“It was just a coincidence,” he replied.
“I don’t believe in coincidence,” she said. “I don’t even believe in luck.”
“The house always wins?” Will said.
“That’s right.”
“Stop jabbering and let me get to sleep,” Stitch complained, lying a few feet away.
Will stared across at Orrin. Orrin stared back.
* * * * *
He thought about the days after Taylor had been shot — days spent prowling Little Saigon looking for the two punks that the restaurant owner next door had seen screeching away from the parking lot behind the nail salon.
With the help of the Orange County Sheriff’s Department he’d tracked Daniel Nguyen and Le Loi Roy to their favorite noodle shop where the teenage gangstas were scarfing down pigskin-filled rice paper wraps. Nguyen had surrendered without trouble, but Le Loi Roy had gone for a shoot-out at the bok choy corral and wound up with a shattered hip and a couple of missing fingers. He was fifteen. Nguyen was thirteen.
When questioned about the nail salon incident, according to Nguyen, the FBI guy — who was Taylor, apparently — had drawn his gun but had hesitated — and Le Loi had shot him. To Nguyen’s way of looking at it that made it self-defense.
Le Loi’s story — when he was well enough to offer one — was that the FBI guy had waited too long — obviously thinking they were a couple of dumb little kids. Too bad for him. Le Loi had been chagrined to hear that he had not actually killed the FBI guy as this was seriously going to damage his own newly-minted street cred.
The couple of times Will had tried to talk to Taylor about it, Taylor claimed he didn’t remember much of anything. He didn’t want to discuss it — didn’t want to hear about the fate of Daniel Nguyen and Le Loi Roy, and Will – reprimanded and removed from the case himself — let it drop. The trial was scheduled for May, still two months away. Moot now with Taylor dead.
* * * * *
Once, Will thought Orrin might just be drifting toward sleep, but he sat up, shifting the rifle abruptly, and pinning his gaze on Will’s watchful face.
“If I were you, son, I’d grab some shut-eye.”
“You’re not me,” Will said pleasantly. “And I’m not your son.”
Orrin laughed. Glanced at his confederates, who were soundly sleeping. Stitch’s snores were loud enough to echo off the mountains.
“What was his name? Your partner.”
“MacAllister. Taylor MacAllister.”
“Partners a long time?”
“Four years in June.”
“That’s a long time in law enforcement. How’d that work? You and him being…?” Orrin made a seesawing hand gesture.
Will opened his mouth and then recognized that sorrowful inevitable truth for what it was, and changed what he had been about to say. “It worked fine till you killed him.”
“I had a partner for a few years. Meanest sonofabitch you’d ever want to meet.”
“That’s quite a compliment coming from you,” Will said.
Orrin laughed. Then he called to Bonnie and Stitch. They came awake immediately, rolling over and sitting up. Will noted that Bonnie reached for her rifle first thing. Stitch went for his boots. Good to know.
“Orrin, can we please have a fire? I’m freezing my butt off,” Bonnie complained through chattering teeth, pulling her boots on.
“Yeah. Stitch, collect some firewood and we’ll have some coffee and breakfast. We got a long day ahead of us.” Orrin pulled out Will’s map and studied it by the light of his flashlight.
“How long are we —?” Bonnie nodded toward Will.
“We’ll see how useful he makes himself,” Orrin replied.
“I’ve gotta pee,” Bonnie announced, and wandered off into the bushes.
She wandered back a short time later and took Orrin’s place while Orrin vanished to relieve himself. He left his rifle propped against a rock, but Will knew he was carrying Taylor’s SIG. He had taken it from Stitch; spoils of war, apparently. All the same, this was probably as good a chance as he was going to get. He studied Bonnie. Rifle aimed at him, she stood poised and ready for him to try something — dangerous with nerves and fatigue.
“Quit staring at me,” she said shortly, though it was too dark for either of them to really see what the other was looking at.
“It’s not too late to get yourself out of this,” Will said. “You’re not the one who shot a federal agent. If you help me —”
“Orrin!” she yelled.
Orrin came back fast, zipping up his pants. “What’s going on?”
“He’s trying to work me! He’s going to try and play us off against each other!”
“Of course he is,” Orrin said reasonably. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, well, it just might work on that moron Stitch.”
“Where is Stitch?” Orrin said abruptly, looking around the clearing.
“He’s gathering wood for the fire,” Bonnie said.
“We’re not building a bonfire, for God’s sake.” Orrin walked out a little way, yelling for Stitch.
The silence that followed his call was eerie.
“Stitch!” shrieked Bonnie. Her voice seemed to echo off the distant mountains and come rolling back louder than before.
Orrin shushed her impatiently. They listened intently. “Okay, keep an eye on him.” He added as Will moved to stand up, “No, you don’t. Stay where you are, son.”
“No!” Bonnie said. “We need to stay together.”
A tall shadow stepped out of the trees: Orrin’s flashlight gleamed off the rifle barrel pointed straight at him.
“Together is good,” Taylor said.
Chapter Seven
For one very strange moment Will thought he might — for the first time in his entire life — faint. He could actually hear the blood surging in his head, drowning out coherent thought. The shock was enough to send him rocking back on his heels, staring in disbelief at the slender shadow that resolved itself into a tense and familiar outline.
“Where’s Stitch?” Orrin asked evenly, gaze on the rifle Taylor held. And
