Katrin slept fitfully, stirring in the throes of an unpleasant dream. She had plenty of reason to be unnerved. He was unnerved himself, and this was not a sensation he was accustomed to experiencing. He was used to missing puzzle pieces, equations that didn’t add up in full, but something was more significantly off kilter here. He didn’t know how he and Katrin had been tracked—not once but twice. He didn’t know who wanted to kill them. He didn’t know that he could trust his client. He rewound the footage to confirm that Katrin hadn’t strayed from the loft. She hadn’t even left the futon. Next he called up the readings from the microchips in her system to test if he could grab the GPS signal, but none showed. Likely she was too far from her last meal, the digestive juices not stimulated sufficiently to charge the sensor particles in her tract. His rules required that he zero in on the people who were pursuing them. And, from there, zero in on the Vegas outfit who had hired them.
