She backed slowly out of the narrow driveway, looked over all the cars parked in the pleasant middle-class neighborhood, didn’t see anything suspicious. Everyone was inside, eating dinner, staying warm. She headed out.

Olivia turned onto Wilton Avenue and into traffic, and again, checked her rearview. She saw no one following.

She pulled into the Willow Springs strip mall. Not many people about except the few inside the pizza place. She parked, dashed into the awesome warmth, heard her stomach growl at the divine smells. She breathed them in, gave her name, chatted with the counter girl while she waited, a perky eighteen-year-old, if that, and paid. She walked out carrying two pizza boxes and cheese sticks for Helmut, and again, she paused, looked all around her. She saw a young couple hurrying toward the Mexican restaurant, another man hurrying to his car. Nothing suspicious.

She slid into her RAV4, turned on the heat, and got ready to back out. A man’s voice, with a French accent, came from behind her.

“You did not think we could get to you, did you?” Olivia felt the cold muzzle of a pistol at the base of her skull.

“How did you find me?” Was that her voice, so calm and steady?

A moment of silence, then the man said, “Reach for your weapon, slowly, and give it to me.” He dug the muzzle into her neck. “Do it, now. If you try anything stupid, believe me, you will regret it.” He held out his right hand.

Actions and consequences sped through her mind. She realized she didn’t have a chance, not now. She passed him her Glock. “How?”

He said close to her ear, “Nice red Porsche the federal cop drives. Easy to follow.”

28

Olivia

She heard Agent Cliff’s voice from the Farm, telling her to blank out fear, to focus on what would come next. Gay would worry soon something had happened, try to call her. Then he’d come looking, maybe track her phone, but he’d be too late. And this man had no reason to let her live once he had what he wanted from her. Whatever would happen was all up to her.

“Drive out of this hideous place and turn right on Wilton Avenue.”

Olivia drove slowly out of the Willow Springs strip mall, turned right.

“Where are we going?”

“It is not your problem. Drive slow, but not too slow. Go straight until I tell you.”

“Where are you from in France?”

He laughed, a scratchy, Gauloises laugh.

“You like the accent? Most American women do, it makes them think of sex and sweaty sheets.”

“Or of smokers’ breath, heavy on the garlic.”

She heard an angry hiss, felt the muzzle dig in, and she flinched.

“Ferme ta gueule! Keep your mouth shut, bitch. No, stop, do not go through that yellow light.”