“Well,” she said, “you’ve put me in the perfect position for blackmail, and you could obviously threaten my life. So let’s cut to the chase. What strength of mine do you want to exploit, and what do I get out of it? What’s my win-win?”

Mobius grinned. “We have certain shared objectives at the moment. Kruger is an independent contractor who betrayed me, which cannot be tolerated. After the incident at the squatter camp, for which you rightly deduced his involvement, he fell off the grid. Went a bit mad from what I gather. In the course of that, he lapsed on three separate contracts for me. Allowing such malfeasance would set a bloody awful precedent to the rest of those under my employ.”

“Can’t have the hammers and screwdrivers thinking for themselves and doing whatever they want.”

“Precisely. I can’t tell you who Kruger was working for, but I can tell you where to find him now and give you the resources and assistance needed to avenge the death of your would-be son.”

“It’s not just about him,” she said.

“I don’t really care. I simply know that you’re a good detective who wants to find and eliminate a thorn in my side. Why should I pay someone to do so—and those chaps can be quite pricey—when you are eager to kill Kruger for free? You see. Win-win.”

She considered the offer, thought about what she had become. She had betrayed her department, her oath, all she had once believed. All for vengeance or justice or closure or whatever some part of her needed to achieve to keep her sanity. And then she thought of Christopher’s warning about selling her soul to the devil, that Mobius would draw out the evil in her. Maybe the evil was all she had left.

“Tell me everything you know about Kruger.”

“Does that mean you accept my offer? My assistance for Kruger’s head?”

“I’ll do your dirty work, but that doesn’t mean you own me.”

“Of course not. I’m just leasing you.”

The van rolled to a stop, and she heard the driver’s door open. Then the van’s sliding door parted to reveal an airstrip and a sleek and expensive-looking private jet. She also noticed Christopher’s silver BMW sitting off to the side of the runway.

“It’s one of my Gulfstream G650s, supposed to be the fastest private jet on the market,” Mobius said. “Top speed of 704 miles per hour, but I’ve had my people do some upgrades. So with in-flight refueling, you should be able to make it to Las Vegas in about twelve to fourteen hours, give or take. That won’t leave you much time. My sources say that Kruger has hired a mutual associate known as Fitzgerald, whose specialty is smuggling fugitives and sensitive cargo out of and into the United States. Mr. Christopher will fill you in on the rest of the details. And don’t doddle, you’ll only have a matter of hours before Kruger disappears forever.”