Once inside the car, I locked the doors and took a deep breath, calming that part of me that was screaming “what the hell are you doing?” Escaping, taking refuge, turning down a fight—not things I was accustomed to. I had to clasp my hands around the steering wheel to keep from throwing open the door and going after him.

But in this case, the instinctive choice wasn’t the wise one. So I glued my butt to the car seat, eyes on the mirrors, making sure no one snuck up on me, and concentrated on planning my next move.

Would he try again? I wouldn’t. Even if the mark appeared unaware of the situation, an aborted hit meant a failed attempt. I’d try another way in another place. But, having seen him head back toward the building, I guessed he wasn’t leaving yet.

If he was staying, then so was I.

I backed out and found the exit, then sandwiched the car between a minivan and an SUV, and waited.

Now came the big question. Who was trying to kill me? Start with “who knew I was here?” First, Jack. While I didn’t like the idea of suspecting him, that didn’t stop me from working it through objectively. But he’d only known Evelyn and I were visiting a former Nikolaev thug at a jail. We hadn’t given him a name or location, and he hadn’t asked. He’d also thought I was coming here with Evelyn, so if he set a hitman on my trail, it would be to kill both of us, which made no sense.

Then there was Evelyn. She knew exactly where I was and that I was alone. Why kill me? With Evelyn, I didn’t dare speculate on motivation. I didn’t know her well enough. But she was a viable suspect and I couldn’t discount her.

There was a third possibility—another person who knew we were coming to visit Nicky Volkv: the guy who sent us here. Maybe we’d stumbled onto the solution to the Helter Skelter killer mystery without knowing it—he was a hitman hired by the Nikolaevs to clean up some unfinished business.

If that was the case, then this man following me had to be the Helter Skelter killer himself. Hitmen are predators, in the purest sense of the word. Most don’t get a charge out of killing a mark, no more than a lion enjoys taking down a deer. It is a means to an end, a method of survival. As a human predator, we are at the top of the food chain. We hunt. We are not hunted.