Dead Aim(16)

“Even if you'd taken their pictures, your equipment is buried beneath that landslide.”

She made a face. “I can't see you letting that stop you if you were convinced the dam was sabotaged. You'd bring in the cranes and every federal security organization in the country. Right?”

“Right.” Leopold smiled. “But you didn't take their pictures, and all the experts are still saying there was no sabotage. We've never found proof that Nader's helicopter was brought down. So all we have is an attempt on your life.” He held up his hand. “I don't want to minimize the seriousness of that, you understand.”

“I know.” Leopold was a good guy and he had been as sympathetic and helpful as he could during the last few days. “The proof's got to be there.”

“Then maybe the FBI can find it.” The phone rang and he answered it. A moment later he handed the phone to her. “Speak of the devil. Bob Jurgens. He wants to talk to you. Remember him? I introduced you to him at the hospital.”

“Why shouldn't I remember him? I wasn't that banged up.” She remembered Jurgens very well. Smooth, polite, and very disapproving.

Jurgens's voice was just as disapproving when she took the phone from Leopold. “I understand you're not having much luck with identifying the men who attacked you. I think you'd better reconsider our offer to put you in protective custody. A safe house is the obvious solution. I have just the place that—”

“No. Not only no, but hell, no.” Her hand tightened on the phone. Why wouldn't he leave her alone? “Maybe I didn't make myself clear. Arapahoe Junction isn't that much different than what happened at WTC. You give in to people like this and let them change your life and they win. I won't let them win.”

“I'm sorry to hear you say that. I hope Leopold can persuade you to change your mind. I'll be in touch.”

She handed the phone back to Leopold. “He wants to put me in some safe house and let me twiddle my thumbs while he completes his investigation.”

“So I understand. Personally, I don't care much for those by-the-book FBI agents, but he appears to be very thorough and he's got a team out there scouring the entire crash area.”

“He said he hoped you could convince me to let him tuck me away. Does he have you in his pocket?”

Leopold shook his head. “We try to work together, but we run our own show. I admit he did call and suggest I try to influence you. The safe house isn't a bad idea.”

“It's a very bad idea.” She stood up. “And it probably originated with John Logan.” She shook her head as she translated a flicker of expression on Leopold's face. “You too?”

“He talked to me. I didn't think you'd go along with it. I told him we had your security well in hand.”

“So you're responsible for that blue unmarked Toyota that's been following me since I left the hotel this morning?”

He grinned. “Busted. But how do you know it's not someone more sinister than my humble self?”

“That's why I'm telling you about it. Is it a Toyota?”

He nodded as he picked up the phone and dialed a number. “What color and model car are we using for the surveillance on Alex Graham?” He listened. “And the license number?” He jotted the number down on his pad. “Thanks.” He handed Alex the slip of paper. “This one is ours. If you suspect anyone else is following you, then get on the phone and call me right away.”

“Don't worry.” She tucked the note in her purse. “I'll yell if I even get a glimmer I'm in danger. I believe in letting the police earn those tax dollars. Particularly when it means keeping my neck intact.” She moved toward the door. “Thanks for everything, Detective.”

“Thank you.” Leopold walked her out of the office and down the steps. “I'll just see you to your car. Wouldn't want you to be cheated out of those tax dollars.”



Alex glanced in the rearview mirror as she turned the corner and approached the Golden Nugget Hotel.

The blue Toyota was still behind her, keeping a discreet one-block distance.

She turned left, went down the underground parking ramp, and parked beside the elevator doors. She glanced quickly around before getting out and punching the button for the elevator.

She tensed.

Another car was coming down the ramp.

The elevator doors opened and she quickly stepped inside and pushed the button for the seventh floor.

No response.

She pushed the button again.

The car was closer, coming down the last curve in the ramp.

Her hand reached inside her bag for her .38 revolver. Dammit, why didn't the doors of the elevator—

She stabbed the button again.