"Which airline," Cain says, already moving.
He doesn't ask me. He asks Rosa, directly, and Rosa gives him the information like she's been waiting for someone to take the wheel since she stepped out from under that streetlamp — gate, terminal, the flight number, ninety-one minutes and counting.
I put her on speaker. We're already moving.
"He's travelling under his own name," Rosa says through the phone. "That's either confidence or stupidity and I can't tell which. He booked it from the team hotel — he's been staying there instead of his house for the past week."
"Since Marsh got shot," I say.
"Since two days before that. He saw which way the wind was turning." A pause. "He's not running blind. He has a plan."
"Then we make sure the plan doesn't work," Cain says.
"Halloran should be
