She shook her head. “Not at the moment. Can you tell us where to find her?”
“No, not at the moment anyway. I told her to hide and call me later today.”
Wesson cleared her throat noisily.
He ignored her.
Bailey twisted her head toward her partner for a pair of seconds and then looked back at him.
“Very well, Mr. Blalock ... I can call you Mr. Blalock, can’t I?”
He shrugged. “It’s still a free country. Call me whatever you want.”
“Thank you. Do you think you could bring her into the Executive’s San Francisco office later?”
“I’d rather she stay hidden until I can find out why someone’s trying to kill her.”
Bailey’s forehead developed the smallest of betraying wrinkles. “What makes you think someone’s trying to kill her?”
“I don’t know, it’s just always been my assumption that when people start shooting at you, they aren’t trying to become friends.”
“You have proof someone’s trying to kill her?”
“You know a Fed with a broken nose?” John asked.
That got more of a response out of her. She started lying. “No ... I can’t say that I do.”
“Which?” John asked.
“Which what?”
“Which is it? Do you not know one or just can’t say that you know one?”
A hand fell on his shoulder. He didn’t take his eyes off Bailey.
“Listen, Blalock,” Wesson said. “If you’re going to turn into a smart ass we’re going to have to look into your background.”
“I do not know any agents that currently have a broken nose,” Bailey offered. “If you’re worried about Ms. Maxwell safety, we can guarantee it while she’s being questioned.”
“But I’d have to get her down there and then back to a safe location again. It’d be simpler to have her call you.”
“Christ!” Wesson exclaimed.
John finally turned his head slightly so he could see her.
“This clown’s just trying to hinder our investigation. We ought to take him down to the office. Maybe he’ll be more cooperative there.”
John had heard that line before. Hindering investigations was the phrase all authoritative types used when they couldn’t get their way. It could be a real nuisance to anyone trying to do his job.
“I don’t think that’s necessary just yet. Perhaps you could bring Ms. Maxwell down to the office tomorrow morning. What do you say?”
He looked back toward Bailey and shrugged. “I guess that could be arranged. Any particular time?”
“How about nine?”
“That’s a little early. I have my beauty sleep to worry about. How ‘bout eleven?”
Wesson growled something under her breath, but he ignored her.
“Eleven will be fine,” Bailey agreed. Her right hand dipped into a pocket and came out with a card. “Here, the address and room number is on the card. Show this to the receptionist, and he’ll page me.”
John took the card and gave it a polite read. He knew the federal building and NCIX’s office, but that was before, and these two agents hadn’t been assigned to the northern California office then or at least he hadn’t run across them before.
He slipped the card into his own pocket and nodded as Bailey stood.
“Always happy to be able to help the Executive,” he lied.
Wesson grunted something again. It sounded like an insult, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Thanks, citizen,” Bailey said. “We’ll be expecting you.”
As Bailey started to walk away, Wesson leaned down next to him and softly rumbled, “You’d better not be late. You wouldn’t want us to have to come find you.”
“It’s been a pleasure. Come back anytime,” John answered and smiled as her frown deepened.
Without another word, she turned and marched after her partner.
***
Alain Dewatre sat in a late model utility van and watched John Blalock leave the restaurant and make his way back to the vintage car.
As Blalock pulled out of the public parking lot, the color monitor between the van’s front seats gave Dewatre a bird’s eye view of the car. In the corner of the screen, a digital readout posted the location, direction, and distance of the car from his van’s position. A similar readout across the bottom of the screen gave remaining fuel and estimated flight time for the small RPV that currently flew in a tight circle a thousand feet above Dewatre’s van.
Blalock’s car turned west, and the RPV followed, maintaining its position. The RPV was programmed to track the small spot of infrared dye Dewatre had squirted onto the car while it was in the Pacific Rim parking garage. Unless Blalock left town on one of the high-speed freeways, the little RPV could track him for another hour before Dewatre would have to launch its backup from the cradle in the back of his van.
CHAPTER 14
It was nearing noon when John pulled onto highway one and drove south along the rocky coastal crags toward Half Moon Bay.
He’d been on Caitlin’s case for less than twelve hours, and he already wished she’d dropped it on someone else. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy a difficult assignment, in fact, he lived for it. Ever since the canyon, he’d developed a basic craving, almost an addiction, for the adrenaline rush that came with risky business. However, it was one thing to put yourself in the line of fire for the joy of living, but it was an entirely different feeling when you were there to protect someone else, someone you cared for. While he hadn’t been able to admit to Caitlin that he still had feelings for her, he doubted if he’d ever feel that way about anyone else.
His ‘Cuda was old, but it took to the curves of highway one like an adolescent male to a cheerleader. He could have taken one oh one down to Palo Alto and then cut across the peninsula to Half Moon Bay, but more than his car
