Then I remember what Tolyan told the chef at the hotel. He’s the one in charge of signing off for the event. And “the event” was sponsored by the Pryce Family Foundation.
I take out my phone and search for the foundation’s office. It has to be close.
Sure enough, it’s only a couple of blocks away. I dash over. A car running a red light veers, tires screeching, as it barely avoids hitting me while skidding to a stop.
I let out a scream, and my already shaky knees come close to buckling. My vision dims for a second, and I jerk away when a hand touches my shoulder.
“Are you okay?” says an urgent female voice.
“What?” I can’t process the question. Roy loves to hit people with cars. That’s one of his signature moves, and—
“Do you need us to call 911?” another person asks.
I blink and take stock of my surroundings. People. A knot of them. I’m shaking all over, but I’m not broken or bleeding. I turn my head and look at the driver. He’s just a kid—a teenager. He’s so pale his freckles look almost black. The license plate is a standard California-issue with no reference to Roy. At all.
Just a freak coincidence. Nothing more.
Pull yourself together. You don’t have time to waste.
I stand up straight. “I’m fine. Just surprised,” I say, my voice rough. “Anyway, I’m in a hurry. But thank you.”
I rush across the intersection, ignoring everyone’s reaction behind me. They can speculate all they want, but I have a more important objective: reaching the Pryce Family Foundation before Tolyan leaves.
When I finally get to the correct address, I’m standing in front of a gigantic skyscraper. I push at one of the doors. It doesn’t budge.
What?
I try pulling it, which doesn’t work either. I try another door. Nope.
The building’s locked. I bang on the thick glass, but it just hurts my fists. I take a few steps back, breathing hard. There has to be a way in. Tolyan didn’t dress in a suit just to hang out downtown.
I look around and notice a security panel next to the doors. It has a numeric keypad and a slot to swipe a card. Well, the panel’s no use to me, since I have no secret code or card. I tap on the touchscreen.
Enter your passcode and swipe your building ID.
No option for guests or visitors. What’s up with this super-duper security? What’s beyond the doors? A vault full of gold bars?
I make little binoculars with my hands, place them on the glass door and squint at the inside. Maybe it is full of gold bars. I read an article once that said most foundations spend almost all their money on paying high salaries and benefits to the executives.
Should I just wait out here until he comes out? But what if he doesn’t? He probably drove here, which means he’s likely to go straight to his car. I see a sign that says Parking. An underground garage. Since it’s late afternoon on a Saturday, I doubt there’ll be a lot of cars.
My mind made up, I duck under the bar at the car entrance. The security camera above is probably filming me trespassing, but I doubt it’ll matter unless someone gets their car stolen or vandalized, neither of which I plan to do.
There’s an open elevator, but when I go into it and press the floor marked for the foundation, the car doesn’t move. What the…?
Then I note a slot to swipe an ID card—which I don’t have. Crap.
I come out, and the emergency stairwell to the actual office part of the building is locked. Fine. I’ll have to do this the hard way.
Praying that Roy doesn’t know about Tolyan yet, I start checking the garage. The sedan I saw yesterday is on the third level. I huff out a breath. Although I pride myself on being in shape, this is harder than I thought!
Still… I found Tolyan’s car before I was fully covered in sweat. I find a good spot behind an empty SUV and hunker down.
Now all that’s left is waiting.
Chapter Eight
Tolyan
There’s nothing much to do on Saturday that requires me to be in the office, but I come in anyway. My little fawn didn’t make the move I expected last night, and I need to give her another chance.
Not too easily, of course. Nobody should ever feel they’re entitled to me. Taking care of the flasher on my way home last night so she could jog without inconvenience… Well, that was just something I wanted to do. Call it a bonus after cutting out a cancer for humanity. The flasher wasn’t quite cancerous—yet—but a tumor’s not necessarily benign either, especially when it won’t keep to itself.
Criminals are narcissists, no matter how pathetic their origins. They want to be known, and they want to brag. That means they grow large and malignant.
Since she was safe from the flasher, I took my dogs to a different park and played fetch. I was feeling extra cheery. But the entire time I was with my dogs, a portion of my mind stayed with her. Was she disappointed I didn’t show? Did she think she’d have another chance? Has she read the articles yet? The local reporters were quick to write about Rick Owen. But then, I didn’t want his body sitting in that tub for more than a few days. Otherwise I would’ve disabled his car alarm before leaving, so some asshole kids in the morning couldn’t set it off, like they often seem to do in that neighborhood.
She’s a smart little fawn. Cautious, too. She’s going to be careful to make sure she isn’t sticking her neck into some new predator’s maw. She checked me out again at the café while taking my order. It was irritating that Sean Boyle gave me the coffee. And Eric Jones stood entirely too close to her, which I don’t think she noticed. She was studying me too intently.
The weasel pretended he was making sure she was comfortable with the terminal. If he were a better actor, he wouldn’t have been staring at her chest. Or licking his lips like some hungry mutt faced with a feast.
I had a most uncharacteristic urge to poke his eyeballs out, then snap his jaw with a backhand so his teeth would sink deep into his tongue. Lucky for him, I’m a man of restraint.
I check the time. An hour since the text on my phone.
Delivery completed.
I turn off the laptop. Everything’s calm and orderly in the world of the Four. I walk out of the office and hit the button for an elevator. It takes a few moments to arrive, which is fine. My little fawn needs every moment to get into position.
It would be awkward if I got to my car before she did. But I don’t want to stay in the office much longer. Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky and Mussorgsky are waiting. And I indulge them as much as possible because they’re amazing animals. Loyal. And obedient.
As I approach my car, a sensation very much like fine needles on my skin ripples over me from head to toe. I can feel the weight of a gaze following me. Nothing as cold and lethal as a hidden killer. No, it’s that of a small animal, breathing slowly and shallowly.
Come on, my little fawn. I’m ready.
“Mr. Tolyan.”
Ah. There. I make sure to erase my small smile and set my face into a placid expression before turning to face her.
She’s a little wan. There are beads of sweat along her hairline, although it isn’t particularly hot in the garage. Her hands are quivering—probably with nerves. She doesn’t seem to realize they aren’t steady. Most people hide their hands or curl them into fists to hide that reaction.