.

'That's not how I would put it.'

'Sorry. You know what I mean.'

'Yes. I know.'

The air-conditioning system hummed, and somewhere far below, a siren fluttered past. Abby wondered if she ought to mention the other significant development of the past twenty-four hours-the attack that had nearly taken her life last night.

She decided not to. She had no idea how to make sense of that incident, no idea if it even tied into the Barwood case. And she didn't want Travis second guessing his decision to bring her in. She didn't want him to think she was in over her head… so to speak.

'It won't end up like the Corbal case,' she said quietly.

'I won't let it.'

'I wasn't trying to imply…' His words trailed off.

She finished for him.

'That I was responsible for what happened to Corbal?'

'You weren't Abby.'

'Maybe not. But the fact remains that he's dead, and you're meeting every day with your CFO to figure out how to keep this company running with a skeleton crew, and sometimes it sure as hell feels like it was my fault.'

'I told you before, you're too hard on yourself.

Look, forget I ever mentioned Corbal, all right?'

'Sure. Forgotten.' But she knew it wasn't and couldn't be.

'Anything more to tell me?'

'Lots, but it'll have to wait.' She hopped off the table and slung her handbag over her shoulder.

'You'd better resume number crunching, and I have to get back to Hollywood. I have a big night planned.'

'Do you?'

Abby nodded.

'Hickle doesn't know it yet, but he's taking me out on a date.'

Wyatt knew he ought to stop thinking about her. It was stupid, the way he couldn't get her out of his head. He wasn't the type to lose control over a woman. It wasn't like he was desperate or anything.

He'd never had trouble with the opposite sex. In high school and college he'd played football, and he could vouch that everything ever whispered or imagined about the private lives of cheerleaders was true.

He hadn't done too shabbily as a cop either. That cliche about how women preferred a guy in uniform-he had verified it. Repeatedly.

All in all, there was absolutely no reason for him to be tooling down Wilshire Boulevard at four-thirty in the afternoon on his way to Abby's condo.

Probably she wouldn't be home. Most people were at their place of employment during the day. They didn't get stuck on the night watch, working from 6 p.m. to 2 a.m.-his current schedule from Thursday through Monday. Still, he had a feeling Abby didn't keep regular hours, and he wasn't sure she had a place of employment to go to.

He parked his Camaro on a side street and walked past dainty one-story houses cowering in the shadow of the Wilshire Royal, then took a shortcut across the oval of manicured grass that bordered the Royal's driveway.

The sky was blue and cloudless, reflected in fourteen floors of windowpanes, and a breeze from the ocean a few miles away flapped the flags in the forecourt.

As he approached the lobby, he found himself selfconsciously brushing his hair with his fingers. He wondered if he looked okay in his civilian clothes. Then he wondered why it mattered. Come on, this was no big deal, right? He was just dropping by. He'd been in the neighborhood, and since he had some free time before work

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