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this was a possibility he’d planned for. Besides, the woman’s movements would prove even more predictable in this state.
    Best of all, it prolonged the hunt.
    And the hunt was all there was.
    So he didn’t mind waiting, sipping water from a bottle as he kept an eye on her through the rifle scope. She’d just been handed off to another policeman—a man in a suit sitting behind a desk, concern written all over his face—when a bulky, heavyset man in an overcoat— Classic detective , Konrad thought—strode into the office and began speaking to the desk officer with his arms crossed. He looked most displeased.
    From what Konrad could tell, the police didn’t seem keen on releasing the woman until they were convinced she was out of danger, though it looked like this new policeman might be shaking things up.
    Whatever .
    Improvising wasn’t a problem. Neither was patience.
    So he watched, and he waited.
    Very patiently.

5
    Julie had no idea who this guy in the trench coat was, and she couldn’t bring herself to care.
    All she could think about was how she should feel perfectly safe right now, and yet she didn’t. As the two officers in this small room conferred quietly—some kind of jurisdictional dispute, from the sound of it—she was met with the growing sensation that all of the oxygen was very slowly being vacuumed from the room. It was growing steadily warmer, and her heart beat a little faster with each passing minute.
    The young UCLA officer finally cleared his throat before smiling again at Julie, as both officers turned to face her. ‘‘This is Detective Drexel, and he’s going to be taking care of you and looking into your case, Ms. Saunders.’’
    Julie carefully got to her feet. ‘‘I just want this to be over. I still can’t believe it. Can I go home?’’
    Drexel smiled at her reassuringly—though his smile looked an awful lot like the face other people make when they’re in pain—as he hefted his considerable weight a step forward in her direction. ‘‘Very soon, I promise,’’ he attempted to soothe, but his voice was surprisingly nasal and scratchy for such a barrel-chested man. ‘‘I need to get your statement on record at my office downtown, which is between here and your house. I won’t delay you any longer than I have to.’’
    Julie thought quietly to herself as Drexel ushered her from the room.
    ‘‘Could it be gang-related?’’ she asked.
    ‘‘I doubt it,’’ he replied casually, his hand steering her shoulder through the all-but-empty outer room and toward the front door. ‘‘Any of your students unhappy with their grades lately?’’
    She offered a halfhearted chuckle. ‘‘Students are always unhappy with their grades, Detective.’’
    ‘‘Stop!’’ Grant screamed from the back seat of the cab.
    They’d reached the street outside of the UCLA Police Department. Standing there on the curb in front of the building was a girl. The girl without shoes.
    ‘‘Wait right here!’’ Grant shouted, jumping from the cab.
    ‘‘Honey, I can’t park in the middle of the—’’ the driver called after him, but he ignored her and ran toward the station house.
    Grant had just limped through the building’s front door, following the shoeless girl inside, when he stopped cold. The young woman was nowhere to be seen, but Julie was right in front of him, being escorted straight toward him from a hallway on the right. She came closer, into the lobby, and their eyes met from ten feet away. She didn’t recognize him, of course, but she held his gaze nonetheless. Perhaps it was Grant’s bloodied and battered appearance—which was far worse than hers—but there was a peculiar expression on her face as she gazed at him.
    Her long black hair was matted, disheveled, and her face gaunt and weary. Bags drooped under her eyes. If Grant hadn’t known who she was, he might not have recognized her. A big man in a blue trench coat had his hand on her shoulder, directing her,