exclusive.”
“I can handle Ms. Lange,” Stanton said. “She’ll get an exclusive and more provided she doesn’t mention Anna Clark in the same report as Diana Cresson.”
Will didn’t like that Diana wasn’t going to be prosecuted for Anna’s murder, but he understood why.
The chief frowned. “Is everything kosher, Hooper?”
Will glanced at the closed door. “At least she’ll never get out of prison.”
Whoever was tracking him was smart. Too smart.
Theodore patiently hid in the alley. He detested the foul stench of rotting food and feces, but it was the only place he could hide that provided him with a view of the restaurant where he’d spotted the man for the second time.
His tail was six feet one, broad and lean, with longish black hair pulled back. He looked half Mexican or Cuban, a little like that bodyguard Robin had hired, except thinner and wiry. He didn’t act like a cop, but more dangerous.
Theodore did not like being the prey.
He still had the gun Sara procured for him, since carrying the rifle was too conspicuous when he’d crossed the border with the old folks. He’d also picked up a second gun from the waitress he’d fucked the night before. Had her boss not called and warned her that someone was on his way over he would have been caught.
Theodore wouldn’t go down without a fight, but had no intention of losing any fight.
He hadn’t wanted to go back to San Diego for at least two weeks. He’d planned on crossing into New Mexico, then slowly working his way back to San Diego. Give Robin enough time to go half crazy, wondering when he would come for her.
But that damn asshole had been following him all day. Twice he’d almost got him. Twice Theodore had slipped away. But the cop, or whoever he was, was sly. Cunning. Theodore didn’t think he’d leave Mexico alive if he were caught.
Instincts propelled him forward. Every scent, every sight, every sound was crystal clear. But it wasn’t the sound or sight that saved Theodore’s life. Instead it was a touch, a prickly sensation on his skin. He
He rolled across the alley just as the whiz of a bullet brushed past his head.
The bastard definitely wasn’t a cop. He was an assassin.
Theodore jumped onto a Dumpster and without hesitation grabbed onto the balcony above him and smoothly pulled himself up. Decades of mountain climbing benefited him now as he scaled the old, crumbling brick building. Up, up, up. Grab the next balcony. The lack of safety equipment coupled with the assassin pursuing him gave Theodore a burst of adrenaline that topped everything, even murder. He survived by his own wits and skill, his brains, his strength, his superiority.
From the corner of his eye he saw his pursuer on the building, gaining on him. Fuck that, the bastard moved up the face like a real-life Spider-Man.
Theodore swung over to a narrow window ledge. He took out his gun and fired at the man below him.
Then he kept moving, his fingers raw from the rough stone. He reached up for the roof ledge and rock crumbled. He didn’t look back, didn’t know how close the assassin was, but he must have stalled him for a few seconds.
That was all Theodore needed. He pulled himself up onto the roof, rolled low, jumped up, then ran, leaping across two roofs until he saw a balcony with the window open. Perfect.
He jumped onto the balcony and through the open window. He ran through the rooms until he found a door and let himself out before the owners could even catch a glimpse of him.
He found himself on a street four blocks over from the alley where he’d been hiding from the man who wanted him dead.
Time to disappear.
THIRTY-NINE
“It’s beautiful,” Robin told Isabelle when she walked into the gallery early that afternoon with Will on one side and Mario on the other. The day was overcast with a fifty percent chance of rain later that night, but for now it was dry.
Her excitement from yesterday had been squelched by the message from Glenn, but she was determined to continue with her plans.
Glenn’s words haunted her, but he was right. She wouldn’t know when. And she refused to be a prisoner for the rest of her life.
“Isn’t it?” Isabelle beamed, a little wary of the two tall, armed men. “I decided the halogen lights worked best with your bold colors.”
Twenty-six paintings were on display in all different sizes, with two dramatic eight-foot murals framing the entry. Each painting had its own special lighting. A caterer had been hired to serve champagne and hors d’oeuvres and they were setting up in the small kitchenette in the rear of the gallery.
“Get ready, Robin. The guests are arriving,” Isabelle said excitedly and left to greet them.
“I’ll man the door,” Mario said. “I have one man on the back and two working as caterers.”
“Glenn’s not coming here,” Robin said. “It’s still daylight.”
Will forced her to look at him. “He wrote that to scare you.”
“He wants to kill you.” She swallowed her fears and nerves. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. He’s a master at psychological torture. But you’re stronger than that. I’m not leaving your side, Robin.”
“For the rest of my life? We both have jobs. You can’t be with me every minute of every day. And maybe that’s what he wants, to get us both together-”
“Stop.” Will put his hands on her face, his expression firm, sharing his strength and confidence. She breathed easier.
“Okay.”
“This is your big day. Don’t let that asshole ruin it. We have very competent people looking for him. We’re not dropping this. He killed two cops, Robin, don’t forget that. Cop killers don’t walk.”
She nodded, held his hand against her face. “I’ll be okay.”
Will watched Robin all afternoon. After her moment of fear at the beginning of the art show, she’d put on her game face and was gracious, polite, and professional. He saw through her act, but the performance gave her confidence and strength. He was proud of her.
The gallery was packed, the event obviously a success. As the crowd thinned out, his cell phone rang. It was an unavailable number. He picked it up as he moved to a quieter corner, his eyes still on Robin. “Hooper.”
“Nico. The target has fled.”
“What?”
“The target is no longer in Mexico.”
“What happened? Where is he?”
“I had him in sight twice. The first time he scaled a building and escaped through an unsecured apartment. But I learned where he eluded me. A few bribes later and I had word where he was headed. Almost had him again on a dirt road outside Tijuana. He shot a woman to buy himself time. She would have died if I hadn’t stopped to put on a field dressing.
“I never had him in sight again, though I tracked him to Calexico.”
“When?”
“Two hours ago.”
“And you lost him there?”
Silence. “I couldn’t cross the border. I called in a favor and have him identified as boarding a Greyhound bus
