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Washington, DC

She knew. The bitch knew, somehow. She had to go. It was time.

Blake had thought of this over and over again. Leaving Isabel alive was a security risk. But she’d been so broken he’d let it ride and all things considered, she’d had a good run. He’d let her live six months. Her memory was returning, and he knew exactly what she was remembering. Isabel alive was now an unacceptable risk, but it was good that it had taken time.

No one was going to connect the suicide of a troubled young woman with the events of months ago.

And soon Blake was going to be busy with phase two, and he wouldn’t have time to deal with her if she all of a sudden woke up and remembered halfway through a presidential campaign. So, it was time.

He arranged a rock-solid alibi then called his personal pilot. The pilot would fly him under an assumed name, flying a plane that was registered under a company it would take forensic economists months to trace back to Blake.

And why should they?

Hector Blake in Washington would have nothing to do with the suicide of a young woman across the country.

He could actually deal with this himself, with the help of his pilot and Kearns, his man on the ground.

He called Kearns. “Our little dove is going to fly away.” Their code for it’s time to get rid of the little bitch.

There was just enough of a silence to annoy Blake. Had the moron already forgotten their code?

“Ah. Okay. In Washington?”

Blake closed his eyes. Kearns would be the next to go. He wasn’t smart enough to take part in phase two, let alone phases three and four. “No, where her nest is.”

Portland.

“ Nest nest?”

Meaning—in her home?

“Any objections?” Blake asked coldly.

“Well…she, um, seems to have made friends with a—a lot of people on her street. Maybe they’d report right away if something—something happens to her. Or someone might…interfere. I think we should, um, isolate her.”

“None of that was in your reports. That she had made friends on her street.”

“No, um. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

A small vein throbbed in Blake’s temple. At the first opportunity, Kearns was gone. But for the moment, Kearns was on the ground and right now, Blake felt that he should be moving fast. Eliminate this small threat before it grew into a big threat.

“Okay. I’ll call her before the meeting and say I have to meet her downtown. Say at the bar of the Hotel Monaco. In the meantime, book a room in her name at the cheapest motel you can find. Here’s her credit card information—” Blake read off Isabel’s VISA number. He kept close tabs on her. It pleased him that she had very little in her checking and savings accounts. “I’ll email you a prescription for twenty capsules of Trevilor. Little Miss Dove is going to have a sad ending. Any questions?”

He’d better not have questions.

“No, sir.”

Next Blake spoke to his pilot and arranged a noon departure for Portland, a six-hour flight, arrival 3:00 p.m. local time. Plenty of time to get set up. He’d arrange for a five p.m. meeting.

Once Isabel was eliminated he’d fly straight back to DC, where at least four people would swear in court that he’d never left.

He paid them more than enough for a little perjury.