Robert Crais - Taken

“Are you Ghazi al-Diri?”

She pinched the corner of the tape and ripped it off.

“Are you Ghazi al-Diri?”

“Who are you?”

She smiled, and showed him her badge.

“I’m the person who’s looking forward to speaking with you.”

She pressed the tape back over his mouth, then went back to the others and phoned in additional SRT teams.

Elvis Cole

The ER staff let Krista stay with Jack while they evaluated him. They told me it shouldn’t take long, so I phoned Nita Morales from the waiting room while Pike looked on. I used his phone. The only person there besides us was an elderly woman who held rosary beads and stared into space.

I said, “She’s safe. I’m bringing her home.”

Nita was silent. I let her have those moments because they are personal and precious, and after a few seconds I heard the soft whispers of her crying.

“Thank you. I knew you-I knew you were-”

“Shh. It’s okay. She’s with me, and I’m bringing her home.”

“I want to talk to her.”

“I’ll put her on, but I want to tell you where she’s been and what she’s been through. She’s with Jack now, so I can speak freely.”

A touch of frost brittled her voice. I could feel it from a hundred miles away.

“Did he get her into this?”

I softened my voice, and made it caring. I truly did understand where she was coming from.

“No, Nita, he didn’t. She’s with him now because we brought him to the Coachella hospital. He’s going to be okay, but he got hurt pretty bad trying to take care of her.”

I told her everything I knew about what happened while Krista was held by Dennis Orlato’s crew. I felt, and still do, that giving Nita the time to work through her fears would help later when she and Krista spoke.

Pike and I were still waiting twenty minutes later, so I asked a male nurse if Jack was still waiting to be seen. When the nurse told me the evaluation had finished fifteen minutes ago, I asked him to send Krista out.

She fidgeted when she saw me.

“They want him to see a doctor closer to home, but he’s going to be fine. He called his aunt. I want to wait with him until she gets here.”

“He can wait for his aunt by himself. I’m taking you home.”

“I’m going to stay. He doesn’t have anyone here. I think I should stay.”

“We’re going home. This isn’t over until you’re home.”

I would have carried her if she refused, but she didn’t. She didn’t like leaving Jack, but she also wanted her mother.

The three of us said almost nothing as we drove back to L.A., but it was a clear and pretty day, and the traffic was light. Krista rode in back. She spoke quietly to her mother for a few minutes, but most of what I heard were yes or no answers. She had lived it, and was burned out now, and didn’t have more to give. Sometimes it takes a few days. Sometimes, longer. She gave back Pike’s phone and said nothing more until we entered the Banning Pass. The desert was behind us, and falling farther behind.

She said, “I just wanted to see.”

“This wasn’t your fault. The Syrian, Orlato, the people who did these horrible things-it was their fault. They did it. Not you.”

A little while later, I heard her sniffle. I reached back, and held her hand.

When we reached the city, I phoned Nita to tell her we were five minutes away. Nita and twenty-five or thirty people were waiting outside when we arrived, and they were all wearing the T-shirt. Elvis Cole Detective Agency. World’s Greatest Detective. They had spent the past two hours making the shirts.

Nita enveloped Krista and wouldn’t let go, and cried so hard she shook. Farther back in the crowd, the big kid with the big shoulders I’d met on the first day called out.

“Magazine guy!”

He gave me a thumbs-up, beaming.

Nita grabbed onto me next, and wept even harder.

“God bless you. God bless you for this. I owe you everything. I owe you my life.”

I hugged her back, as tight as I have ever hugged anyone, and then Pike drove me home. We took the Hollywood Freeway north to the Cahuenga Pass, then Mulholland along the crest to Laurel. I don’t think we spoke ten words, which was normal for Pike but not for me. As with Krista, sometimes these things take time.

We drifted down Woodrow Wilson to my little street, rounded the last curve, and saw my home. I smiled when I saw it. I usually do.

We parked across the drive, and went through the carport to the kitchen door, which is how I always enter my home, but this time something was different. I studied the car.

“It’s clean.”

Pike touched the yellow skin.

“Needs wax.”

“You washed it?”

“Rinsed it.”

He frowned at his Jeep, and turned away. It had picked up some pits and dings in the desert, along with a heavy layer of dust.

I reached the door, and realized I didn’t have my keys.

“No key.”

Pike let us in.

My keys and cell phone and things were on the counter where he left them.

“You want a beer? Something to eat?”

“Water.”

I got two waters from the fridge, and we drank them, leaning against the counters. My cat came in. He purred when he saw me, blinked at Pike, then rubbed against my leg.

I said, “Hey, bud.”

He did a figure eight between my ankles, wandered over to Pike, and flopped onto the floor.

I took a breath. I had some of the water, and took another breath. I looked at Pike.

“Thank you.”

He dug something from his pocket, and held it out.

“You dropped this.”

I smiled at the little Jiminy, then put it on the counter. Nita told me she would take it back when I found her daughter, and I was going to hold her to it. Dreams really can come true.

I wanted to shower. I wanted to brush my teeth, and floss, and shave, and get out of clothes that smelled of blood and torture and death. I wanted to put the desert behind me, but some things are more important.

I gathered up the plastic mop bucket I keep in the laundry room, some dish soap and towels, and took them outside. Pike and the cat followed me.

I filled the bucket with soapy water, soaked a towel, and went to work washing Pike’s Jeep. I rubbed hard to get rid of the desert. Pike picked up a towel and joined me. The cat crouched under my car and watched.

We washed away the dirt and dust, but the desert had put dings and pits in the paint that were part of the Jeep now, but that’s as it should be. They would fill with wax over time, and eventually be lost in the shine.

That day would come with enough work and patience. Pike knew it, and I knew it, too.

We washed his old Jeep, and buffed its bright skin. We made the Jeep as right as we could, and everything with it.