She eyes my uniform and I say, “You know I’m with the LAPD. Right?” She nods politely when I flip open Petrocelli’s wallet with her badge. With my wig, I look enough like Sherry to satisfy her.

“I appreciate the lift, Officer Petrocelli,” she says. So well-mannered and polite.

“Call me Sherry. The car’s right outside,” I tell her, and we walk through the doors to the parking area where the police cruiser awaits. I open the back door.

“You can put your things back here,” I say, and she does, even her purse, which, I assume holds her phone. While she moves toward the front seat I spy her phone in a pocket of her purse. I remove my hat, and while I’m stowing it on the backseat I pick up her cell phone, click it to off, then tuck it back into the purse as I straighten. She’s already slipping into the passenger seat.

Perfect.

Unafraid, she doesn’t hesitate for a second and I feel a sense of well-being. How long I’ve waited for just this moment. But I can’t get too cocky. Not yet. I’ve got a narrow window of time, so I hurry to the driver’s side. The sooner I drive away from the airport with all its damned security cameras and wannabe cops, the better. I can’t foul up now. Not when I’m so close, so damned close.

“How far is it to the Center?” she asks as she straps on her seat belt and I climb behind the wheel.

“Not far.” I flash her a warm smile. “It’s after rush hour, so it shouldn’t take long. Half an hour at most.”

“Good.”

“Ever been to L.A. before?” I ask.

“Once, a long time ago. In my early twenties. I lived in Arizona—Tucson—for a while. While I was there I drove to San Diego a couple of times, and once I made it to Los Angeles. As I said, it’s been a while.”

Perfect. So she won’t have any real sense of direction. Because she’s not going anywhere near Parker Center.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

How long had they been in this sterile interrogation room? Bentz shifted in the wooden chair, thinking it had been an eternity since he’d talked to Olivia on the phone.

The coffee in front of him had gone cold, but Bentz wasn’t interested. Hayes, who’d been conducting the interview, had stepped out to see if Olivia had arrived. Bentz imagined her sitting in the squad room, waiting patiently. It wasn’t fair to drag her into this, but he was glad she had come. Couldn’t wait to see her. Touch her.