He’d ditched his car after retrieving his weapons, replaced it with an unremarkable Ford Taurus he’d hot-wired, and taken up the hunt for his wayward wife. It was a decision that had come easy to his mind, even if it meant giving up his opportunity to finish Joe Hunter once and for all. When he’d seen Hunter at the diner he’d been momentarily confused: judging by the commotion, Hunter and his two friends had been involved in the gun battle that had torn the place apart. Yet—confused or not—he’d also seen his chance to blast Hunter to death. The only thing that had stopped him was his desire to finish things with Alisha first. The hit on Hunter was professional, about the money, but Alisha’s betrayal had stung him where it really hurt: his ego. Hunter had been taken into custody by the cops arriving at the scene, but not in the manner befitting a suspected cop killer. So had the big plan been a waste of time as he’d suspected? Rickard was optimistic enough to think that Hunter would be free within hours and another opening would present itself to take him out. So, straightening things with Alisha came first.

A quick check of the area behind the strip mall showed that Alisha had only one feasible escape route. He found the window where she’d crawled out of the restroom in a service alley that was blocked at one end by a large steel fence, beyond which construction of another building was taking place. The fence hadn’t been breached. Even if there had been a way through, the land beyond was full of trenches and semi-erected foundations from which jutted steel wires: unwelcoming terrain for a barefoot young woman. She had to have left the alleyway the same way in which he’d entered. He backtracked, searched for dusty footprints on the pavement and saw a couple of fresh scuffs next to a public telephone kiosk. A quick glance inside the booth showed a prominently displayed notice advertising a local taxicab company. Rickard dropped quarters into the slot, hit the redial button and asked for a cab.

A few minutes later his driver arrived. Rickard made inquiries with the driver, money changed hands and Rickard knew where Alisha had been headed. He thanked the driver, then shot him in the nape of the neck. After taking back the cash he’d handed over, he quickly left the area, found the Taurus and took up the chase.

And now here he was in Liberty City, a suburb of Miami, watching from a distance as Alisha limped toward a house on a street where gangstas stood brazenly on a wooden porch watching for police spies. Alisha passed them with her head down, ignoring the remarks made by the men, who added color to their comments by way of hand gestures. She knocked on the front door.