“I think we need to force their hand,” said Hansen, finding it hard to believe he had spoken these words.

“Interesting thought,” murmured Erin. A few seconds later her voice picked up enthusiasm. “I know. What if you called the cops on them?”

“They may be cops. Plainclothes. Remember, Fuller has everyone involved.”

“Maybe. But I doubt it. I think we should do it.”

“Okay,” said Hansen. “It’s definitely worth a try. If we’re lucky the cops will respond quickly. When they get here, I’ll call you. While these guys are distracted by the cops, you can sneak around the building and I’ll pick you up.”

Erin sighed deeply, and he knew she didn’t like it.

No kidding. He didn’t like it either. It was a crappy plan. But since it was currently their only plan, it would have to do. Hansen should have known that just because his face wasn’t on TV, this didn’t mean those after Erin had forgotten about him. He had been stupid not to think of this. And here he was, patting himself on the back. He was too far out of his league to even know how far out of his league he was.

Hansen hung up and called 911. He was a guest in the Saguaro Inn, he explained, and overheard two men talking about jumping some pretty girl in room one forty-eight. They sounded deadly serious. They were in the parking lot, in a car, stalking her now. Could the police send over a car to check it out? He said he wanted to stay anonymous and hung up before anyone could ask questions.

He pulled up to a curb and became one of six or seven parked cars spaced along its edge. A sidewalk a few feet in from the curb paralleled it and ran in a ruler-straight line for a significant distance in both directions.

Hansen turned off the car, leaving the keys in the ignition, slumped down low in the seat so he would be as inconspicuous as possible, and surveyed the Saguaro Inn parking lot off in the distance. He was far enough away where he was confident he wouldn’t be spotted, but close enough that he could see a single person, even though only as a tiny, nondescript object. He wondered if the cops would really come, and if so, how long it would take them. Hopefully no more than five or ten minutes.

Hansen kept his eyes on the entire lot, which he could easily view panoramically from this distance, and played out what would happen in his head. At least what he hoped would happen. The cops would come, carefully surveying each car in the parking lot. The two men who had been so chatty with the front desk clerk would likely be in one of them. The cops would approach cautiously, ask them to step out of the car, and then ask for ID. Would the cops frisk them? Was that legal? After all, the cops wouldn’t have a warrant, and only an anonymous 911 call would have implicated the suspects in any wrongdoing.

Anyway, it didn’t matter. The moment Hansen saw cops approaching any car with a purpose, he would alert Erin to break for the backside of the motel.

He had only been parked for a minute or two, but he was becoming more and more uneasy by the second. He felt so helpless. What would he do if the two men did break for the door to room one forty-eight? He had better have a plan.

These men were very professional, so they must have a reason for their delay. Erin had suggested they might somehow know he was out and were waiting for him to return. There was no question the front desk clerk, Whitney, would be as helpful as possible to the man who had questioned her. But when Hansen had left the premises to buy a car, he had purposely boarded the cab well out of her sight.

A horrible thought hit him with the force of a high-caliber bullet to the gut. Shit! he thought, as his stomach began churning. Just how helpful had Whitney been? Had she told them that he had returned to the lobby after checking in to use her computer?

Of course she had. And this information would be like waving raw steak in front of a tiger. The professionals after them would take the obvious next steps immediately.

Hansen’s heart thundered in his chest, and for a moment the entire world seemed to spin around him.

He had failed to erase his browsing history.

He’d bet his life these men now knew exactly what car he had bought. What an idiot he had been!

Hansen had fancied himself stealthy, off the radar, but now he imagined dozens of eyes on him, laughing at his false sense of security. He rapidly scanned the area and then carefully examined his mirrors.

Two men, in their late twenties and very fit, were fifty feet behind him, walking along the sidewalk, seemingly engaged in quiet conversation and not paying the slightest attention to any of the cars parked on the street.

Hansen had absolutely no doubt they were coming for him. And if he hadn’t just now realized the people after them knew what car he had bought, he would have been oblivious.

Hansen turned the key in the ignition with more urgency than he had ever felt before and glanced toward the motel, where two men had just exited a car and were stretching and milling about.

Their strategy was so clear to him now. The men approaching him would take him out—eliminating Erin’s early warning system—and then the men in the parking lot would take her out seconds later, relying on precision timing.

Hansen peeled away from the curb like a Formula One race car reacting to the starting gun. The men behind him immediately broke into a sprint and began shooting, hitting his back windshield but missing with further shots as the car raced away down the street. The two men tore after him with remarkable speed, but they had started well behind, and even with the poor acceleration of the Malibu they quickly receded behind him.

Hansen called Erin, who answered on the first ring. “Two men are on their way to your room,” he said breathlessly. “Do whatever you have to do to slow them down. I’m on my way in the car.”

He accelerated around the corner to the parking lot. Should he meet her around back, as planned?

The instant he thought this he rejected it. Penned in the way she was, the odds of her ever making it out of the room were not good, despite the fact that they had to come to her and her file had said she was a skilled marksman.

Hansen gunned the engine, knowing in his heart that only a bold frontal assault would win the day. They had expected to take him out of the equation before they went for her. Now he would use the only weapon available to him: the Blue Medusa. He and Erin were all out of other options.

As he approached the parking lot several earsplitting gunshots rang out, accompanied by an explosion of shattering glass. Erin had opened the drapes just enough to see out of and was firing the weapon she had taken from the downed man in the student union.

One of her assailants went down, shot in the forearm. Erin had shot him so that his gun went flying and he would now have to use his left hand to fire any further, but had not done any permanent damage to him. From such close range, Hansen was fairly certain she could have put a hole through his forehead. But she apparently couldn’t bring herself to do this, regardless of the stakes, since these could well have been good men who had been misled by Fuller.

As soon as the wounded attacker fell to the pavement, his partner dived to the side, just as another round exploded from room one forty-eight and came within a millimeter of his thigh.

He continued to roll across the unforgiving concrete for fifteen or twenty feet before stopping. Just as he rose to make a move, Hansen was on him, driving the car into and through his body.

The man was an incredible athlete. He had just avoided a gunshot and had virtually no warning but managed to dive onto the hood of the Malibu and roll up on the curved front windshield, deflecting the force of the strike. He rolled off the side of the car and crashed hard onto the cement.