“No, smart. Did you use a credit card to pay for your hotel room?”

“Yes. Oh-I guess they do know where I am now,” she said in dismay.

“Maybe not yet, but they probably will soon. You said Gabe hasn’t contacted you since the robberies?”

“Not a word. To be honest, I almost hope he won’t contact me. No, that’s not true, either. I don’t know what I want anymore. Sometimes I want him to be caught before he does anything else so stupid, so wrong. But when I think of him facing the death penalty, I go crazy. I can’t think of letting that happen to him. I think I’d rather help him get to another country, or-I don’t know. I don’t know.”

He screwed up his courage. “I could come there. I could come and get you, help you get away for a few days. I’m on my way back to L.A. from Denver. I’m taking Spooky to Malibu.”

“I thought you said she usually stays home when you travel, that someone stays at home with her then.”

“Usually her tutor or one of my employees stays with her. But I decided to bring her with me this time.” He hesitated and decided he would tell her the rest when they were face-to-face. “I have some business to take care of inL.A.-I don’t think I’ll be there for long.”

“It would be so good to see you, but I don’t want to put you to even more trouble.”

“No trouble. In fact, I’d be putting you to trouble. You haven’t met Spooky yet.”

“Maybe I could help keep her entertained while you go to meetings or whatever it is you have to do.”

“That would be great,” he said, even as he began to question the wisdom of his plan. This was no time for behaving impulsively. But to see Meghan…to make sure she was safe…

“I’m staying at the Sandia Towers,” she said. “Can you pick me up here tomorrow?”

He could hear his own pulse. He forced himself to think, to calm down. “Just to be on the safe side, let’s meet away from the hotel. It will make life a little more difficult for anyone who is following you. Do you have much luggage?”

“Just a small overnight bag. I can get anything else I need in L.A.”

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then tomorrow afternoon at about four, take a cab to the Sandia Tramway and take the tram to the top of the mountain. From the hotel to the peak, it’s probably a trip of about thirty minutes. There’s a restaurant there called the Peak Experience. We’ll meet you there, okay?”

“Great.”

“Bring a warm jacket and wear shoes you can walk in-I won’t be able to park closer than a mile from the restaurant.”

“Okay. And-thanks, Kit.”

“See you soon.”

Spooky came back out just as he ended the call. “Who was that?”

“A friend. Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m starving. What friend?”

“Someone you’ll meet soon. Let’s go.”

“A woman?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

“Who is she?”

“An old friend.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“We’ve just had this conversation, haven’t we?”

She shrugged and looked away. They walked out to the Suburban in silence. He kept a hand on the phone, still warm from being held during the conversation. His fingertips touched the rabbit’s foot. He thought of how much he liked the sound of Meghan’s voice.

And now he would see her in person for the first time since he graduated from high school.

The rabbit’s foot did not prevent him from being assailed by doubts.

“I wish you were gay,” Spooky said.

Sheriff’s Department Headquarters

Monterey Park, California

Monday, May 19, 5:40 P.M.

Alex watched as Sheriff James Dwyer, a consummate politician, deftly avoided directly answering questions about FBI involvement in the cases, managing to turn every inquiry into an opportunity to talk about the capabilities of his own department. Tall, silver-haired, sharp-eyed, and smooth-spoken, he was in his element, while Alex felt distinctly out of his own.

Before today, the only time Alex had done more than shake hands with Dwyer was at J.D.’s funeral, when Dwyer had offered brief condolences. Alex had never expected more. Over sixteen thousand people worked for the L.A. County Sheriff’s Department, and almost ten thousand of those were sworn officers. Between its detectives and the man at the top, there were several levels of command. Contrary to the image of the lone cowboy with a tin star that the word “sheriff” sometimes evoked, the L.A. County Sheriff was the chief administrator of a law enforcement agency that was the principal police force in forty-one cities, staffed nine county jails, provided security for the courts, and much more. Dwyer didn’t have time to shoot the breeze with one homicide detective.

On Alex’s few previous high-profile cases, J.D. had been the one to go to headquarters with Nelson to brief the sheriff. Dwyer spent a few minutes talking about J.D. today, making an effort to put Alex at ease. Some of that might have been the irrepressible campaigner at work, but Alex had also been struck by how quickly the sheriff absorbed the basic facts of the cases, how many details he had wanted to know.

“I understand you’re trying to get Shay Wilder to take a look at these cases,” Dwyer had said.

“Yes, sir.”

Dwyer had smiled. “Good luck. If the stubborn old cuss will let you in his front door, give him my regards.”

Now, at the end of the press conference, Alex realized how well Sheriff Dwyer and Captain Nelson had anticipated what the sheriff would be asked by the press. Just before the follow-up questions became too probing, Dwyer said, “That’s all we have for you now, ladies and gentlemen.”

Alex heard but ignored the repeated cries of his name from members of the press.

“Detective Brandon! The FBI must surely have more background on these cases-when will they be called in to investigate?”

“Detective Brandon! Can you tell us if the couple who found the bodies on Catalina are suspects at this point in time?”

Picturing the mild-mannered, elderly couple, who had been thoroughly unnerved by their discovery, Alex wanted to laugh at that one. But he kept his face straight and his mouth closed.

Nelson, no fool, had already made his way off the platform and out of the room. Alex tried to follow.

“Detective Brandon!” Diana Ontora, from Channel Three News, moved in front of him as he descended the platform steps. “Whoever’s doing this-aren’t they really heroes?”

She thrust the microphone so fiercely into his face, he thought she might have been trying to give him a bloody nose.

“No, they’re not heroes,” he answered, then tried to move by.

She blocked him again and said, “But they’ve stopped three killers-killers the country’s top cops couldn’t catch-right?”

“They’ve committed three murders.”

“Technically, yes,” she said, still not budging. “But really, they’ve rid the country of three of its worst criminals, and all without costing taxpayers a dime. Aren’t they making this department and every other law enforcement organization in America look bad? Aren’t you a little afraid of the competition?”

“This isn’t a game,” he said and moved around her.

“They killed a man who brutally murdered a family of four, including one of your witnesses,” she shouted after him. “Don’t you wish they had killed him sooner?”

He kept walking.

Alex was due over at the studios where Crimesolvers USA was taped. The producer, Ty Serault, had a reputation of going out of his way to be cooperative with law enforcement-not surprising, given the nature of his program-and had agreed to talk about the staff who had worked on the show on the nights when the segments about Valerie Perry and Harold Denihan aired. When Ciara, who was already headed back to Catalina, heard this, she had asked Alex if he had promised to take the guy for a ride with the sirens on.