see me at all and know something was wrong.

With one eye and my gun aimed at the door, and both ears on full alert, I pulled the tarp off my gear and stuffed it into my rucksack. Then I unloaded the rifle and slung it across my shoulder—dismantling it was too loud and too time-consuming.

I hurried to the door and peered out. All clear. A pause, a deep breath, another check, then I sprinted down the hall. Keeping an eye out for the junkie and anyone else, I retraced my steps down to the first floor and out the back exit.

I never should have left that window. I never should have left that window.

Even as I beat myself over the head with the chant, I knew if I hadn’t left my post, I could have been seen. There had been no way to know it was only a junkie until it had been too late. What I should have done was arranged an emergency alert plan, told them that if I had to leave my window I’d stick a piece of paper on the pane, so when Jack looked up he’d know he was unprotected.

From the door, I headed into the back alley. As I ran, I stripped out of my gear and haphazardly wiped the camouflage makeup from my face, then stashed my rucksack and rifle behind a trash bin and kept going.

As I stood at the junction of the sidewalk and alley, a float rolled past. The men’s swim team, clad in Speedos and goose bumps, enduring the cold as they basked in the hoots and catcalls of the students and alumni lining the street. My face had to still be streaked with paint, but I attracted no more than a casual glance. If there were near-naked young men on a float, then a face-painted alumna on the sidelines didn’t look out of place.

I strained to see over the crowd and, for once in my life, wished for high heels or platform shoes, anything that would help me spot that pink hat bobbing along in the mob. When Jack had vetoed the use of cell phones, I should have insisted we have something for emergency communication.

“I hate backup plans,” Evelyn had said. “If you have one, it makes it acceptable to screw up the original.”

Maybe that was true, but under these circumstances, a fallback plan wasn’t an escape hatch, it was a safety net.

The parade was in full swing, and I doubted it would last much longer. Was I too late? Not unless a man could drop dead on the sidewalk and no one noticed. Maybe the Feds were right and there would be no hit at the parade. Or maybe Wilkes hadn’t seen Jack. Or maybe he had, and decided to strike elsewhere. At least Jack was armed and knew what was happening. I just had to keep—

There! Across the street. A bearded profile over a leather jacket moving behind a cluster of drunken alumni. Now how was I going to get across the road? In the middle of the parade? Run like hell…that was the only way, as much as I hated doing anything that might call attention to myself. I elbowed my way to the front of the crowd, with murmurs about “someone holding my place” and plenty of apologies.

Maybe the streaks of face paint made it easier, but I managed to get through the blockade. Perched on the curb, I rolled on the balls of my feet, counting the seconds until the float was just far enough past—

I darted out between the photography club float and the woodwind band. I dashed for the curb. As I neared it, I caught the stare of a man about twenty feet away. An older man, late fifties, just over six feet tall, big-boned. In that second I knew I’d accomplished what Jack had failed to do: attract the attention of a killer.

My heart slammed against my rib cage. Wilkes. Right there.

I had to make him chase me.

As the thought formed, my heart rate swung into rapid acceleration. Lure him away. Make sure he was the one. Let him think he was in control, the great hunter stalking his innocent prey. And then…

I grinned.

I jumped onto the curb and started making my way to the rear of the crowd. Would he follow? As Evelyn had pointed out, Wilkes had done my demographic. But if it was an easy kill? If I made it an easy kill? A seeming