ABBY MET with Sergeant Page a block south of the Willow Street Blue Line station. Commuters still streamed toward the station, but this time of the morning marked the tail end of the exodus. Abby glanced at her watch. The next northbound train was due in ten minutes and its departure would lessen the crowd even more.

She pulled up opposite and adjacent to Page’s plain car in the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant. “Sporty taking a trip?”

“One of my snitches told me Sporty sold him a watch, said he wanted to get out of town.” Page held up a gold watch in a plastic evidence bag. “I looked at the list; this is partial loss from the first murder.”

Abby felt anticipation snapping like the crack of a whip. “Good obs. You think he’s headed for this station?”

“He’s spooked, from what my snitch said, probably because he knows someone saw him hop out a window. We worked our way up from downtown; he couldn’t have gotten any further on foot. Sheriff is in the loop; they’re watching the platforms and the trains.”

Abby bit her lip at this information. The Blue Line was the LA County Sheriff’s jurisdiction. She had nothing against them; she just wanted everything concerning her serial murder case to stay as local as possible, considering the governor’s connection.

Sergeant Page continued. “Your homicide just hit big with the media, so if he is your guy, I imagine Sporty wants to be anywhere but here.”

“What media?”

“Don’t you have your radio on? KNX just broadcast info about the murder and are standing by for a reaction from the governor.”

Abby’s pulse quickened. “How could they know already?” Before the words were out of her mouth, she knew. Murphy. Heat rose as anger at the audacity of the man spread through her veins like hot oil. Page brought her focus back to the task at hand: catch Lil’ Sporty first and then deal with the PI.

“Davis has a bench warrant in the system, so it’s no problem hooking him up and taking him to the station for that. I’ve got Nelson keeping an eye on the north end. Freeman is on the east. I’ll hang here.” He pointed with his radio. “Why don’t you eyeball the west side? Sporty has to pop his head out of hiding if he’s getting on. We’re on channel six.”

Abby struggled to get back in the right frame of mind. “I’m glad I wore my running shoes,” she said as she switched her handheld radio to channel six. Her gaze rested on Bandit. He was curled up on the passenger seat, sound asleep. She gave him a pat and focused her thoughts on the little burglar.

She left the lot and turned west, driving a block to Twenty-Seventh Street and turning right. This was the back side of the stop and a likely direction for someone to head if they decided to try the next stop up the line on Wardlow.

Abby had a feeling Davis would come this way. She felt it in her bones as she pulled to the curb and turned off the engine, eyes roaming, watching everyone within her line of sight, searching for a tell that would give the man way.

Then she saw him.

A diminutive figure appeared from around the corner of a building, walking rapidly her way, hunched over from the weight of a large backpack. Abby tensed. Lil’ Sporty Davis —there was no doubt about it. She undid her seat belt and turned the car off, then grabbed her handheld radio. She pulled the door handle but didn’t push it all the way open. Davis looked behind him and then crossed the street almost directly in front of her car.

Abby held her breath. He turned her way, and panic flashed across his face like neon.

She rocketed out of the car. “Police! Davis, I just want to talk to you.”

He jumped and fled right.

“I’ve got him, Twenty-Seventh east of Pacific heading east!” Abby breathed into her handheld as she raced after him.

He hit the first fence he came to and was up and over in a second. Abby followed, scaling the fence with ease and hoping the backpack would slow the little man down.

Train bells and the hum of an approaching engine factored into the chase. Abby’s adrenaline surged.

She lunged for her suspect, but he cut right toward the tracks, accelerating fast. As she stumbled to adjust her own gait, Murphy’s words came back to her: “I’ve never seen a girl who could move that fast. . . .”

The thought of showing up the sexist PI gave her a rush of energy, and she redoubled her effort to reach Sporty as he neared the tracks. Abby could hear the rumble of the Blue Line.

Her heart pounded as fear replaced the prey drive when she realized where Lil’ Sporty was going. He’s going to try to cross the tracks before the train hits the platform. The train would be slowing for the stop but could never stop on a dime to avoid someone on the tracks.

As the train’s warning tone shattered the air, Abby ran faster. Far away she heard Page on the radio calling for an update, but pulling the radio from her back pocket would only slow her down.

Again the warning tone, and now it deafened her.

Sporty lurched for the tracks and tripped, sprawling headlong on the rails. Abby didn’t dare look toward the screaming train as the ground vibrated with the approaching engine.

She leaped forward and grabbed the backpack in both hands. Her momentum jerked Davis off the tracks and into a tumble with her.

She closed her eyes and in one horrific second thought of Ethan and Murphy and what irony it would be to be smashed beneath the wheels of a train trying to save a man who was most likely a killer.