I didn’t realize I was being followed until I turned into a Holiday gas station a block from the hotel.

The guy on the radio was waxing philosophic about a massive snowstorm that was heading our way—that was his word, massive, not mine. When he said the Cities might get hit with as much as twelve inches of the white stuff, I glanced down at my gas gauge. It’s one of the things you learn at a young age when you’re from Minnesota—whenever a blizzard or an interval of subzero temperatures is predicted, make sure you have a full tank of gas. I discovered that the tank on my Jeep Cherokee was down by three-quarters just as I was approaching the driveway, so I swung the wheel and drove into the Holiday station without signaling. The action caught the cherry-colored Acura MDX behind me by surprise. The driver hit his brakes, slid well past the driveway, recognized his mistake, and sped up. The SUV continued on to the next intersection, hung a U-turn, and came back. It passed the Holiday station, returned to the hotel lot, turned around again, and headed toward the station, this time parking along the street about a hundred yards away.

I pretended not to notice.

I filled my tank, checked my levels, and used the squeegee to clean my windows, all the while keeping my leather coat open so I could reach the 9 mm Beretta in a hurry. The thieves wouldn’t like it if they knew I was carrying, but two men were dead and they had probably killed them. As far as I was concerned, the Beretta was nonnegotiable.

While I was at it, I checked around the front and rear bumpers of the Cherokee. As Rask had predicted, I found a tiny GPS transmitter inside a small magnetic box attached to the car frame. I dropped it into the trash bin. I didn’t think the driver in the Acura was using it, otherwise he would have hung farther back, and if he was, tough.

After gassing up, I sat in the Cherokee for a few moments, angling my sideview mirror until I had a clear look at the front bumper of the Acura. It took a minute or so to correctly read the license plate in the mirror and write it down—I didn’t want to turn around for fear the driver would know that I made him.

Let him think you’re oblivious to his presence, at least until you decide what to do with him, my inner voice said.

The Acura stayed close as I maneuvered onto I-394 and headed east into Minneapolis—way too close. By the time we were crossing the river into St. Paul, I decided the driver was a rank amateur. He did very little to disguise his presence, and I don’t think it was because he wanted me to know that he was there. Also, the vehicle itself—cherry red? Really? Could you be more obvious? The question was, who did he work for? I was guessing Jonathan Hemsted. That was the reason he summoned me to the hotel, so the tail could pick me up. After all, Hemsted could have just as easily threatened me over the phone.

I let the Acura follow me to the parking lot next to Rickie’s. This time he was a little more clever, passing the lot and pulling into an empty space on the street a half block down. He put the luxury SUV in PARK yet kept the engine running. I did the same thing while I fished my cell phone from my pocket, found a familiar name in my list of contacts, and hit CALL.

“Major Crimes,” a voice said. “Commander Dunston.”

“I remember when you used to answer the phone with just your last name.”

“That was before I was promoted to upper management,” Bobby said. “What’s going on, McKenzie?”

“Same-old, same-old. Did Victoria tell you about her adventures in cable TV?”

“She did. Ghosts at Rickie’s? When did that happen?”

“I don’t know. I think Erica is messing with her mother.”

“Speaking of which, what’s this nonsense about you buying Victoria a car?”

“What? No, no. I’m not buying her a car.”

“She said you would when she got her driver’s license. I don’t mind an MP3 player, McKenzie. But a car?”

“I am not buying Vic a car. She’s just trying to manipulate me. I mean, buying a car, that’s way over the line, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I do.”

“That girl is so spoiled.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“I blame her parents.”

“I’m sorry. Aren’t you the one who bought eighty-seven boxes of Girl Scout Cookies so Victoria could win a contest?”

“I like Girl Scout Cookies. Especially the Samoas. I have about seventy boxes left if you want any.”

“No cars, McKenzie.”

“No cars, I promise.”

“Are you playing hockey tomorrow tonight?”

“I am unless the snow gets too deep.”

“Snow shmow. Don’t be a wimp.”

“I’ll be there if you’re going to be there.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Is that why you called?”

“Bobby, I need a favor.”

“I knew it.”

“It’s a small one.”

“I thought we had an understanding. I don’t do favors for you. I especially don’t use St. Paul Police Department resources to do favors for you.”

“Why not? I’m doing you a favor.”

“Such as?”