“It’s good for me,” Holly said.

Stone nodded.

The three of them got out of the car, approached the building, and let themselves through the front door, which had had the bolt taped open. Lance put a finger to his lips, then led the way quietly to the fourth floor. He ducked under the peephole and took up a position on the left side of the door, while Stone took the right side. Lance nodded at Holly.

Holly rapped lightly on the door. No response. She rapped harder, then turned around.

“Who’s there?” a muffled voice said from inside.

“Escort service,” Holly replied, her back still to the door.

They could hear the rattle of the chain being undone, and the door opened an inch. “We didn’t call for anybody,” he said.

Simultaneously, Lance and Stone rushed the door, knocking the man off his feet. They ran into the room, guns at arm’s length, with Holly behind them.

The man on the floor wasn’t Trini, and there were three other men in the room, two of them pointing guns at Lance, Stone, and Holly. Trini was there, but he had no gun.

“Freeze, FBI!” one of the armed men shouted.

“Police!” Holly yelled, showing her badge. “I have a warrant for Rodriguez! Let’s see some ID.”

An agent reached for his ID without disturbing his aim. “Who are these two guys?”

Stone showed them his Orchid Beach badge.

“Fellow traveler,” Lance said. “Can we all stop pointing guns at each other?”

The agents didn’t move, and now the one they had knocked down was on his feet with a gun, too.

Holly got the warrant out of her purse and held it up for them to see. “This is a fugitive warrant from the State of Florida for Trini Rodriguez. I’m taking him back for trial on multiple murder charges.”

“Okay, everybody relax,” the agent said. “Holster your weapons.”

The FBI men did so, and Holly, Stone, and Lance complied.

“All right, lady,” the agent said, “just hang on a minute. Can I see your ID again?”

Holly handed him the wallet with her badge and ID.

“Okay, Chief, I’ve got to make a phone call.” He picked up a phone on the coffee table and dialed a number. “Put me through to Harrison,” he said. He tapped his foot for a moment, then practically came to attention. “Mr. Harrison, this is Carson, at the Eighty-eighth Street apartment. I’ve got a lady cop here who’s shown me a fugitive warrant for our guest.”

Holly turned her attention to Trini, who was staring at her as though he’d like to strangle her. “You’re all done, Trini,” she said. “You’re mine now.”

Trini managed an evil smile. “We’ll see,” he said. “I’m going to kill you, after I’ve fucked you a few times, and I’m going to kill your daddy and your dog, too.”

“I can’t wait for you to try,” Holly said.

“Yes, sir,” the agent was saying. “I’ll convey that to her.” He hung up the phone and turned to Holly. “Your warrant is superceded by an existing federal warrant and national security considerations. I’ll have to ask you and your people to leave.”

“What do you mean, a federal warrant? Let’s see it.”

“It’s on file in our New York office. I can have it faxed to you tomorrow, if you’ll give me a number. In the meantime, my orders are to ask you to leave this apartment, and if you refuse, to arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

“Now you listen to me,” Holly said.

Stone spoke up. “Holly.”

“What?”

“We have to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“We have to leave, or we’re going to end up in the federal detention center downtown.”

“He’s right, Holly,” Lance said, taking her by the elbow and steering her toward the door.

Stone took her other elbow and they got her into the hall. The door was closed firmly behind them, and they heard locks turning.

“Thanks for the support, guys,” Holly said.

“Stone is right, Holly. You’re in a bad position legally.”

They had started down the stairs.

“Holly,” Stone said, “if you want him, you’re going to have to go to a federal judge and get a court order vacating Trini’s Witness Protection status and giving your warrant precedence.”

“How long will that take?” Holly asked as they were leaving the building.

“The U.S. Attorney’s office will fight it. There’ll be a hearing-maybe more than one. Weeks, at least.”

They got into the car.

“Or,” Lance said, “you could just kill him.”

Holly grinned. “You sure know how to make a girl feel better,” she said.

THE THREE OF them sat in Lance’s car, half a block from the building. They had been waiting for half an hour.

“Why do we think they’re coming out soon?” Holly asked.

“Because they’re not going to keep him in a place that’s no longer safe from you,” Lance replied. “They’ll get him out as soon as they can arrange another location.”

Another half an hour passed, then a dark van turned into the block and stopped in front of the building. There was a radio antenna on top. A moment later, Trini and the four FBI agents came out of the building, two of them carrying suitcases.

“You were right, Lance,” Stone said. “They’re moving him.”

Lance spoke to his driver. “Follow the van, but stay well back.”

The van pulled away, went around the block, and turned down Second Avenue. Traffic was fairly heavy. They followed it down Second Avenue to Sixty-sixth Street, where it turned right and drove west, continuing through Central Park.

“Looks like they’re moving him to the West Side,” Stone said. “I wonder why they still have him in New York? Why didn’t they send him to Minneapolis or Seattle or someplace no one would think to look for him?”

“Because somebody as exotic-looking as Trini would stand out like a sore thumb in a white-bread city,” Lance replied. “They’d send him to the Southwest. Except they haven’t, of course.”

The van left the park and continued west to Eleventh Avenue, then turned downtown.

“Maybe Chelsea?” Stone said.

“Maybe not,” Lance replied. “Let’s wait and see.”

As the van approached Forty-second Street it moved to the left lane.

“They’re headed for the Holland Tunnel,” Stone said.

The van turned left, then right and went into the tunnel.

“Stay well back,” Lance reiterated.

The van left the tunnel and got onto Route 3 West.

“This is starting to seem familiar,” Stone said.

“What do you mean?” Lance asked.

“It’s the route I take to Teterboro Airport.”

“Ahhh,” Lance said. “Maybe they’re really moving him.”

The van turned north on Route 17.

“Yep,” Stone said.

A few miles along, the van turned right at the airport sign.

“Okay, which FBO?” Lance asked.

“The big ones are Atlantic, Millionaire, First, and Signature,” Stone said. “They’re all on the west side of the field.”

“They’re turning into Millionaire,” Lance said.

“Better stop here. They’ll check IDs at the gate. Driver, continue on to Atlantic Aviation.”

“Why?” Lance asked.

“Because I can get us onto the field there,” Stone said. He got out his NYPD badge and his Teterboro ID card, and in a moment they were being buzzed through the gate to the ramp. “Turn off your lights, turn right, and drive slowly south until you get to the Millionaire ramp.”

They drove on for a hundred yards.

“Stop,” Lance said, pointing. “Only one airplane ready for takeoff.” He dug a pair of small binoculars out of the glove compartment and trained them on the airplane. “Can’t see the registration number.”

“Just wait,” Stone said. “The airplane will turn right as it leaves the ramp, and you’ll be able to see it.”

The door to the jet closed, and it began to taxi. As Stone had predicted, it turned right.

“Got it,” Lance said, jotting down the number. “Don’t move the car, just let them taxi right past us.” He got out his cell phone and pressed a speed-dial number. “This is Echo 4141,” he said. “I need the current flight plan for the following aircraft registration number.” He read out the tail number. “It will be activated at Teterboro, New Jersey, momentarily. I need the destination and any stops in between.” He put a hand over the phone. “They’re logging on the FAA’s Air Traffic Control computer now,” he said to the backseat. “Yes? Thank you. I’d like a trace on the aircraft in case it changes destinations, and I’d like to know what time it is projected to land. Right.” He hung up. “Their destination is Santa Fe, New Mexico,” he said.