From under the clipboard he pulled out a gun. It had a long, broad barrel that glistened under the same refracted light that made the road seem ethereal. There was nothing beautiful about it.

“Oh!” Imogen said. It was all her mind could come up with while it was feverishly computing the information her senses fed it. She was thinking: Joe Hunter has killed all of my enemies, so what’s this about? She should have been thinking how to get out of this alive. Then there was no more time for thinking, or for anything.

The man lifted the gun and shot her once in the chest.

Chapter 10

10

There is a belief among soldiers that a highly tuned warrior exists in a state of readiness that transcends the norm. On high alert, all the senses thrum and, combined, they supersede anything that any of the individual senses can assimilate. This super sense is what warns the soldier of ambush, of a silent assassin’s approach, of impending death. Such is the belief that studies have been conducted and scientists have designated this state Rapid Intuitive Experience. Fancifully it has been deemed some kind of ESP. I’ve experienced RIE on too many occasions to dismiss it out of hand, but I don’t consider myself psychic or even any more intuitive than anyone else. Never had I given credibility to anything like premonitions or crisis apparitions.

Until now, that was.

Not only was I in danger, but so were members of my family. My brother John was hidden deep in a witness protection program, out of harm’s way, but my parents and my ex-wife, Diane, were over in England, not necessarily out of reach of those trying to hurt me. Despite us divorcing, in my own way I still loved Diane, and to think of anything like that happening to her was enough to make me feel sick. I had to get a warning to her, set up some protection for her and my parents, but there was a more pressing matter.

Lately I’d shared a couple of telephone calls with Imogen Ballard, the sister of a woman I’d been intimate with. Kate Piers had died when I failed to keep her safe, but her sister didn’t blame me. We’d talked, sharing our grief, and I’d even been up to Maine on a weekend visit. I had the feeling that Imogen wanted more from me, but I still missed Kate too much for that. We were only friends, but that wouldn’t mean a thing. Whoever was setting me up could have gained the wrong impression and perhaps set out to hurt Imogen, the way they’d done to the families of the other members of our team.

I had a flash image of Imogen’s face. She was lying on her back in some desolate place, glassy-eyed, mouth open . . . dead.