The mystery guy headed down the street, beckoning for the others to follow.
Nate eased out of the alley, taking a moment to memorize the Audi’s license plate number. After cautious interval, he followed them.
Dear Nate.
The pen in Elisa’s hand shook. There were wet spots on the paper, and it was the last sheet of paper she had. She’d packed up the rest of it, along with her pens, charcoal, chalk, paints, into her suitcase, leaving little room for clothes. Fortunately, her wardrobe was not extensive. Just an extra pair of jeans, a couple of shirts, some underwear. A toothbrush, a brush, some toiletries.
Dear Nate. So many things she wanted to say.
None of them were sayable. Not without putting him in deadly danger.
I would have loved to have you for my lover, but it’s not worth watching you die.
I’d prefer that you stay alive, even if I can’t have you for myself.
I like the world better knowing that you’re in it somewhere.
No. She couldn’t. That would just set him off on a hero’s quest. He’d get killed, like Willis.
She had to get to the bus station, on foot, dragging that suitcase across town. She couldn’t even call the town’s single, solitary taxi, since it was driven by Herbie Manz, an elderly Marine buddy of Henry Shaw, Demi’s grandfather. Herbie knew her by name. She’d served him meals, coffee, pie, for months. He would want to know exactly where she was going, and why. So the taxi was not an option.
Demi peered around the edge of the blackout blinds to see if Nate’s car was still parked on the street where he’d left it.
She jerked back from the window with a choked shriek, and found herself doubled over on the ground, her face resting on the futon bed, heart racing. Run, run, run. Go. Now.
That was Gil. Right there, on the street, below her window. Fuck.
She forced herself to get up on trembling, wobbling legs. Move, you idiot. She couldn’t freeze like a goddamn rabbit. No suitcase, then. Just her shoulder bag, to hold her laptop. She could run with that. She steeled herself to peek around the blinds.
First peek: two other men were getting out of Gil’s black Audi, the one he’d just bought right before she ran away. Next peek: the three men were talking together. The next time she steeled herself to look, they were gone. They had left the parked car and disappeared. She had no idea in what direction they had gone.
Oh God. Such a fool. She should have run long ago. She’d left it too late. But whatever. Onward. She had to keep trying.
Elisa pulled the brim of her hat down to shadow her face and slapped on the huge, face-distorting sunglasses she’d picked out at the Walmart in Granger Valley. They gave the world a drab green-brown tint.
She’d never had any illusions about how long her life might last. With facial recog tech and social media and cameras everywhere, it was just a matter of time until Gil tracked her down, in spite of her hat with the LED lights and her sunglasses. Gil had all of that asshole Shel Sinclair’s money behind him, and money was the key to every lock, including huge databases full of images. She knew what was coming. There was no way to head it off forever. When it ended, it ended.
But goddamn it, last night had changed her attitude. It had given her rebellious energy. Made her defiant. Hungry for more.
She was not going to die today.
9
Nate took his place in line in the Bakery Café, careful not to look at the well-dressed guy and his goons. The well-dressed guy stood there, arms folded, staring at the menu board as one of his men placed the breakfast order for them.
The girl at the counter was round-faced, with a bouncy ash-blonde ponytail. Her name was some kind of tree, he recalled vaguely. Willow, maybe. She gave the men a toothy smile that glittered with braces. “Here ya go with your coffees, sir! I’ll bring those breakfast sandwiches right out to ya soon as they’re ready!”
The well-dressed guy approached the counter. “Excuse me, miss. Could I ask you a quick question?”
“Uh, sure, I guess,” Willow said, blinking.
“I work at the Conference Center in Granger Valley, and I really love those chalkboard art menus you have. I want to get someone to do some similar art work for our events at the conference center. Those menus look like the ones at Demi’s Corner Café.”
“Oh, yeah! They totally are!” Willow looked up at the menus, which were decorated with drawings of buns, rolls, tarts, sandwiches, cakes, and sheaves of grain. “So? Like, what about ‘em?”
“Are you the artist?” the guy asked.
Willow giggled. “No way. I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. Elisa did those. She’s, like, amazing. Raelene, my boss, saw the ones that Elisa did for Demi at the Corner Café and asked Elisa to do some for us, too. Elisa comes in to do fresh ones every couple of weeks. She does them for some other places around town, too.”
“Elisa,” the man said thoughtfully. “Wait. Maybe I met her at that literacy event at the library last month. Isn’t Elisa the short Brazilian lady with the white hair?”
Willow looked clouded. “I don’t know any Elisa like that,” she said doubtfully. “The Elisa I know is pretty young. Maybe little older than me. She’s, like, twenty-seven, twenty-eight tops. She has long, curly dark hair, and she’s slim, and she wears glasses. She’s mostly at the diner, ‘cause she works for Demi, but the diner’s closed right now, since Demi and Eric got married yesterday.”
Nate stared out the window as he listened to Willow rattle on. Conference Center in Granger Valley, his ass. Mystery Guy and his goons were not from Granger Valley. Not with CA vanity plates on his late-model black Audi.
But he wasn’t with Kimball, either. Kimball’s guys wouldn’t be interested in anybody’s chalkboard art. This guy was trolling for Elisa. Specifically for Elisa.
And he knew that he had found her. Nate could tell, from the smirk of triumph on his face as he sipped coffee and waited for his breakfast sandwich.
Nate got his cup of coffee, paid Willow, and headed outside, fishing out the burner phone he’d gotten for their private intel. He hit the quick-dial number for Chief Bristol.
“Who the hell is this?” Wade Bristol answered, in a longsuffering, sleep-roughened voice. The guy had looked worn out even at the wedding reception last night. Chief Bristol had definitely not signed on for problems this big when he’d agreed to be Chief of Police.
“Hey, Chief. It’s Nate. I just saw a suspicious character staking out the diner this morning. Then I overheard him in the Bakery Café, asking questions about people who work there.”
“What kind of questions?” Chief Bristol asked.
“He was trying to social engineer Willow into telling him about Elisa Rinaldi.”
“Elisa?” Bristol sounded baffled. “What the hell does Elisa have to do with this?”
“I don’t know, but I didn’t like it,” Nate said. “I think Elisa has problems of her own.”
“Yeah, well, don’t we all, Nate. What is it that you need from me?”
“Could you run his license plate for me?” Nate asked. “Just to be safe?”
Chief Bristol was silent for too long. “On what grounds?” he finally asked. “You want me to use police resources just because you don’t like another man showing interest in a girl you like?”