Alan parked near the helicopter and motioned for the pilot, now standing outside of the aircraft, to walk over to the car. As he neared the driver’s side, Erin shot Alan in the neck with a tranquilizer dart and jumped out of the backseat, training the gun on the pilot as Alan slumped forward against the steering wheel.

The pilot raised his hands without being asked.

“Inside the helicopter,” she ordered. “Let’s go.”

The pilot glanced at his colleague slumped over in the seat, and nodded.

They entered the helicopter, which was as opulent as Erin had guessed. The passenger cabin was spacious and contained cushioned captain’s chairs, made of soft, ivory-colored leather, well spread out and with enough leg room to satisfy a seven-footer, along with a bar, cabinetry, and large-screen television. The pilot quickly made his way through the luxurious cabin on his way to the cockpit, with Erin maintaining a safe distance behind him.

“Get this thing in the air!” she demanded the instant he reached the cockpit. “Now!” Erin had so much adrenaline coursing through her body she wondered if she could rocket into the sky without the aircraft.

The pilot worked several switches and the blades on top of the helicopter began to turn, quickly picking up speed. Moments later the flying limousine left the confines of gravity behind and lifted gently into the air.

“Where to?” shouted the pilot. Neither one of them had bothered putting on headphones to facilitate conversation.

Good question, thought Erin. She knew she would have to be her sharpest to get out of whatever it was she had gotten herself into. While adrenaline muddled the thoughts of some, for her it had the opposite effect. When she was giving a presentation in front of a large crowd, the adrenaline would hit, and suddenly she was more articulate than she had ever been, constructing dazzling sentences during tough stretches of the talk that had tripped her up in rehearsal.

“Just gain altitude,” she shouted back to the pilot. “I’ll let you know in a minute.”

So where would she go? Could the chopper make it all the way from San Diego to Tucson? And if so, how long would this take?

She shook her head. Bad idea.

She considered ditching her cell phone so they couldn’t use it to track her, but her instincts told her to save it for later. After all, they had to be able to track their own helicopter, using a transponder, or whatever you called those things aircraft carried that broadcast their locations.

So knowing they would track her, what did that suggest?

First, she needed a short trip, so they wouldn’t have time to guess where she was going and plan a welcoming party, or send another helicopter after her. Second, since they would know exactly where she was, she needed to be able to get lost quickly after she landed. If she landed in the middle of a desert, she could never hide. But if she landed in the middle of a major city …

“Fly to downtown LA,” she shouted. “At best possible speed. I’ll tell you where to land.”

The pilot nodded, eyeing her gun warily. The helicopter banked and shot northwest.

“How long?” she shouted.

The pilot shrugged. “About thirty minutes.”

She knew he could land on top of a flat building or skyscraper, with or without a helipad. But after thinking it through she decided against it. Landing on an actual helipad might be the better play.

So where would you find a helipad in the middle of a busy city? After a few minutes, she had it.

They rode in silence, other than the steady beating of the blades, and Erin focused on staying alert and keeping the pilot in her sights. When downtown LA came into view off in the distance, she said, “Take us to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in West Hollywood. Land at their helipad.”

“You know I won’t have clearance,” shouted the pilot. “What if another helo is landing or taking off?”

“Then try not to hit it,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Five minutes later they landed at the helipad, a large circular expanse of concrete with a six-foot-wide yellow strip painted all around its circumference. The second the blades began to slow, Erin shot the pilot in the leg with a tranquilizer dart.

She still couldn’t believe she was doing any of this, but this was no time to be squeamish. The pilot would be just fine, which she wasn’t at all sure was true in her case. She opened a glossy, lacquered storage compartment, shoved the Sig Sauer and tranquilizer gun inside, and then exited the craft.

The helipad had a fantastic view of the Hollywood Hills, interrupted only by a large Macy’s next door, but she didn’t have time to enjoy the scenery. Fortunately, the helipad was currently deserted and she rushed through a door and into the hospital.

Minutes later she exited the facility and made a beeline for Macy’s. She quickly purchased an entirely new outfit, the least expensive clothing she could find, including socks, shoes, panties, and even a baseball cap, and changed, throwing her own clothing away.

She knew she was being ridiculously paranoid, but she had read too many books, and watched too many movies, in which the bad guys had managed to plant tracking devices on the hero’s clothing—which is exactly what she had planned for her meeting with Drake, an irony that wasn’t entirely lost on her. And the penalty for being too paranoid wasn’t nearly as high as the penalty for not being paranoid enough. Besides, even if they couldn’t track her clothing, if she kept it on it would help them identify her, whereas this new clothing might throw them off.

She was about to leave the store when she thought better of it. Instead, she bought an additional T-shirt and tied it into a ball around her phone as she exited onto the sidewalk. She scanned the busy streets around her, looking for both a taxi and a pickup truck. She spotted the pickup truck first and tossed the cotton shirt-ball, with her cell phone inside, into the open bed of the truck as it passed. As she had hoped, the shirt muffled the sound of this maneuver and of the phone sliding around in the back well enough that she doubted the driver would realize he was hauling extra cargo. With any luck, this pickup truck would draw pursuit away from her and buy her additional time.

Three minutes later she caught a cab. “Take me to the main bus terminal,” she said as she slid into the backseat.

The driver, a swarthy, unshaven man with a huge gut said, “You mean the Greyhound terminal?”

“Um … yeah. That’s the one,” she said.

As they drove, Erin thought about her next move. It could be that she had vastly overestimated the trouble she was in, the resources this organization had, and their interest in her. But then again, maybe she hadn’t. She felt she had no choice but to assume they would spare no effort to locate her—although she still couldn’t begin to hazard a guess as to why.

But if they were as capable as she feared, they would know she had landed in LA and would camp out at LAX. They also might be able to trace her if she tried to rent a car.

Which left a bus. She couldn’t imagine they would expect this move. No one took buses anymore. She was proud of herself for coming up with the idea. Even if they did guess she would take a bus, she hoped the last destination they would expect her to choose was the most obvious: Tucson, Arizona.

But this was where she would go, purchasing her ticket with cash.

After all, she had a date with the man who had called himself Hugh Raborn. And it was one she still intended to keep.

14

THE BUS DIDN’T arrive in Tucson until just after midnight. It was an agonizing trip. Erin only managed to sleep for two or three hours and felt naked without her phone. And these were the least of her worries.

She considered going to the police, but knew she couldn’t. Not until she had an idea of what she was dealing with. She had been responsible for the death of three men. This fact impacted her more now than it ever had. She had avoided thinking about this for some time, but she was a murderer. Plain and simple.