She didn’t say anything more for a while, and Pike was thankful for the silence.

THE GREEN Lexus was waiting in the third row in the parking lot, just another car in a sea of anonymous vehicles. Pike parked the Jeep in the nearest available space, but didn’t shut the engine. He fished under the dash, found the nylon web with practiced efficiency, and dropped a holstered.40-caliber Smith & Wesson into Larkin’s lap.

“Put this in your purse.”

“I’m not touching it. I told you, I hate guns.”

He reached under the passenger-side dash and came out with a.380 Beretta pocket gun. He reached again and found a plastic box containing loaded magazines for the Smith and the Beretta. He dropped them into her lap, too.

She said, “Ohmigod, what kind of freak are you?”

He went back under the dash a last time for a sealed plastic bag containing two thousand dollars and credit cards and a driver’s license showing his face in the name of Fred C. Howe. He put the bag into her lap with the guns.

“This one has money. Maybe it’ll fit your purse better.”

Pike finally shut the engine and got out without waiting for her. He carried their bags to the Lexus, then went to the left front tire where Ronnie had hidden the key. Pike loaded their bags into the Lexus, then locked the Jeep and left the key in the same place under the tire. Ronnie would return for the Jeep later and leave it behind the gun shop.

Larkin watched Pike with her arms crossed.

“What are we going to do now?”

“First step, get in the car.”

“How about, second step, get something to eat?”

“Soon.”

Pike wedged the Kimber under his right thigh, butt out, ready to go. He started the engine for the air, then picked up the new phone. Ronnie had left the phone, two extra prepaid phone cards, and a note on the driver’s-side floorboard. Along with the phone was a charger Pike could plug into the car, a second charger for use in a house, and an earbud for hands-free driving. Ronnie had already activated the phone and registered two thousand minutes of calling time, so the phone was good to go. He had written Pike’s new cell phone number on the note.

Larkin said, “I am so starving. Could we please get something to eat?”

Pike studied the phone to figure it out, then fired up the Lexus and backed out, already thumbing in the number of a real estate agent he knew.

Larkin said, “Thank God. Finally. I’m so hungry my stomach is eating itself.”

“Not yet.”

Larkin colored with irritation.

“Oh, fuck this! This is absurd! I’m hungry. I want food.”

Pike had to get them a place to hide. He had considered a motel, but a motel would increase their contact with people and contact was bad. They needed privacy in a neighborhood where no one was likely to recognize the girl. They needed immediate occupancy with no questions asked, which meant Pike could not do business with strangers. He had once helped the real estate agent deal with an abusive ex-husband, and had since bought and sold several properties through her.

When Pike had her on the line he described what he needed. Larkin was slumped against the door on her side of the car, arms crossed and sullen.

She said, “Help! Help! He’s raping me! Help!”

Loud.

The real estate agent said, “Who’s that?”

“I’m babysitting.”

Larkin glared harder-

“You’ve never sat a baby like me.”

– then leaned closer to the phone.

“I gave him a blow job!”

Pike’s friend said, “Sounds nice.”

Larkin shouted, “I blew him and now he won’t feed me! I’m starving to death!”

Pike cupped the phone so he could continue.

“Can you find a house for me?”

“I think I have something that will work. I’ll have to get back to you.”

Pike gave his friend his new number, ended the call, then glanced at the girl. She was slumped back against her door again, glaring at him through her dark glasses as if she was waiting to see what he would do. Testing him, maybe. Everything Pike knew about this girl had been told to him by Bud Flynn and the girl’s father less than seventeen hours ago, and now he knew that Bud’s information could not be trusted.

Pike glanced over at her again.

“What’s your name?”

She took off her glasses and frowned at him as if he were retarded.

“What are you talking about?”

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t get it. Is this some kind of game we’re playing, truth or dare, what?”

“Your name.”

“I don’t get why you’re asking my name.”

“What is it?”

Her face flattened in frustration and she pulled at her shirt.

“I’m hungry. When are you getting me something to eat?”

“Name.”

“LARKIN CONNER BARKLEY! Jesus Christ, what’s YOUR FUCKING NAME?”

“Your father?”

“CONNER BARKLEY! MY MOTHER IS DEAD! HER NAME WAS JANICE! I’M AN ONLY FUCKING CHILD! FUCK YOU!”

Pike checked the rearview, then pointed at her purse on the floor under her feet.

“License and credit cards.”

She snatched up her purse, dug out her wallet, and threw it at him.

“Use the cards to buy me some lunch.”

Pike fingered open the wallet and thumbed out her driver’s license. It showed a color picture of her along with the name Larkin Conner Barkley issued by the California Department of Motor Vehicles. Her address showed as a high-rise in Century City, but both Bud and her father had described a home in Beverly Hills.

Pike said, “You live in Century City?”

“That’s our corporate office. Everything goes to that address.”

“Where do you live?”

“You want to go to my loft? I got a great loft. We own the building.”

“Where?”

“Downtown. It’s in this great industrial area.”

“That where they came for you the first time they tried to kill you?”

“I was with my father. In Beverly Hills.”

“When was that?”

“I don’t know. Jesus!”

“Think.”

“A week. Not even. Six days, maybe.”

“Who is Alex Meesh?”

She sank back, her angry confidence gone.

“The man who’s trying to kill me.”

Pike had already heard it from her father and Bud, but now he wanted it from her.

“Why does he want you dead?”

She stared out the windshield at oncoming nothingness and shook her head.

“I don’t know. Because I saw him that night with the Kings. When I had my accident. I’m cooperating with the Justice Department.”

Pike fingered through her credit cards, reading their faces between glances at the road. The cards had all been issued to Larkin Barkley, sometimes with the middle name and sometimes not. Pike pulled out an American Express card and a Visa. The AmEx was one of those special black cards, which indicated she charged at least two hundred fifty thousand dollars every year. He tossed her wallet back onto the floorboard at her feet, but kept the two credit cards and her driver’s license. He wedged them under his leg along with the gun.

Pike knew what Bud and her father had told him, but now he wanted to identify the players and find out for himself what was true. He would need help to find out those things, so he dialed another number.

Larkin glanced over, but this time her heart wasn’t in it. She made a weak smile.

“I hope you’re calling for reservations.”

“I’m calling someone who can help us.”

The phone rang twice, and then a man answered.

“Elvis Cole Detective Agency. We can do anything.”

“I’m coming up.”

Pike closed the phone and turned toward the mountains.