big things, zapping him with either visions of danger and destruction
and death–or no visions at all. Which made sense in a way.
It would probably drive you insane to have psychic visions that told you
in advance whether you were going to enjoy a particular movie, have a
good dinner, or get a bad case of gas and the bloats from that garlicky
angel-hair pasta that you were enjoying so much. Nevertheless, she
dropped back a little farther, putting one more car between them.
When Ironheart left the freeway at the exit for Los Angeles
International Airport, Holly became excited. Perhaps he was only
meeting someone on an incoming flight. But it was more likely that he
was catching a plane out, embarking on one of his timely rescue
missions, just as he had flown to Portland on August 12, nearly two
weeks ago. Holly was not prepared to travel; she didn’t even have a
change of clothes. However, she had cash and credit cards to handle
expenses, and she could buy a fresh blouse anywhere. The prospect of
tailing him all the way to the scene of the action tantalized her.
Ultimately, when she wrote about him, she would be able to do so with
more authority if she had been an eye-witness at two of his rescues.
She almost lost her nerve when he swung off the airport service loop
into a parking garage, because there was no longer a convenient car
between them to mask her presence. But the alternative was to drive on,
park in another garage, and lose him. She hung back only as far as she
dared and took a ticket from the dispenser seconds after he did.
Ironheart found an empty slot halfway along a row on the third level,
and Holly pulled in ten spaces past him. She slumped down in her seat a
little and remained in her car, giving him a head start so there was
less of a chance of him glancing back and seeing her.
She almost waited too long. When she got out of her car, she was barely
in time to glimpse him as he turned right and disappeared around a wall
at the bottom of the ramp.
She hurried after him. The soft, flat slap-slap of her footsteps echoed
hollowly off the low concrete ceiling. At the base of the ramp, when
she turned the corner, she saw him enter a stairwell. By the time she
passed through that door after him, she heard him descend the final
flight and open the door below.
Thanks to his colorful Hawaiian shirt, she was able to stay well behind
him, mingling with other travelers, as he crossed the service road and
entered the United Airlines terminal. She hoped they weren’t going to
Hawaii. Researching a story without the financial backing of the
newspaper was expensive enough. If Ironheart was going to save
someone’s life today, she hoped he would do it in San Diego instead of
Honolulu.
In the terminal, she hung back behind a group of tall Swedes, using them
for cover, while Ironheart stood for a while at a bank of monitors,
studying the schedule of upcoming departures. Judging by the frown on
his face, he didn’t see the flight he wanted. Or maybe he simply didn’t
yet know which flight he wanted. Perhaps his premonitions did not come
to him full-blown; he might have to work at them, nurse them along, and
he might not know exactly where he was going or whose life he would be
saving until he got there.
After a few minutes, he turned from the monitors and strode along the
concourse to the ticket counter. Holly continued to stay well back of
him, watching from a distance, until she realized that she would not
know his destination unless she was close enough to hear him give it to
the clerk Reluctantly she closed the gap.
She could wait until he had bought the ticket, of course, follow him to
see which gate he waited at, then book herself on the same flight. But
what if the plane took off while she was dashing through the endless
hallways of the terminal? She could also try to cajole the clerk into