The Shadow Hunter

handled LA clients.”
    “This wasn’t a TPS case. I haven’t worked with TPS”—
since Devin Corbal
, she nearly said, but caught herself—“in a few months. I’m an independent consultant. I work with a variety of firms all across the country. Paul left a message on my answering machine yesterday. I got back to him first thing this morning, and he told me a little about the situation you find yourselves in.”
    “Situation.” Kris Barwood leaned forward in her chair, balancing her hands lightly on her knees, a pose she must have learned while doing on-camera interviews. “That’s one way of putting it.”
    “I know it feels like a crisis,” Abby said, “but it’s nothing we can’t handle.”
    Howard snorted. “Tell that to Devin Corbal.”
    For a startled moment Abby wondered how they had found out about her involvement in that case. Then she realized Howard had been looking at Travis when he said it.
    She and Travis were rescued from any response when Kris cut in smoothly, “When you arrived, Paul was just about to explain what it is you’re going to do for me.”
    “I have kind of an unusual job, Mrs. Barwood.”
    “Call me Kris.” The anchorwoman flashed a smile that ought to have looked artificial, but didn’t.
    “Okay, Kris. I’m Abby.”
    Howard spoke up again. “How old are you, Abby, if you don’t mind my asking?”
    “Twenty-eight.”
    His eyelids lifted in skeptical appraisal. “Isn’t that a little young to be a licensed psychologist?”
    “I’m not a licensed psychologist.”
    “Travis here”—Howard cocked a thumb in the direction of the desk—“called you a psychological consultant.”
    “That’s one way of describing the work I do. I call myself a dynamic interpersonal risk evaluator. But there’s a simpler way of putting it. I’m a pilot fish.”
    Kris and her husband exchanged a bemused glance.
    “A pilot fish,” Abby repeated. She tossed her purse on a chair but remained standing. “You know those little fish that swim in the wake of a shark? They gather scraps. So do I. Only, the sharks I swim with are people like Raymond Hickle, and the scraps I gather are scraps of information.”
    She crossed behind Travis’s desk to stand before the wide windows, the panoramic backdrop. “See, when it comes to assessing the threat, personal protection services have to rely on background information and profiling. It would be better to get to know the real man. It can’t be done from a distance. It has to be up close and personal.”
    “How close?” Kris asked. “How personal?”
    “If all goes well, I’m going to be Hickle’s best friend.”
    There was a beat of silence, and Kris said, “This man may not have any friends.”
    “But he wants one. Everybody does. Do you know what people look for in a friend? Someone to talk to. Someone who’ll listen.” Abby smiled. “I’m a good listener.”
    “You mean you’re going to analyze him without his even knowing it?”
    “Not analyze him in a psychological sense. Instead, I need to assess him from a security standpoint. Gauge his intentions, his timetable. And keep an eye on him so if he does decide to act, I’ll be there to head him off at the pass.”
    “And you think you can do all that?”
    “I’ve done it before, many times.” And failed only once, she added silently.
    Howard straightened in his chair. “Let me get this straight. You’re talking about some kind of undercover thing?”
    “You can call it that.”
    “So you meet him, give a phony name, get to be friends. Then it’s you and him alone together?”
    “Right.”
    “But you’ve got armed men stationed outside, radio communication with them in case he turns crazy or sniffs you out?”
    “No, it’s just me. I carry a cell phone and a gun.”
    “Just you? Why, for God’s sake?”
    Travis fielded the question. “Because you’re suggesting we attempt virtually round-the-clock surveillance of Raymond Hickle, and that sort of operation almost never works.”
    “When the police carry out an undercover operation,” Kris said, “they have a backup team listening on a radio.”
    “Yes,” Travis said, “for a twenty-minute drug buy. We’re talking about installing Abby in Hickle’s life for days or weeks. It’s not the same. Surveillance requires more than one or two officers sitting in a car outside somebody’s home. In a residential neighborhood, that car and its occupants will draw attention within hours. Someone will