Night Prey

I-694.

"Go on back, you fucker," Connell hissed at him. "Get back there."

At nine o'clock, they sat at a stoplight and watched two middle-aged men on a par-three golf course, one with white hair and the other with a crew cut, trying to play in the quickly closing darkness. The crew cut missed a two-foot putt, Lucas shook his head, and Koop moved on.

Ten minutes later, he was on I-35, heading north. Through the Minneapolis loop-and then, like a satellite in a degrading orbit, watched as he was slowly pulled back toward Jensen's apartment.

"He's headed in," Lucas said. "I'm breaking off, I'll beat him there. If he changes direction, let me know."

He ran the backstreets, Connell calling Jensen on the cellular phone. A minute later they rolled into Jensen's parking garage, dumped the car.

"Where is he?" Lucas asked the radio.

"He's coming," Greave answered. Greave was riding the van. "I think he's looking for a parking place."

"Let's get set up, gang," Lucas said. Then the elevator came, and he and Connell rode up.

Jensen met them at the door. "He's coming?"

"Maybe," Lucas said, stepping past her. "He's just outside."

"He's coming," Connell said. "I can feel him. He's coming."