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…legged； with one hand in a pocket and the other holding her coffee。 She hid behind sunglasses； which annoyed her。 The beach was deserted。 Why was she pelled to hide her face？
Like all Cariocas； she had spent a great deal of her life on the beach； the center of culture。 Her childhood home had been her father's apartment in Ipanema； the poshest of Rio's neighborhoods； where every kid grew up on the beach。
She was unaccustomed to long walks near the water without being surrounded by a million people happily sunning and playing。 Her father had been one of the first to organize efforts against the unbridled development of Ipanema。 He despised the increase of population and haphazard construction； and worked^ tirelessly with neighborhood groups。 Such actions went against the typical Carioca attitude of live and let live； but with time came to be admired and even weled。 As a lawyer； Eva still donated time to preservation groups in the neighborhoods of Ipanema and Leblon。
The sun crept behind clouds； and the breeze picked up。 She returned to the house as the seagulls followed and squawked overhead。 She locked every door and window； and drove two miles to a supermarket； where she planned to buy shampoo and fruit； and to find the nearest possible pay phone。
She didn't see the man at first； and when she finally noticed him he seemed to have been standing beside her forever。 She was holding a bottle of hair conditioner when he sniffed； as if he had a cold。 She turned； glanced from behind the sunglasses； and was startled by his sustained eye contact。 He was thirty or forty； white； unshaven； but she didn't have time to notice anything else。
He was staring at her； with rabid green eyes that glowed in the middle of a beach…bronzed face。 She coolly walked away； down the aisle with the conditioner。 Maybe he was just a local character； a harmless pervert who lurked in the grocery and scared pretty vacationers。 Perhaps everyone in the store knew his name and made excuses for him because he wouldn't harm an insect。
Minutes later； she saw him again； this time hiding near the bakery with his face behind a pizza crust but his metallic eyes watching every move she made。 Why was he hiding； covering his face？ He wore shorts and sandals； she noticed。
Panic hit hard through her chest and sent waves down her legs。 Her first thought was to run； but she kept her cool long enough to find a small shopping basket。 She had been spotted by whoever he was； and it was to her advantage to watch him as much as he was watching her。 Who knew when she might see him again？ She loitered in the produce department； next picked her way through the cheeses； and didn't see him for a long time。 Then she saw him with his back to her； holding a gallon of milk。
A few minutes later； she caught sight of him through the large front windows； walking through the parking lot； his head cocked to one side； talking into a cell phone； carrying nothing。 What happened to the milk？ She would've raced through a back door； but her car was parked in the front。 She paid for the items as calmly as possible； but her hands shook as she took her change。
There were thirty cars； including her rental； in the parking lot； and she knew she couldn't inspect them all。 Not that she wanted to。 He was in one of them。 She simply wanted to leave without being followed。 She quickly got in her car； left the lot； and turned in the direction of the beach house； though she knew she could never go back there。 She drove a half a mile； then made an abrupt U…turn； just in time to see him behind her； three cars back； driving a new Toyota。 His green eyes glanced away at the last second。 Odd； she thought； that he wasn't covering them。
Everything seemed odd； at the moment。 How odd that she was driving along a foreign highway in a foreign country with a fake passport proclaiming her to be someone she never wanted to be； and going to a place that she had yet to determine。 Yes； everything was odd and blurred and frightening as hell； and what Eva needed and desperately wanted was to see Patrick so she could scream at him for an hour； and throw rocks as well。 This was not part of the deal。 It was one thing for Patrick to be hunted for his past； but she had done nothing wrong。 Not to mention Paulo。
Being Brazilian； she normally drove with one foot on the gas and the other on the brake； and the traffic along the beach badly needed a good dose of her native driving。 But she had to be calm。 You don't panic when you're on the run； Patrick had said many times。 You think； you watch； you plan。
She watched the cars behind her。 She obeyed all highway rules。
〃Always know where you are；〃 Patrick had told her。 She had studied the road atlas for hours。 She turned north and stopped at a gas station to see what she attracted。 Nothing。 The man with the green eyes was not behind her； but this was of no fort。 He knew she had seen him。 He'd been caught。 He'd simply called ahead with his little cell phone and now the rest of them were watching。
An hour later； she entered the airport terminal in Pensacola and waited eighty minutes for a flight to Miami。 Any flight would have suited her。 The one to Miami happened to be the soonest。 It would prove to be disastrous。
She waited behind a magazine in a coffee bar and watched everything that moved。 A security guard enjoyed looking at her； and she found him difficult to ignore。 Otherwise； the airport was almost devoid of human activity。
The flight to Miami was by turboprop muter； and seemed to take forever。 Eighteen of the twenty…four seats were vacant； and the other five passengers looked harmless。 She even managed a brief nap。
In Miami； she hid in an airport lounge for an hour； sipping expensive water and watching the throngs e and go。 At the Varig counter； she bought a first…class ticket to Sao Paulo； one way。 She wasn't sure why。 Sao Paulo wasn't home； but it was certainly in the right direction。 Maybe she would hide there in a nice hotel for a few days。 She'd be closer to her father； wherever he was。 Planes were leaving for a hundred destinations。 Why not visit her country？
AS IT ROUTINELY DOES； the FBI issued an alert to customs and immigration personnel； as well as to the airlines。 This one specified a young woman； age thirty…one； traveling under a Brazilian passport； real name of Eva Miranda but probably using an alias。 Having learned the identity of her father； getting her real name was a simple matter。 When Leah Pires walked through a passport checkpoint at Miami International； she wasn't expecting trouble in front of her。 She was still looking for the men behind her。
Her Leah Pires passport had proven quite reliable in the past two weeks。
But the customs agent had seen the alert an hour earlier during a coffee break。 He pushed an alarm button on his scanner while he slowly examined every word of the passport。 The hesitation at first was annoying； then Leah realized something was wrong。 The travelers at the other booths were breezing through； barely slowing long enough to open their passports and having the approvals nodded back at them。 A supervisor in a navy jacket appeared from nowhere and huddled with the agent。 〃Could you step in here； Ms。