OVER THE U.S.

MONDAY, 1:20 A.M. CST

“GOT HIM!” DWAYNE SAID triumphantly.

Steele took the phone. “Joseph?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s about time you turned on your damned phone.”

“I’ve been talking to Hector Rivas Osuna. An interruption could have been fatal.”

“Is Judge Silva with you?”

“Yes,” Faroe said.

“Tell her to turn on her damned phone.”

“Won’t do any good. Her service ends near the border.”

“Then get there fast,” Steele said. “Ted left a message on her machine.”

“What is it?”

“Your faith in St. Kilda is touching.”

“Look, we just saw one man murdered and I met the next body to be hung from the freeway overpass, so excuse me if I’m not-”

“Who died?” Steele cut in.

“A guy who dissed Hector. Bang, bang, bang, bang, you’re dead.”

“Bloody wonderful.”

“You’re half right.”

“Grace saw it?”

“Yes.”

“How is she holding up?” Steele asked.

“Better than we have any right to expect. What is Ted’s message?”

“He’ll call her at Lomas at midnight. Find out who, what, or where Lomas is and call me back.”

Steele punched out and stared at the red dot in Tijuana as if he could move it faster by sheer force of will.

TIJUANA-CALIFORNIA BORDER

SUNDAY, 11:22 P.M.

FAROE PUNCHED THE END button and drove quickly, closing in on the border crossing at Otay Mesa.

“Who, what, or where is Lomas?” he asked Grace.

She rubbed her face wearily, trying to stay awake. The adrenaline of being with a murderous madman had worn off, leaving her limp.

“Grace?”

“I’m reviewing a Lomas case, I know of at least five streets with that name, plus a town or two.” She yawned. “Give me context.”

“Ted left messages on your home phone and your cell phone telling you to be in Lomas at midnight for his call.”

She snapped upright. “Lomas Santa Fe. Our ranch. I haven’t been there since I picked up Lane’s computer. Ted had it with him while he was doing his kingmaking thing over ribs and beer, then he ‘forgot’ to return it to La Jolla.”

“Turn on your phone. We might be close enough for you to get service. Listen hard to Ted’s message. You know the man. Listen to what he doesn’t say, how he breathes, what his voice is like.”

Grace turned on her phone.

Nothing.

“How far is the ranch from here?” Faroe asked, accelerating.

The glow that was the Otay border crossing leaped closer.

“Even if you do the Nascar thing,” she said, “we won’t make it by midnight. Once we get over the border, it’s at least forty minutes on I-5. The good news is that the Otay entry is closer.”

Faroe punched a button on his phone and handed it to Grace. “Give Steele the location of the ranch.”

While Grace talked, the Mercedes rocketed through the night, closing in on the dark and light-splintered chaos that was the border. She shut off the phone and handed it back to Faroe.

“We’re almost there,” he said. “Try your cell again.”

She looked at the phone in her hand. “Nothing.”

Planes on final approach to the Tijuana International Airport dropped down from the night and materialized in the runway lights. Just to the north, U.S. border patrol helicopters flew orbits over Spring Canyon, their spotlights stabbing down to the deep footpaths that braided the canyon floor.

“Lane should see this,” Grace said.

“Why?”

“Add some artful wreckage and you have the opening of T2.”

“T2?” Faroe asked as he pulled into the short line at the port of entry.

“The second Terminator movie. It begins in a world at war, pretty much like Tijuana, except that Tijuana is real. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen T2?”

“I’ve lived it.”

“Your choice.”

“Your benefit.”

“Win-win, huh?”

He would have laughed but it wasn’t funny.

The cell phone in Grace’s hand beeped. “Three missed calls.” She punched in numbers. “Ted.”

“Messages?”

“Just one.” She retrieved it and listened with a growing sense of disbelief. “You slimy son of a bitch.”

She hit replay and handed it to Faroe.

Ted’s voice sounded cheerful, nonchalant.

Faroe wanted to throttle him.

“Hey, Gracie-girl. We need to meet real soon. It’d be good for everybody, especially forLane. But it wouldn’t hurt your career, either. I’ll call you at Lomas at midnight and we can set it up. Ciao.”

“Gracie-girl,” Faroe said neutrally, handing the phone back to her.

“It’s Ted’s way of feeling superior.” Her voice was even. Her eyes told Faroe that if he used that nickname, she’d clock him.

“Is he as smiley as he sounded?” Faroe asked.

“There was a lot of strain in his voice.”

“Good. He deserves it. Is he lying?”

“I doubt it,” she said. “He’s serious when he’s lying.”

“Who’s at Lomas right now?”

“This time of night? Nobody. We have a caretaker who does the grounds during the day, and a housekeeper two days a week.”

“So you would be alone there, waiting for his call.”

Faroe wasn’t asking a question, but she answered anyway. “Yes.”

“Nearest neighbor?”

“A quarter mile. They come and go, same as we did.”

“Sweet,” Faroe said.

His eyes said the opposite.

The car in front of them pulled through the port of entry. Faroe pulled forward and gave the customs agent a bland smile. The man looked bored and end-of-the-shift sleepy. Then he glanced down at his computer screen. His eyes widened and his manner suddenly changed.

“Where have you been in Mexico?” The question was sharp, meant to be intimidating.

“Tijuana, Ensenada, and back,” Faroe said, meeting the inspector’s eyes straight on.

“Pull over underneath that sign, the one that says ‘Secondary Inspection.’ Don’t leave your car, either of you. Someone will be along in a minute.”

He frowned at Faroe, then reached for his phone as the Mercedes crept forward onto American soil.

“Now what?” Grace said, her voice anxious.

“The guys who followed us this afternoon probably put a border watch on us. Either they intend to pick up the surveillance again, or they just want to know when we crossed back.”

“Does it never end?”

“Not for a while.”

Not while you’re breathing.

Faroe parked under the sign. He’d barely turned off the ignition before the inspector stepped out of his booth and trudged across the tarmac to them. He gave the interior of the vehicle a cursory glance, then said, “Okay, you can go.”

Faroe hit the accelerator.

“He didn’t even ask for papers, which means they already know who we are, or at least who you are,” Faroe said. “How is this car registered?”

“To Ted’s company until I get it transferred to my own name.” She shrugged. “Just one of those details I haven’t gotten around to.”

“That might explain it,” Faroe said, “but even so, the inspector let us off too easily. No long wait, no car search, no papers, no pat-down, no body cavity search. Just a short stall at the border while he checks our faces against the ID he called up on his computer.”

“You suspect everything, everybody. Can’t things just happen?”

“Not if you want to stay alive.”

“We’re in the U.S.!”

He gave her a sideways look and kept his mouth shut.

“Right,” she said, angry with him, herself, and everything that had happened since Calderon had telephoned her about Lane. “What are we going to do about Ted’s call? We’re late.”

“I don’t think he’s going to call.”

“Then why would he want to make sure I’m at-” She stopped, swallowed hard, and said, “I don’t like what I’m thinking.”

“Good for you,” Faroe said. “Your ever-lovin’ ex has your cell number. He can call you at midnight no matter where you are. I think he just wanted to make sure you’d be there at Lomas, all alone, at midnight.”