Death Angel

He’d know that, though. If he began getting low on gas, he’d be forced to make a move. Maybe she could stop at a gas station, run inside, and ask for help. Hell, she had a cell phone; she could call 911 and say she was being followed by a strange man.

Except…except she didn’t want to draw a cop’s attention, and a cop would pull both of them over. The license plates on this car weren’t kosher. She’d stolen two million dollars, and even though the cash wasn’t in her possession, she sure as hell didn’t want her name on the cop computer network. Not only that, he was behind her; he could simply say he had no idea who she was; all he was doing was driving down the highway. She didn’t even know his name, so she couldn’t claim he was an ex-boyfriend or whatever.

She checked the rearview again. He was still there, closer than he had been before. He wasn’t gaining fast, but he was gaining.

Had he realized yet that she’d made him? She hadn’t taken any evasive actions, but unless she pulled over, ran into the wheat, and crawled on all fours for the next fifty miles, her options in evasion were limited.

Still, she wasn’t going to give up. She was in a moving vehicle and so was he, so the odds of him getting off an accurate shot were very low. She knew from listening to Rafael and his men talk when they were watching some action movie on television how improbable things like that were. Just to see if they’d known what they were talking about, she’d done some research on it and found that, in this instance, they were right. Even the best snipers in the world had to shoot from a fixed position, or luck mattered more than skill.

Unless he tried to run her off the road, she was safe enough for the moment. If he started closing on her fast, then she’d know he had decided to make his move. She couldn’t let herself panic, because if she did then it was all over. So long as she kept her head, she had a chance.

SHE’D MADE HIM. He knew it as soon as he saw the car gaining speed like a rabbit running from a hound. He also knew the exact moment she reined in her galloping panic and began thinking again, because she let off on the gas and slowed to around sixty.

He was content to lie back and keep her in sight. The miles spun by beneath their tires, and after about an hour they crossed the state line into Colorado, but this part of the state was damn near as flat as Kansas and she didn’t have any opportunity to shake him. He watched the clock, and he watched his fuel gauge. The truck had a bigger gas tank than her car, but it also guzzled gas at a faster clip, so it was a toss-up which of them would need gas first.

He’d have to time his move; as they got farther west the country would get rougher, and nightfall became more imminent. He couldn’t let her get so far ahead that she could cut her headlights and turn off the road-a risky move, but he had no doubt she’d try it. He’d have to tuck in close behind her when it began getting dark, and if she hadn’t been forced to stop for gas by the time his gauge read lower than a quarter of a tank, that was when he’d make his move.

What he did depended on what she did. She could be armed. If she pulled a weapon on him, then he’d have no choice in the matter and he’d take her out. His own weapon, a Glock 17, lay on the seat beside his right thigh. He didn’t worry about being caught with a weapon; he had a federal license that would pass inspection by any cop, state or local. The license was fake, but discovering that would take digging through several layers of camouflage. The weapon had no serial number on it, couldn’t be traced to him, and if he needed to he’d ditch it without a second thought.

The time was fast approaching when he’d have to make up his mind. Take her out, or peel off and go back to New York? Why go to this much trouble unless he intended to do the job? Amusement and entertainment weren’t good reasons for being here. He was spending too much time and money following her unless he collected his fee at the end of the ride.

None of his previous targets had meant anything to him, pro or con. Human life, as a theory, was no more valuable to him than, say, the life of a housefly. His hits weren’t motivated by notions of right and wrong, politics, religion, love, hate, or anything else other than the fee he earned. Drea, though, was…different. He knew her, and not just physically, though their skin chemistry was stronger than anything he’d ever experienced before.

He knew her intelligence, knew her guts and her determination. She was a fighter, a survivor. He hadn’t seen her relaxed, completely herself, but then he suspected she hadn’t let down her guard in years. She had decided on her course of action, then never looked back.

He might disagree with the wisdom of hooking up with someone like Rafael Salinas, but he didn’t know what Drea’s circumstances had been before. Maybe Salinas was a huge step up, though that was difficult to fathom. Salinas was a thug; smarter than most, but still a thug. For Drea to keep up her act, without a single false note, for as long as she had indicated a level of self-discipline he hadn’t seen before-except in himself.

Was that why he’d hesitated for so long? Because he saw something in her that reminded him of himself? Not his lack of emotion, because Drea had enough emotion for the both of them, but the things she’d hidden from Salinas were what he saw and enjoyed. Maybe that was why he hadn’t yet taken action. On the other hand, he hadn’t yet told Salinas where to wire his down payment, either, and he didn’t do a job until he verified the specified amount was in his account.

Everything kept circling back to the same thing: yes, or no? Do the job, or drive away? Let her go, or take the two million?

If he didn’t take the job, Salinas would send someone else after her. But she had a big head start, and once she had her stolen millions in cash her options were pretty much unlimited. If she got caught, it would be through pure bad luck. The only way she’d be truly safe, was if Salinas thought she was dead.