I untangled myself from Liz and the blankets, put on my jeans and a T-shirt, and headed to the kitchen. I started the coffee for Liz, poured some cereal in a bowl, and sat in her living room, eating and watching the puffy clouds drift along the harbor, obscuring the buildings on the other side.
Halfway into a second bowl, I knew Liz was right. The reason I was keeping my teeth in this was so maybe I could change the way I thought about Russell Simington in future years. It was probably misguided thinking on my part, but I didn’t have much else. Never having known my father had allowed me to put my feelings in a nice, tidy little box—I hated him. But, now, having met him, even knowing who he was and what he’d done in his life, a microscopic part of me wanted desperately to find something good. If I could bring down Keene, it would give me something.
Liz stumbled into the living room wearing gray sweats and a blue long-sleeve T-shirt. She was hugging her mug of coffee like it might try to escape as she collapsed onto the sofa next to me. Definitely not a morning person.
She finished the coffee and said, “It’s gross out.”
“I’d say.”
“Not supposed to rain like this here. Isn’t that why we tolerate the traffic and earthquakes?” “You’d think.”
She grunted, walked back into the kitchen, and returned with a newly filled cup. She sat down again and looked at me. “Morning.” “Good morning.”
“Think I forgot to say that the first time I came out.” “Well, it’s gross out, and you were focused on that.” She sipped from the mug, nodding. “Plans for today?” I asked.
“Meeting at ten,” she said, grimacing at either the idea of the meeting or having to leave the house in crappy weather. “Then I’ll wait for the bad guys to call me.” She looked at me. “You?”
“I’ll go home and see if Carter and Miranda dug anything up while I was gone. Then I’m not sure.”
“I’ll talk to Klimes again,” she said. “See if he knows anything more.”
“Tell Zanella I said hello, too. I miss him.” “Grow up. What did he say to you anyway?” “You don’t wanna know.” “Actually, I do. That’s why I asked.” “Forget it,” I said, sorry I’d brought it up.
“Let me guess,” she said, holding a finger to her chin like she was thinking hard. “Something about you and me? Maybe something sexual? Something insulting? I’m sure I’ve
Liz took a lot of crap for being a woman in a job that was traditionally reserved for old-school men. She liked to act like it didn’t bother her, but I knew the barbs sometimes got through.
“You got the gist of it,” I said.
She shook her head, staring into her coffee. “Zanella’s not the brightest guy. Figured he was working with a limited repertoire of derogatory remarks. Next time, let it go.”
“Next time, I’ll break his jaw.”
“No, you won’t,” she said, moving her eyes from the coffee to me. “I don’t need you defending me. I appreciate it, but I don’t need it. Especially not with a guy like that. I can handle him fine on my own.”
I nodded, but I knew if he popped off again, I’d hit him again. Testosterone isn’t rational.
“I need to get in the shower and get moving,” she said, sighing, glancing at the window.
“Me, too.”
I found my shoes and sweatshirt, wishing we could just spend the day like we’d spent the night. But I didn’t know if that was because I wanted to stay or because I wanted to avoid the problems I needed to go solve.
Liz met me at the front door. “Call me later and let me know what’s going on.”
“I will.”
“And be careful,” she said, her eyes warning me not to do anything stupid. “If you need help, ask for it.”
I put my arms around her waist and pulled her to me. “I will.” “You won’t, but I thought I should say it anyway,” she said. I leaned down and kissed her.
“I will,” I whispered. “I promise. I won’t let you down.” She held my face in her hands. “Don’t worry about letting me down. Just do what you need to do.”
FORTY-FOUR
When it rains in Southern California, we drive as though we’ve never seen rain before. We go about ten miles an hour, jam on the brakes at every opportunity, and try to rearend as many other cars as possible.
That’s why the normally twenty-minute drive back to Mission Beach took me over an hour on the wet freeway.
I walked up the boardwalk to my house. Storms had a way of wreaking havoc on most everything else, but they stirred up the ocean in a good way. The swells rose up with a little more intensity than on sunny days, their usually unspectacular waves coming in higher and heavier, crashing with an attitude.
I was thinking about pulling my full wetsuit from the closet when I walked into my place and found Miranda straddling Carter on the living room floor, his arms pinned above his head and his eyes full of fear.
“I told you you’d go down like a rag doll,” she said to him. Carter’s eyes shifted to me. “Help.”
Miranda turned around. “He bet me I couldn’t throw him to the floor.”
“Good bet,” I said.
Miranda slid off him, and he jumped to his feet like nothing had happened.
