be paid. That's all. Irving's not going to do anything. I will.'
'Harry, you made a mistake. A serious mistake, yes. But for that you are giving up your career, the one thing that even you readily admit you do well? You're going to throw it all away?'
He nodded.
'Did you pull the papers yet?'
'Not yet.'
'Don't do it.'
'Why not? I can't do this anymore. It's like I'm walking around handcuffed to a chain of ghosts.'
He shook his head. They were having the same debate that he had been having in his mind for the last two days, since the night at Meredith Roman's house.
'Give it some time,' Hinojos said. 'All I'm saying is, think about it. You're on paid leave now. Use it. Use the time. I'll tell Irving he's not getting an RTD from me yet. Meantime, you just give it some time and think hard on it. Go away somewhere, sit on the beach. But think about it before you turn in your papers.'
Bosch raised his hands in surrender.
'Please, Harry. I want to hear you say it.'
'All right. I'll do some more thinking.'
'Thank you.'
She let some silence underline his agreement.
'Remember what you said about seeing the coyote on the street last week?' she asked quietly. 'About it being the last coyote?'
'I remember.'
'I think I know how you felt. I'd hate to think that I was seeing the coyote for the last time, too.'
From the airport Bosch took the freeway to the Armenia exit and then south to Swann. He found that he didn't even need the rent-a-car map. He went east on Swann into Hyde Park and then down South Boulevard to her place. He could see the bay shimmering in the sun at the end of the street.
At the top of the stairs the door was open but the screen door was closed. Bosch knocked. 'Come in. It's open.'
It was her. Bosch pushed through the screen into the living room. She wasn't there but the first thing he noticed was a painting on the wall where before there had been only the nail. It was a portrait of a man in shadows. He was sitting at a table alone. The figure's elbow was on the table and the hand was up against his cheek, obscuring the face and making the deep set of the eyes the focal point of the painting. Bosch stared at it a moment until she called again.
'Hello? I'm in here.'
He saw the door to her studio was open a half foot. He stepped over and pushed it open. She was there, standing in front of the easel, dark earth-tone oils on the palette in her hand. There was a single errant slash of ocher on her right cheek. She immediately smiled.
'Harry.'
'Hello, Jasmine.'
He moved, in closer to her and stepped around the side
of the easel. The portrait had only just been started. But she had begun with the eyes. The same eyes in the portrait that hung on the wall in the other room. The same eyes he saw in the mirror.
She hesitantly came closer to him. There was not a glimmer of embarrassment or unease in her face.
'I thought that if I painted you, you would come back.'
She dropped her brush into an old coffee can bolted to the easel and came even closer. She embraced him and they kissed silently. At first it was a gende reunion, then he put his hand against her back and pulled her tighdy against his chest as if she were a bandage that could stop his bleeding. After a while she pulled back, brought her arms up and held his face in her hands.
'Let me see if I got the eyes right.'
She reached up and took off his sunglasses. He smiled. He knew the purple below his eyes was almost gone but they were still red-rimmed and shot with swollen capillaries.
'Jesus, you took the red-eye.'
'It's a long story. I'll tell you later.'
'God, put these back on.'
She hooked the glasses back on and laughed.
'It's not that funny. It hurt.'
'Not that. I got paint on your face.'
'Well, then I'm not alone.'
He traced the slash on her face. They embraced again. Bosch knew they could talk later. For now he just held her and smelled her and looked over her shoulder to the brilliant blue of the bay. He thought of something the old man in the bed had told him. When you find the one that you think fits, then grab on for dear life. Bosch didn't know if she was the one, but for the moment he held on with everything he had left.
