Cars were parked on both sides of the street, and a man in an orange T-shirt pushed a hand mower across the wedge of grass that made up his front lawn. She drove another few blocks and spotted the Tesla on a cross street off to her right. Another quick turn and the car had disappeared. Graham wanted her to believe he could get away from her anytime he chose. Just as well he didn’t know Piper had been taking rigorous courses in offensive, defensive, and high-speed driving—another strain on her budget, but skills she hoped she’d need. Too much aggression on Esmerelda’s part would send the wrong message, and she backed off. Besides, she was fairly certain where he’d end up.

Sure enough, he arrived at his gym not much later. She waved to him from her perch across the street. He threw her a glare, and she responded with the peace sign. Barmy, not dangerous. He stalked into the building.

For the rest of the afternoon, she followed him. She gave him plenty of room so he wouldn’t get too uptight. He stayed away from the rougher parts of the city where she’d twice seen him in intimate conversations with street corner drug dealers. Hard to believe he’d have to buy his drugs off the street, but she’d jotted down each encounter in her log for her client to see.

Late in the afternoon, he disappeared into a mirrored-glass building on North Wacker that housed a major investment group. She knew Graham was looking for financing to start a national franchise of high-end nightclubs with other famous athletes at the helm. Since he had more money than the Illinois treasury, he could probably finance a big chunk of it himself, but Graham wanted buy-in from the business community. She wished she knew more about what made him tick. Why didn’t he take over an island somewhere and live the rest of his life smoking dope on the beach?

Eventually, he emerged. As he walked toward the parking lot, the sunlight played in his hair, and the building’s mirrored surface reflected his long, sure stride. She didn’t like noticing those things about a man with so many objectionable qualities: his smug self-confidence, his air of entitlement... his outrageous net worth.

Afternoon rush hour had picked up. He knew Chicago’s shortcuts nearly as well as she did, and he took the side streets on his way back to Lakeview. For no apparent reason, his Tesla slowed to a crawl on a one-way street a few blocks from Ashland. His arm shot out through the driver’s side window, and he hooked what looked like a small grenade over the roof of the car. It landed in a barren patch of land between a nail salon and a bail bonds office. Three more of the missiles followed, and then the Tesla drove on.