the Beretta and preparing to empty its entire magazine through her window. She didn’t relax until she was certain that the old woman driving the late model Dodge wasn’t one of Rico’s contacts.
After the Dodge pulled to a stop, the old woman killed the engine and reached for her passenger seat. When she turned back around, she was holding a little sandwich that she nibbled on while gazing out her windshield.
There was one more number Paige wanted to dial, but she wasn’t going to do so while standing still. Her nerves were jangling so badly that she thought it might feel better to run all the way back to Chicago. She backed out of her spot, headed for the interstate, and began tapping out her next call.
Prophet wasn’t answering his phone. Screening his calls was one of several precautions the bounty hunter was taking after escaping Denver the night the SWAT teams took Cole away. Deciding against leaving a message, she hung up.
Her car was barely up to full speed when her phone rang with Prophet’s caller ID notification lighting up her screen. “Walter,” she said without wasting time on a greeting, “when was the last time you saw those Gypsies?”
“Number one,” Prophet replied, “they don’t like it when we call them Gypsies. It’s insulting, but only when it comes from an outsider. Maybe a racist thing. I kind of lose track, but the proper name is Amriany, and that’s what they like to hear. They carry a lot of guns, so you might wanna keep that in mind.”
“Yeah, yeah. Have you seen them lately?”
“Number two,” Prophet continued calmly, “I haven’t seen them since Denver.”
“Can you get ahold of them?”
“Maybe. Why?”
“I’m in a jam. Rico and I went after the Nymar communication hub in Toronto. We got some leads, but Kawosa turned him against me.”
Suddenly, Paige felt like her stomach had imploded. If Kawosa had somehow tracked the bounty hunter down, she could very well be making the same mistake where Prophet was concerned. If he’d already taken Rico’s side, he could call the big man and send him to her. Unfortunately, it was too late to worry about all that. She needed to trust someone, and if Walter wasn’t trustworthy, things were even worse than she’d imagined. “I need help, Prophet, and I don’t know who else to turn to. You said the Amriany had serious funding and transportation. Is there any way you could convince them to get me to Denver? It’ll take too long for me to drive, and I’m not about to surrender my weapons to make it through an airport security check.”
“Don’t you know any other pilots? What about the guy who smuggled Cole out of Canada after Gerald and Brad were killed?”
That man was a Skinner, and she hadn’t spoken to him more than a handful of times in her life. Considering what had happened with Rico and the fact that Kawosa could be turning any number of the others against her, going outside the Skinners made the most sense. “He’s not available,” she said. “It’s got to be the Amriany.”
Prophet sighed heavily. “I can make some calls. Even if I can get them to pick you up, I can’t guarantee they’ll just drop you off wherever you want.”
“Thanks, Walter. Tell them I don’t expect a free ride, but I’ve got to get away from here. Tell them—”
“I’ll think of something,” he cut in. “Just let me get to calling before you talk me out of it.”
Chapter Seven
Cole sat with his back against the side wall of his cell. He was close enough to the bars to reach out and scrape his fingers against them without having to extend his arm more than an inch or two from his body. The grating of his thumbnail against the iron was a sound that reached all the way down to the base of his skull to twang his nerves like banjo strings. After a few hours he barely even heard it anymore.
The guards filed in like a marching band. Instead of tubas and drums, however, they carried shotguns and riot shields. When he got a look at that, he jumped to his feet.
The guard who stepped forward was one of those who had been watching him since he woke up on that hospital bed. “You know the drill,” he said. “Stand back.”
“What drill?”
“To visit another section of the prison. It’s the same every time.”