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softened him.”
    His head inclined toward the van. “Obviously, he hasn’t gone too soft.”
    “Besting these two criminals wasn’t all that difficult.” She glanced into the rear window of the van at the still lumps under the blanket. Blood was seeping through the cloth in dark, wet patches. “Yes, I know you predicted these two would fail.”
    He lifted a shoulder. “No harm was done. The event appeared random, as was your plan.”
    “This is true,” she agreed. “It should have been a simple job. How hard is it to threaten a woman or child? Christopher has weaknesses. One must use them as leverage. With a man like him, the mind is as formidable a weapon as the body.” Christopher’s chivalry was the chink in his armor.
    “Why don’t we just kill him?”
    Because for years, her dream had been to mark the anniversary of the massacre by looking him in the eyes as he realized she’d won. He couldn’t outrun her. There was no escape.
    “I still have a week. I’m not ready to settle.”
    “Now who’s being inefficient?”
    “This is different.” This was her life.
    “What do we do now?” Her driver bent next to the robber’s cargo van. He reached underneath the vehicle and pulled a black box loose. He tossed it to her, then opened the driver’s door. His face creased with disgust as he surveyed the interior.
    She caught the black GPS box in two hands. Technology had come so far in the last twelve years. “Fear not. My plan is evolving. First, you drive that,” she pointed to the robbers’ van, “to the house and park it out back. Then we’ll decide what to do next.”
    She slid behind the wheel of the minivan and closed the door. Her mind strayed to Christopher. Soon, he would be as silent as the cargo in the back of the van. And he would stay that way. Forever.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Could this get any worse?
    Cristan shifted his weight in the hard-backed chair in the Westbury Police Station. He twisted off the cap from a bottle of water and drank. The police had been apologetic, but the attention and legal scrutiny were still nightmarish for a man who wished to remain unknown.
    “Can I get you some coffee? How about a sandwich? It’s been hours. You have to be hungry.” Officer Ethan Hale had typed Cristan’s statement and questioned him. Ethan had also provided Cristan with the athletic pants and shirt he was currently wearing. The robbers had worn gloves, but the police were hoping to use DNA from the blood on Cristan’s clothes to identify at least one of them.
    “No, but thank you.” Plans formed in Cristan’s mind. He needed to get home. He needed to pick up Lucia at Sarah’s house. His daughter had acted calm when he told her about the robbery, but he knew she would be upset. Events and repercussions had to be analyzed. Decisions had to be made.
    The chief of police, Mike O’Connell, opened his office door. “Cristan, come on in.”
    Cristan crossed the room, water bottle in hand. He had known the police chief for five months. He and Lucia boarded their horses at a farm owned by Mike’s fiancée, who was also Sarah’s sister. Everyone in this small town was connected to everyone else.
    In his early forties, the redheaded police chief was an inch or so shorter than him, but Mike’s bulkier body carried a thirty-pound weight advantage, all of it muscle. He’d been a wrestler at one time and would make a formidable opponent. But the police chief was honest and honorable, two traits Cristan did not claim as his own. Being orphaned and living on the streets of Argentina had given him hard-scrabble survival instincts. Honor could be a handicap in a street fight.
    He followed Mike into his office. Another man occupied the room. Cristan recognized the tall blond man perched on the credenza behind Mike’s desk as the police chief’s friend. He also recognized the lethal expression buried in the man’s eyes. This man would not be burdened by scruples.
    Mike waved him toward a leather guest