Robert Crais - The Watchman

“They found us.”

“I don’t know how they found us!”

“Let me see your shoes.”

“What?”

He pushed her backwards into the Jeep and pulled off her shoes. This time she didn’t resist. She sank back onto the seat, watching him as he lifted her feet.

Pike wondered if they had placed a transponder on her. Maybe she had been bugged from the beginning, which was how the U.S. Marshals and Bud Flynn had almost lost her. Pike checked the heels of her shoes, then looked at her belt and the metal buttons that held her jeans. She drew a deep breath as he pulled off her belt.

She said, “Like that?”

Pike ignored her smile. It was nasty and perfect.

“Want me to take off my pants?”

Pike turned to her duffel, and she laughed.

“You are such a freak. These are my things. They haven’t been out of my sight since I went with the marshals, you freak! Why don’t you say something ? Why don’t you talk to me ?”

Pike didn’t believe he would find anything, but he had to check, so he did, ignoring her. Pike had learned this with the Marines-the one time a man didn’t clean his rifle, that’s when it jammed; the one time you didn’t tape down a buckle or secure your gear, the noise it made got you killed.

“Are we just going to stay here? Is it even safe here? I want to go home.”

“They almost killed you at home.”

“Now I’m with you and they’ve almost killed me twice. I want to go home .”

Pike took out his cell phone and checked the messages. The three incoming calls were from Bud Flynn. Pike hit the send button to return the calls and wondered if they were being tracked by his phone, the signal triangulated between cell stations. To track him they would have to know his number, but Bud had it. Maybe if Bud knew it, they knew it, too.

Bud answered immediately.

“You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were done when you didn’t answer.”

“They found us again.”

“Get outta here. Where are you?”

“Listen. She wants to come home.”

Pike was watching the girl when he said it, and she was staring back.

Bud didn’t answer right away, but when he did his voice was soft.

“Now let’s take it easy. Let’s everybody calm down. Is she safe? Right now, is everything good?”

“Yes.”

“I want to make sure I understand-are you talking about the Malibu house or the house I just sent you to, the one in Eagle Rock?”

Bud had sent them to a safe house in Malibu the night before, then put them onto the Eagle Rock house when the shooters hit Malibu.

“Eagle Rock. You gave me two bad houses, Bud.”

“Not possible. They could not have known about this house.”

“Three more men died. Do the feds have me covered on this or not? I have to know, Bud.”

Bud already knew about the two in Malibu. The feds had screamed, but promised to cover for Pike and the girl with the locals.

Now Bud didn’t sound confident.

“I’ll talk to them.”

“Talk fast. I lost one of my guns, the.357. When the police run the numbers, they’ll have my name.”

Bud made a soft hiss that sounded more tired than angry. Pike didn’t press him. Pike let him think.

“All right, listen-she wants to come home?”

“Yes.”

“Put her on.”

Pike held out the phone. The girl put it to her ear, but now she seemed uncertain. She listened for several minutes, and then she spoke once.

She said, “I’m really scared. Can’t I come home?”

Pike knew the answer even before she gave back the phone. Here they were in an alley in southeast Los Angeles, temperature in the mid-nineties, and this girl looked cold. She flew over places like this in her family’s private Gulfstream, but here she was, all for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and, for likely the first and only time in her life, trying to do the right thing. And now the right thing meant being with him.

Pike took back the phone even as a car turned into the far end of the alley. He immediately put himself between the girl and the oncoming car, then saw the driver was a young Latina, so short she drove with her head tilted back to see over the wheel.

Pike lifted the phone.

“Me.”

“Okay, listen-she’s good to stay with you. I think that’s best and so does her father. I’ll line up another house-”

“Keep your house. Did you ID the men in Malibu?”

“We have to get you safe. I’ll line up another house-”

“Your houses are bad.”

“Joe-”

“They had us twice at your houses. I’ll get us a house.”

“You can’t cut me out like this. How will I know-”

“You gave her to me, Bud. She’s mine.”

Pike shut off his phone. The girl was watching him there in the angry heat of the alley.

She said, “Now I’m yours? Did you really say that?”

“If you want to go home I’ll take you home. That’s up to you, not them. That’s all I meant. I’ll take you back if you want.”

Pike knew she was thinking about it, but then she shrugged.

“I’ll stay.”

“Get in.”

Pike helped her into his Jeep, then studied both ends of the alley. He wanted to start moving, but his Jeep was now a liability. The police would eventually know he was involved because of his gun, but if a witness in Eagle Rock had his license plate, the police might already be looking for a red Jeep Cherokee. Pike wanted to avoid the police, but he couldn’t just sit. When you weren’t moving you were nothing but someone’s target.

The alley was clear. Right now, at this moment and in this place, Pike and the girl were invisible. If Pike could keep it that way, the girl would survive.

Pike turned into the Bristol Farms on Sunset at Fairfax, and parked as far from the intersection as possible, hiding their Jeep.

She said, “What are we doing?”

“I have to call someone. Get out.”

“Why don’t you call from the car?”

“I don’t trust my cell. Get out.”

“Can’t I wait here?”

“No.”

Pike was concerned she might be recognized even with the new hair and sunglasses, but she might change her mind about staying with him, take off running, and get herself killed. They had known each other for exactly sixteen hours. They were strangers.

Larkin hurried around the Jeep to catch up.

“Who are you calling?”

“We need new wheels and a place to stay. We need to learn something about the people who are trying to kill you. If the police are after us, it changes our moves.”

“What do you mean, moves? What are we going to do?”

Pike was tired of talking, so he didn’t. He led her past the flower stand at the front of the market to a bank of pay phones, and pushed quarters into a phone.

Larkin hooked her arm around his, as though the Santa Anas would blow her away if she wasn’t anchored. She glanced into the market.

“I want to get something to eat.”

“No time.”

“I could get something while you’re talking.”

“Later.”

Pike owned a small gun shop in Culver City, not far from his condominium. He had five employees: four men and one woman-two who were full-time and three who were former police officers.

A man named Ronnie answered on the second ring.

“Gun shop.”

Pike said, “I’m calling in two.”

Pike hung up.

Larkin squeezed his arm.

“Who was that?”

“He works for me.”

“Is he a bodyguard, too?”

Pike ignored her, watching the second hand circle his Rolex. Ronnie would be walking next door to the laundromat for Pike’s call.

While Pike waited, two men in their late twenties passed by on their way out of the market. One of them looked Larkin up and down, and the other stared at her face. Larkin looked back at them. Pike tried to read if the second man recognized her. Out in the parking lot they goosed each other before climbing into a black Audi, so Pike decided they hadn’t.