"Henry? What is it?"
"I don't know," he said softly, forcing himself to relax as his trained eyes began to scan the crowded concourse once again, searching for the one object, or entity, or thing that had jarred him to attention. He checked his watch, noting that it was eleven twenty-five, West Coast Time, and that they had forty-five minutes before it would be time to board another plane for the third time that morning.
Forty-five minutes, he nodded in satisfaction. Plenty of time to get up and stretched his stiffened leg muscles, pick up a local newspaper, grab a cup of coffee, find a rest room, and spot a killer.
Still willing himself to relax, Lightstone closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking in and releasing a deep breath. Then he forced himself to turn his head slowly and scan the immediate terminal area for one more time, continuing to search for the out-of-place element-a person, an article, whatever it was-that had jarred his mental alarms.
There were a lot of factors to be considered, Lightstone reminded himself. The real bad ones were rarely stupid enough to try to take someone out in a public place. Especially if that someone was likely to be armed. Far better to run the tail, maintain a reasonable distance, and watch for the opportune moment.
"Listen," he said quietly, "don't look around, but I think there may be somebody here in the concourse watching us."
Marie Pascalaura's eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment, but she was alert and thoughtful enough not to move her head.
"Watching us? Why?"
"I don't know," Lightstone shrugged easily. "It happens occasionally. Somebody you worked on a few years back spots you in a public place, wants to make sure it really is you, and then maybe sticks around just to see what you're doing."
That was one of the built-in hazards of working covert investigations, Lightstone thought as he continued to scan every adult male in the SEA-TAC main concourse, searching for a face out of his past. A face to justify that ever-present edge of self-serving paranoia that you never quite escaped when you worked undercover.
"I thought you said you didn't have to worry about that sort of thing anymore," Marie Pascalaura said softly.
"I didn't think I did. The U.S. of A. is a hell of a lot bigger than San Diego County."
"Oh."
Presumably a familiar face, Lightstone told himself reassuringly. Male, most likely, because through his entire law-enforcement career, he could remember working only two women sufficiently aggressive and dangerous to worry about. So figure twenty-five to forty, with a vindictive personality. And considering his current occupation, maybe even a hunter. Which would make it male, white, middle-aged, tough, and deadly.
Wonderful, Lightstone thought as he continued to scan the sea of faces moving back and forth beneath the large, internally illuminated blue sign that directed people to the "C", "D" and "N" terminals.
"Are we in danger?" Marie Pascalaura asked, trying not to react to the goose bumps crawling on her arms and the cold chill starting to travel down the back of her neck.
"No, I don't think so." Lightstone shook his head. "An airport's too public, too many witnesses."
"Too many witnesses for what?" she whispered, but Lightstone ignored her as he continued his scan of the concourse.
Then it occurred to her. "Do you have your gun with you?" she whispered.
"No."
"Where is it?"
"Packed away in one of the suitcases."
"Oh, great."
"It doesn't matter." Lightstone shrugged with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Nobody's going to be stupid enough to try something with a gun in a major airport like this."
"So what are we supposed to do, just sit here and wait for this character to show his face?" she asked after a long minute went by.
"Until I can get a better idea of who or what and where, that's exactly what we're going to do," Lightstone said emphatically.
Which wasn't going to be easy, he thought to himself, because the huge main concourse of the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport was literally teeming with groups of energetic and self-assertive white males of every age and description.
Lightstone's trained eyes had been categorizing them with almost monotonous ease during the half hour that he and Marie had been sitting there daydreaming. He'd done it mostly out of habit and amusement, because he'd been mildly bored then, even though he thoroughly enjoyed sitting next to Marie's warm body and holding her hand.
But he wasn't bored now.
"This is crazy," Marie Pascalaura said quietly.
"Yeah, I know," Lightstone nodded as he absentmindedly stroked a relaxed hand along his girlfriend's tensed arm, vaguely aware that they had switched roles: he was starting to relax, while she was becoming increasingly nervous and uneasy.
Eventually his eyes returned to the group of four men and one woman waiting in line to pass through one of the metal detectors that led into the "C" concourse, where he and Marie would be catching their Alaska Airlines flight. He realized that they were the ones who had caught his attention when he first felt that warning tug from his subconscious. He'd ignored them at first, because he was absolutely certain that he'd never seen any of them before. But this was the third time now that his attention had been drawn back to them. Two members of the group, the woman and one of the men, were Oriental-possibly Japanese, he guessed-and three were Caucasian, one of whom looked vaguely European, although Lightstone wasn't sure why he thought so. All of them were casually dressed in jeans and short- sleeved shirts. And all were carrying traveling bags that would easily fit in the overhead rack or under the seat in front.
"Do you see anybody?"
"I'm not sure," Lightstone said. "Maybe."
He watched the group more closely as it moved forward in the long line. As far as Lightstone could tell, the only visual element that set these five apart from all the other nameless entities wandering around the airport terminal was a pair of hiking boots worn by one of the white males.
From a distance of about twenty feet, the boots looked like they were made of a dark-gray leather with a rough, grainy texture that seemed vaguely familiar.
"Listen," he said quietly, "I'm going to get up and walk around for a couple of minutes."
"Why?"
"Just to move around a little bit, see what happens."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Good as any," Lightstone shrugged as his eyes continued to scan the concourse.
"Mind if I come with you?"
Marie Pascalaura was not a timid or fearful woman. But she knew Henry Lightstone well enough by now to be thoroughly unnerved by the idea that someone or something in the concourse had spooked her certifiably crazy and seemingly fearless special-agent lover.
"Probably better if you didn't." Lightstone shook his head. "You'll be a lot safer sitting right here, where I can keep an eye on you."
"But what about you?"
"I'll be fine, too. I just want to check something out."
Bothered and encouraged at the same time by the fact that there was something oddly familiar about those boots, Lightstone got up and walked over to a nearby row of newspaper boxes. There he fed a quarter and a dime into the slots, pulled out a paper, folded it under his arm, and began walking in a circuitous route that ultimately took him past the group of four men and a woman waiting in line.
After pausing to look at an oddly twisted piece of sculpture, he wandered back to his seat with a relaxed smile on his face.
"Ceratotherium simum," he said to Marie as he settled back into his chair, feeling more relaxed now.
"Cera what?"
"Ceratotherium simum," Lightstone repeated. "That's the scientific name for white rhino."