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Dr. Keller had a very brief impulse to call security. Then rationality returned; “security” was a fifty-eight-year-old retired cop with a beer belly and a bad back. And this man in front of her . . . Dr. Keller felt a quick shiver run through her. It wasn’t worth it. The papers were in order, and she wanted this man to go away as quickly as possible. “All right,” she said. “She’s in Room 243. Have a safe trip.”

Arthur Kondor nodded. “Thank you, Doctor,” he said.

* * *


It was all going very smoothly, and that made Frank Delgado nervous. He watched from the far corner of the parking lot as Arthur Kondor led his team into the facility. He did not recognize Kondor, but Frank knew what he was. The way he walked, on the balls of his feet, the way he managed to take in the entire area without appearing to really look, and the intangible something Kondor radiated; these were as familiar to any agent of the FBI as their own face. This man was violent trouble, a professional who would not hesitate to do whatever he needed to do in order to accomplish his goal. He was exactly the kind of man Riley Wolfe would hire for something like this.

And Delgado watched as, half an hour later, Kondor walked out of the building beside the gurney carrying “Mrs. Cleaver.” He watched as they lifted her into the medical transport, labeled “GREELEY MEDICAL TRANSPORT” on the side in large blue letters. And he watched as the attendants closed the back door and climbed in. Kondor took one last look around the area and then climbed into the front passenger’s seat. A moment later, the vehicle backed up, turned, and headed out toward the interstate.

Delgado did not follow. There was no need. The trackers he’d put in place would do the job for him. He hadn’t really even needed to be there at all. But he had wanted to be there, just to watch. Because with Riley Wolfe, nothing at all was certain. Not ever.

But it had all gone exactly as it should. There was absolutely no reason to think Riley’s men had suspected anything.

Delgado switched on the GPS tracker on the seat beside him. It beeped reassuringly, and the screen lit up to show the medical transport, half a mile away and receding, exactly as it should. All perfect.

So why did it all make him uneasy?

No reason at all. It was just nerves, overall paranoia—justified paranoia when dealing with Riley Wolfe. Delgado had been so close, so many times, and every time Wolfe slipped away, usually with some mocking farewell gesture that left Delgado completely deflated. And now, when everything was going smoothly . . .

Of course he was uneasy. Experience demanded that he be a little anxious. But everything indicated that this time would be different. Sooner or later it had to work out. Why not this time?

Delgado looked again at the GPS tracker. It beeped again. The transport was up onto the interstate now, and two other agents would pick it up there and follow. All according to plan.

He took a deep breath and thought, Am I really a step ahead this time?

He was. He had to be. This time, he would get Riley Wolfe.

Delgado let out his breath, put the car in gear, and headed out.

28

Goddamn it—no! No way! It’s the stupidest goddamn thing I ever heard!” Monique said. “And you come in here and just lay this out like— You’re completely insane, you know that?”

And the cocky bastard nodded and smiled. “I thought I might be, yeah,” he said.

Monique felt the anger boil up, and she let it spill over. “Fuck you, Riley! Don’t you dare smirk at me—not when you’re coming at me with this half-assed, crazy bullshit!”

“It’s not half-assed,” he said calmly. “It’s totally got a full ass.”

“Fuck you!”

“You said that already.”

“I meant it! And I still do! You arrogant, stupid, miserable, rotten smirking prick!”

“Smirking prick—now, there’s a disturbing image,” he said.

She ignored him. “You self-centered sack of shit! It’s bad enough when you risk your own life—”

“Really? So you do care!”

“I care about not getting killed in some idiotic scheme fucking around with some of the most dangerous people in the world!”

Riley looked serious now as he said, “It is dangerous, Monique. I admit that. But it’s the only way.”

Monique sputtered for a moment, trying to find coherent words when all she really wanted to do was screech, throw things, and kick Riley Wolfe in the head. Instead, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then let it out. When she opened her eyes he was still right there, still watching her soberly. “Jesus. Listen to me. Why is it I’m always mad when you’re around?” she said. “I don’t like being mad.”

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