Quinn looked back at the school. The police officers were still out of sight, but he knew that wouldn’t last for long.
“We need to keep moving,” he said.
If he headed south and a bit to the east, he knew they would get to the road that led to the golf course clubhouse, but that would be the first place anyone looked for them. So he turned left.
As they ran, Quinn pulled out his phone and called Orlando.
It rang five times, then clicked over to voicemail.
The trees were thinning to the right. Beyond was the green fairway of one of the holes. Not surprisingly, there was no one out on the course. The facility had no doubt been shut down due to security concerns for the now-canceled event at the school. Quinn moved to the left, keeping more trees between them and the open space.
After several minutes, he saw a wooden fence ahead of them that separated the course from the backyards of several houses. Once again he had Nate wait as he approached alone. What he was hoping to find was a gate behind one of the houses. No luck on that front, but what he did find was an empty house waiting for a new owner.
“Over here,” he called.
As Nate hopped the fence, Quinn saw that the shoe and pant leg near Nate’s right ankle had been ripped apart.
“What the hell happened?” he asked.
Nate looked down at the damage. “I got hit,” he said. “But see? No blood. Bonus for missing a leg. I have to tell you, though, the vibration stung like a son of a bitch.”
Nate was going to do fine, Quinn knew. Just fine.
As they headed across the backyard, Quinn’s cell phone began to hum.
“Hold on,” he told Nate.
Orlando’s name was on the screen.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I don’t know where Nate is.”
“He’s with me.”
“And the girl?”
“We’ve got her.”
He could hear her sigh. “Thank God.”
“We could use a ride, though,” he said.
“That I can help with.”
He told her where they were. “I’m going to leave Nate here with the girl. Pick them up and get out of town.”
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“I need to find Tucker.”
A pause on the other end. “That won’t be necessary,” she said. “He’s dead.”
And as soon as she said it, he knew where she’d been.
There was no statute of limitations on a mother’s vengeance.
Hardwick had followed the car south on the 101 all the way to Santa Barbara to a motel called the Santa Barbara Beach Inn. He hadn’t been seen because the person he was trailing had no reason to suspect he was being followed. Arrogance. An arrogance that had served him well for years, but was ultimately going to bring him down.
He parked in the lot and got out of the car. The fat suit he’d worn when he’d met with Quinn was gone. He was leaner and in far better shape than he’d portrayed at the museum.
Once he found which room the man was in, he located a maid working alone on the second level. She hadn’t put up much of a fight. It was too bad he had to kill her, but he couldn’t leave anyone who would recognize him. He pulled her cart into the room where he’d left her, then shut the door. He would be long gone by the time anyone found her.
Her passkey in hand, Hardwick listened at the man’s door. A TV was on inside, and somewhere water was running. A shower, he realized.
Perfect.
He used the key and let himself in.
The suite was nice enough. Not the Four Seasons, but livable. Of course, Hardwick would have never stayed there. He assumed it was chosen more for its low profile than for its decor. The living area consisted of a couple of couches, a small dining table, some odds and ends to give the space character, and a plasma TV hanging on the wall and tuned to CNN.
To his right was a door that led to a spacious bedroom, with attached master bath. That’s where the sound of the shower came from.
Hardwick checked his watch: 9:15.
As if on cue, the shower turned off.
Hardwick made himself comfortable on one of the couches. From the bathroom he could hear first the flush of the toilet, then the sink turn on, then off.
When the man entered the living room, he wore only a towel around his waist. He crossed to the TV, and seemed annoyed by what he saw.
“Expecting something else?” Hardwick said.
The man whipped around, surprised. “What are you doing here?” he said.
Hardwick smiled. “It’s such a big day for you, Anthony. I didn’t think you’d want to spend it alone.”
“You will call me Mr. Rose,” he said, his tone as arrogant as his driving habits had been. Anthony was his given first name. No one ever called him that. “And you’re right. It is a big day. We should see the results in a few minutes.”
Hardwick stood up. “I’m not talking about your little plan in Morro Bay. That, I’m fairly confident, isn’t going to come off as you expect.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The LP has always had a plan, Anthony. And what we do in support of that plan is carefully worked out years ahead of time.”
“I’m well aware of the plan,
“The council. Right.” Hardwick smiled. “Who do you think sent me?”
Mr. Rose’s eyes narrowed as his lips pressed together in obvious anger. “Enough. You’ve overstepped your bounds. I’m sure the council has no idea that you’re here.” He turned and started scanning the room, looking for something.
“Your phone’s on the wet bar, if that’s what you’re searching for.”
This only seemed to make Mr. Rose angrier. He marched over to the bar, one hand holding up his towel, the other clenching and flexing as if it was the only thing keeping him from flying into a rage. After picking up the phone, he punched a couple of buttons, then raised it to his ear. Hardwick watched as Mr. Rose held it in place for several seconds, then moved it out so he could see the screen. His eyes grew wide as he read the message Hardwick knew would be there.
“Oh, I totally forgot,” Hardwick said, then looked at his watch. “The council had your phone disconnected four minutes ago. Here. Use mine.” He pulled out his own phone and held it out to Mr. Rose.
Mr. Rose didn’t move. “I don’t need to make a call to know that you’re lying.”
“Then let me do it for you.”
Hardwick activated the speakerphone function, then dialed.
There were two rings, then, “Hello?”
