Catherine Coulter - Backfire

“His features really are Caucasian,” Sherlock said, looking at the driver’s license. “Look at those green eyes. There doesn’t seem to be any resemblance at all to his Chinese father, except they are both on the slight side. He’s a good-looking kid, isn’t he?”

“Look closely,” Savich said. “He’s already got an arrogant tilt to his head, and there’s a dead-on look in his eyes, staring you right in the face, like he doesn’t care what you think or about much of anything.”

A message notification popped up, and they were soon looking at the same face, though more filled out, lines about his mouth and eyes, yet his eyes were more intense, and still had the same dead-on look, easily recognizable. Savich forwarded it to Hammersmith, waited a few seconds, and called him on speakerphone.

Savich said, “Griffin, did you get that picture of Xu I sent you?”

“It’s going out over the network now. I was wrong about Xu moving from the Atherton B-and-B to a middle-of-the-road motel on Lombard or down by the wharf or any of the motels in the Tenderloin. We’ve checked; he ain’t there.

“I’m still convinced, though, he’s got to be close by. I don’t think he knows we’ve identified him yet. It could be he’s staying at one of the most exclusive hotels, like the Stanford or the Fairmont or the Mandarin, figuring we wouldn’t expect that. I’m thinking the Fairmont.”

“Why the Fairmont in particular?” Sherlock asked.

A pause, then Griffin said, “A feeling, just a feeling. No guarantees.”

None needed , Savich thought.

“Also, from what we know about him and his contacts, he’s not short on money, so why not be comfortable?”

“Then why did he stay at that bed-and-breakfast in Atherton when he first arrived to kill Judge Hunt?”

“I don’t know. I’ve realized he’s not so easy to figure out.” Griffin sighed. “Until he killed Mickey O’Rourke, I had him pegged differently. We’ll canvass all the hotels we can, this time with Xu’s photo in hand. We’ll have them put up his photo behind the registration desks. He might still be wearing that ball cap and sunglasses-well, there’s nothing we can do about that except give them a heads-up.”

“Griffin, do me a favor.”

“Sure, Sherlock, whatever you need.”

“Be careful, Griffin. He’s a very dangerous man. Please don’t forget that.”

“I will. Listen, I could be all wrong about the Fairmont.”

“They tell me that doesn’t happen often,” Savich said. “Call when you get something.”

–

When Eve and Harry got off the elevator on the fourth floor, Eve looked up the hallway at an SFPD officer and a deputy marshal, on their feet when they spotted them.

Once inside Ramsey’s room, Deputy Marshal Haloran said quickly, “What’s going on?”

Eve said, “I really made a mess of it, Joe.”

Harry squeezed her arm. “She means Cindy Cahill is pretty bad off. But she may have finally given us something useful. We’ll know soon.”

To Eve’s surprise, Ramsey was reading a spy novel, and wasn’t that perfect? She wondered what Savich would find out about Xu, the spy and cold-blooded murderer who wanted Ramsey dead.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You look really hot, you know that?”

He also looked tired. But he was back, all hard, dark edges, and the killer smile, Judge Dredd in the flesh. “I look hot? That makes you as much of a liar as my wife. Happy to see you, though, liar or not.” He paused. “Eve, I can tell by looking at you that something’s happened. What?”

Eve said, “Cindy Cahill told us the man who’s been trying to kill you is called Xian Xu. He’s Chinese American, born in Indiana, and looks as WASP as you do. Dillon and Sherlock are trying to track him down. I don’t suppose the name means anything to you?”

“Not any more than the name Xu by itself,” Ramsey said. “If they can find him, maybe I can start making some plans to get out of here and back to work.”

“We should get him now, Judge Hunt,” Harry said. “He won’t come after you again.” Ramsey stared from Harry to Eve, considering that, and Eve said, “Hey, do you think you’ll be going home in time for Thanksgiving?”

Ramsey became aware that the pain meds were tugging on his brain, and evidently his hearing as well, because he thought in that moment that Eve had a beautiful speaking voice. He forgot about Thanksgiving, forgot everything but her voice. He stared up at Eve. “You ever have voice lessons?”

“Me? Goodness, talk about playing a rusty saw. That’s what my vocal cords feel like. Ramsey, have you had your pain meds recently?”

“Well, yes, a couple of minutes ago. You’re lucky I’m still awake.”

She took his hand, squeezed it. “Hey, Haloran. If you want to play more poker with Judge Hunt, now’s the time.”

–

Sherlock and Savich were seated in the security office off the lobby, Griffin on the phone. He sounded so hyper she hoped he wasn’t driving.

“We’ve got him! Amazing what a difference that picture made.”

Sherlock said, “Let me put my cell on speaker, Griffin. Okay, make our day.”

“Xu’s here at the Fairmont Hotel. The registration clerk on duty recognized him after studying the photo. She was used to seeing him in sunglasses and his ball cap, but this morning, he came trooping out of the restaurant after he’d had breakfast and asked the concierge a question. She said good morning to him. He said good morning back to her and smiled. She added he had a very nice smile. So it appears our Mr. Xu either forgot his sunglasses or he didn’t care this morning about hiding his face from prying eyes. Maybe he doesn’t intend to stay much longer.”

They cheered loud enough for Griffin to grin. The guard at the hospital video console turned toward them and toasted them with his coffee, since they looked ready to high-five the world.

Sherlock said, “Griffin, you’re a genius. I worship at your feet. Tell us everything.”

“He’s not at the hotel now. The registration clerk told us the last time she saw him, he was headed toward the hotel front doors.”

Savich asked, “Griffin, did the registration clerk say he was carrying anything, like luggage?”

“I didn’t ask her. Hold on.” Two minutes later, Griffin came back on line. “She doesn’t remember seeing him carrying anything.”

Savich said, “If he believes Cindy is dead, he may think his job here is done. He could have put his luggage in his car before he went in to breakfast. Griffin, speak to the concierge. Find out what question Xu asked.”

Griffin was back on the line in a minute. “The concierge who spoke to Xu is off-duty. I’ll try his cell to see if he remembers what Xu wanted. I’ll get back to you.”

Savich said, “Griffin, stay around the lobby. If Xu comes back, call us, but don’t try to apprehend him, okay? How many agents are with you?”

“There are two of us.”

“Make sure you all look like happy tourists. Cheney or I will call you.”

When he punched off his cell, Savich said, “I’m thinking keep it simple. We wait for him in his room, that way there’s no chance of any bystanders getting hurt.”

Sherlock cocked her head at Dillon. “Do you think he’s leaving for good?”

“I don’t know. He’s careful and he’s smart. He didn’t check out when he left the Fairmont this morning, but if he’s got luggage with him in the car, he may not go back.”

“I would bet he knows Cindy is alive by now, and of course Ramsey is, too. Do you think he’s giving up on it all, running?”

“Nothing he does would surprise me. There are only three places we know he might go-back to the Fairmont, one of the airports, or here, the hospital.”