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up nearly the entire block, he couldn’t help but be reminded of a sideshow at a carnival. And the show wasn’t just in English. It seemed like every major language from the globe was represented among the various emblems on the vans topped with antennae and radar dishes. 
    But as he neared the end of the crowd, he realized it was moving. Cameramen and reporters were moving in parallel with him on the sidewalk and, he realized with a start, that Isabelle was in front of them.
    “What?” he muttered. 
    Had she been a publicity hound after all?
    But the closer he got, the more he could see that she was moving quickly. In fact, they were chasing her. As she neared the corner, he stepped on the gas, cranked the wheel, and put the car directly in the crowd’s path. Engine idling, he jumped out of the car. Isabelle, glancing backward, ran straight into his arms and screamed.
    “It’s me,” he said quickly. “Isabelle, it’s Mac.”
    Though recognition dawned on her face, there was no time for more than that. Quickly, before they were pinned by the onslaught, he wrapped his arms around her, swept her around the front of the car, and opened the passenger door in one smooth move. 
    “Watch your head,” he said, pushing her inside.
    “So the FBI is using psychics?” called out a voice from behind the glare of lights. “Where’s Esme Olivos? Do you see her in a crystal ball?” yelled someone else.
    Great .
    Mac pushed through several people who grunted in response.
    “Is she a psychic or isn’t she?” demanded the tall Hispanic man in front of him as he thrust a microphone into Mac’s face. 
    Mac shoved it right back at him, nearly hitting him in the mouth. As the reporter backed up, he collided with the people in back of him and the press of the entire growing throng lessened for a moment. Mac quickly leapt toward his door, threw it open, and slammed it shut. He toggled the locks. With a quick check into the rear view mirror, he made sure he wasn’t going to kill anybody, then he threw the car into reverse and gunned it. The squealing of the tires nearly had people diving for cover and in another few moments, the entire crowd was left behind. He squealed around the next corner too before finally slowing down. Then he stopped. 
    “Where’s your car?” he said, more loudly than he’d intended, adrenalin still coursing through him.
    “Car?” Isabelle said, her voice too loud as well.
    Her gloved hands were gripping the car door handle as though she were hanging on to a lifesaver. Her wild stare flitted from him to the rear window, back the way they’d come. Her breathing was erratic and her entire body seemed to be trembling. They’d been a like a pack of wolves and obviously not what she had expected. 
    “You shouldn’t have told them you were a psychic,” he said. 
    That got her attention.
    “ Me? ” she yelled, her eyes focused hard on his. “ Me? ” The sudden change in her took him aback. “You think I caused that? I think you better question some of your…your…” she stammered, looking for the right word. “Your agents or officers or whatever! Whoever! That’s the last thing I’d–” She stopped abruptly and opened the car door. “You know what,” she said. “Never mind.”
    Then the door slammed closed. The only sound was the idling of the engine. But rather than walk back toward her car, she headed away from him, away from the house. 
    Oh come on. You’re not going to walk all the way home. This is LA.
    He found the button for the passenger window and lowered it as he pulled up alongside her.
    “Where’s your car?” he said. She hugged herself around the middle and kept walking, fast, not looking at him. “Look,” he said. “You can’t walk back there to your car. They’ll be all over you.”
    She ignored him.
    He got ahead of her and pulled into someone’s driveway, across the sidewalk. She nearly toppled over the hood, hitting it with her hands. For the second