Page 99 of Billion-Dollar Ransom

JEFF PENNEY’S PHONE trilled at precisely three a.m., but he was already wide awake.

He’d been looking forward to this day for a long time. His whole life , actually.

His bags were already packed—one carry-on, one stowable hard case—and waiting by the door.

Everything Jeff wanted from his former life was inside those bags.

The personal items he didn’t want to save had already been burned or dumped.

Everything else he owned would be left to rot, and good riddance.

He was done with LA. He didn’t even want to shower one last time in this crappy overpriced place.

Jeff Penney would rather rinse the last remnants of this ugly, gross city off his body when he was resting comfortably in paradise. Or at least when he was on his way there.

He pulled on his leather jacket, slung the strap of the carry-on over his shoulder, grabbed the hard case, and left his apartment. He didn’t bother locking the door behind him; he didn’t even close it. Have at it, squatters . That would make the forensics unit’s job a little messier.

His carmine-red Porsche 911, his beautiful baby girl, was waiting under a tarp in the garage beneath his apartment complex.

Of all the things he was leaving behind, the Porsche was what he’d miss most. Jeff hadn’t taken her out as often as he would have liked; he was forever worried that some jerk would key her body in a parking lot somewhere out of sheer jealousy.

Now it’s time for one last ride, baby.

Jeff threw aside the tarp, stuffed his bags in the small trunk, and fired up the 911. He raced through the garage and was annoyed by how long the exit gate took to crank itself open.

Once outside, he roared down Angeleno toward the I-5 on-ramp, headed north. Goodbye, job. Goodbye, Burbank. Goodbye, lousy post-divorce crash pad. Goodbye to all the drama, professional and otherwise.

The best thing about driving through LA at three in the morning was that you pretty much had the city to yourself.

Jeff drove fast but not too fast; he didn’t need to be pulled over by some bored rookie on a last-out shift.

From now until the moment he landed at his final destination, he couldn’t leave any traces.

Jeff glanced in his rearview and saw another car—a black Dodge Durango—about half a football field behind him.

The Durango seemed to be keeping pace with him.

Maybe it was some idiot coming home late from a party or some poor sap reporting for his construction job at stupid o’clock in the morning. But maybe…

Maybe it was something else.

The Durango never got any closer, which was a little worrying.

Cars almost never stayed in lockstep with each other on LA freeways; somebody was always trying to overtake you.

But just as Jeff started to wonder if he should hop off the freeway and shake the guy, the Durango took the Osborne Street exit and disappeared into the hinterlands of the San Fernando Valley.

Okay, Penney, take a deep breath. This was no time to succumb to paranoia. All his dreams were about to come true.

Jeff’s 911 blasted up the I-5. He turned on his CD player to see what he’d left inside the last time he’d driven his baby. Turned out to be an Eagles album, The Long Run, with Joe Walsh whining away about being “In the City.” He wanted to laugh.

Not for long, Joe.

Jeff Penney was going to a magical land far, far away from the cesspool of El Lay. And he’d be traveling there with enough money to…

Well, to do absolutely anything he wanted.