“I think I should stay in the apartment, and the detectives could set up a trap and catch these men. Sidney should move to a safer place, of course. That’s a good plan, don’t you think?”
“No.”
“No? No explanation? Just no?”
“That’s right. No.”
All the way across campus Sam scanned their surroundings looking for possible threats. He never once looked at her. Until she said, “You should wear your wedding ring.”
“What?”
“Your wedding ring. You should wear it.” She put her hand up. “That’s all I’m going to say.”
He looked to be at a loss for words. Embarrassed because she had turned the conversation from professional to personal, she blurted, “I’m just saying … you should, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Why wear a wedding ring? Because you’re married,” she pointed out.
“No, I’m not.”
She was beginning to really dislike this man. Yes, he was being professional, and seemed to be good at his job, and from what she had heard about him, he was heroic and a good friend, but, in her opinion, he was also nuts.
She had a feeling he would get along great with Gigi.
“Three years, remember? Married three years?”
He nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”
“But you’re not married.”
“No, I’m not.”
Okay, she was done. He didn’t want to tell her the truth or share anything personal with her, and she had to accept that.
Married. Not married. She no longer cared.
Lyra figured he was divorced and didn’t like to talk about it, which was fine with her. She would quit trying to be sociable.
When they finally arrived back at the apartment, Sidney was sitting on the sofa organizing and stacking papers she’d collected from the floor. Max was fishing papers from under the sofa and handing them to her.
“Are you okay?” Sidney asked. “You look irritated.”
Lyra sat down beside her. “I’m fine. How about you?”
“Good,” she answered. “I cleaned up the mess in my bedroom and packed, and now I’m tackling the living room.”
“I’ll do the kitchen and my room,” Lyra said.
She was full of nervous energy and wanted to burn some.
She worked on her bedroom first. The two thugs had torn everything apart. They’d broken most of her treasures. The old clock she’d had since high school and her old-fashioned phone were in pieces. They’d even trashed her ocean sound machine.
Muttering to herself, she went into the kitchen to get a trash bag and carried it back to her bedroom. Once it was filled, she put the bag by the front door. Sam, she noticed, was on the phone, and Sidney was still sitting on the sofa. Max was sprawled next to her. His hands crossed on his chest and his legs stretched out, he appeared to be sleeping.
Sidney looked at Lyra, tilted her head toward Max, and rolled her eyes. Max was good-looking but nothing like Sam, Lyra thought.
Lyra went back to work. She must have made twenty trips between the kitchen and her bedroom and bathroom before all three rooms were clean. Then she packed an overnight bag with enough clothes to last a week, carried the small suitcase into the living room, and dropped it next to Sidney’s. Remembering her laptop, she slipped that into her backpack and put it next to her overnight bag, and she was finished. All she needed to do now was take a quick shower and change her clothes.
Sam finished his call, opened the door, and stepped outside.
“What are you doing?” Max asked without opening his eyes.
“New door’s here,” Sam said.
It wasn’t the flimsy door Lyra expected. It was a top-of-the-line model, according to the man installing it. It had a peephole and not one but two dead bolts. Just what Sam would have wanted, and a sure sign that he had something to do with it.
“Is the super okay with the new door?” Sidney asked.
Sam answered. “I didn’t ask him. A kid could have broken through that old door.” He winked at Lyra. “After all this is done with, this should keep you safe.”
Lyra blushed and suddenly remembered to tell Sidney about the children’s film Mahler just assigned her. They moved into Lyra’s bedroom to discuss the opportunity at length.
“Do you really think you can get it all done in time?” Sidney asked.
“I already finished the toxic dumping documentary and handed it in.”
“Congratulations. You did a fantastic job, and I’m sure everyone will be blown away by it.”
“I love that you’re so optimistic.”
“What about that garden in the middle of the dump? Are you giving up on that?”
“I don’t want to,” she said. “The professor doesn’t want me to drop it either. He thinks it’s an interesting idea, and he seems to think I can do the children’s short first and then the garden documentary.”
“If anyone can do it, you can,” Sidney encouraged.
Lyra let out a long sigh. “I hope so. The break-in, and the threat of someone still out there waiting, and the bodyguards … it’s all so much to deal with. It’s going to be difficult to stay focused.”
Sidney sat on the bed. “Let’s change the subject to something more pleasant,” she said. “What do you think of Sam?”
“I think he can’t wait to get away from me.”
“Wrong. No way. Since you walked in, the guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you.”
“That’s his job,” she said.
“Inside our apartment where you’re perfectly safe? He watches you, Lyra, and no wonder, he’s no different from any other man.”
She shook her head. “He’s very standoffish. He doesn’t talk about himself at all.”
“And?”
She sighed. “Don’t you think he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen?”
“He’s not bad,” she drawled. “Max is no oaf either.”
Sam appeared in the door. “Time to go. You, too, Sidney.”
“Why can’t we stay together?” Sidney asked.
“Anyone who gets near Lyra is in danger.”
“Lovely,” Lyra whispered. “Now I’m a lightning rod.”
She put her arm around Sidney’s shoulder as they walked into the living room to gather up their bags. The fear she had felt at first was now turning to anger. Sidney had been attacked; their apartment had been destroyed, and no one knew why. Who were these men and what did they want? Lyra was determined to find out.
FOURTEEN
MILO CHASED THE TOW TRUCK HALF A BLOCK, CAUGHT UP with it at a stoplight, and tried to bribe the driver into letting him have his car back. He offered him two hundred dollars at first and kept increasing the amount, until the light changed and the driver stepped on the gas and drove off.
Cursing a blue streak didn’t help. The tow truck was already out of sight. Milo was thankful that no one from the company had witnessed his stupidity. He should have known better than to park his car on one of the busiest streets in Los Angeles.
Watching his car being towed away was the culmination of a disastrous weekend.
The unfortunate chain of events had started last Friday at the Rooney yard sale.
Before the police arrived, Milo quickly left the Rooney house, drove home, and unloaded all the treasures he’d gotten at the sale, including Babs’s huge diamond ring. Then he got back in the car and drove to the office to talk to Mr. Merriam.
The boss was in a frenzy. The door to his office was closed, which meant he didn’t want to be disturbed. As Milo hesitantly approached, he could hear Mr. Merriam ranting and raving. Milo took the risk of knocking.
“What do you want?” Mr. Merriam bellowed.
“I want to tell you about a sale I attended,” he called out so the second shift at the collection agency wouldn’t think anything was out of the ordinary.
“Come on in then.”
Milo expected to see other men in the office with
the boss, but Mr. Merriam was alone. Had he been shouting at the walls?
Mr. Merriam went to his desk and plopped down in his swivel chair.
“I’m doomed, Milo. If I don’t get it back … if someone else finds it …” With the back of his sleeve he wiped the sweat from his forehead, then motioned for Milo to sit. “I’ll go away for the rest of my life … no parole for me, not after what I’ve done.”
Milo had never seen his boss like this. He looked as though he was going to cry.
“Sir, if you could just trust me and tell me what it is—I mean, what Rooney took.” He quickly raised his hand to ward off Mr. Merriam’s reaction. “I need to know what I’m looking for. A diamond maybe? Or a famous painting or an accounting book with numbers?”
Mr. Merriam frowned while he thought it over. Then he nodded. “Yes, you need to know. Like you said, how can you look for it if you don’t know what it is? It’s a DVD,” he whispered. “Rooney could have taken it out of its case and hidden it anywhere.”
“Like maybe in a book?”
“Yes, it would be easy to hide a disk in a book. Why?”
“There was a good-looking girl at the yard sale who filled up her car with nothing but books and a few DVDs. Maybe some CDs, too. Babs had dumped them in the middle of her front yard, and she kept bringing out more and more. The girl would have taken every one of those books if she’d had the room. All the other shoppers were carrying out chairs and lamps and kitchen stuff. None of them even glanced at the books.”
Mr. Merriam straightened up. “How long had the sale been going on when you got there?”
“I’m pretty sure it’d just started.”
“That’s good, that’s good. The DVD could still be in the house, in a wall maybe, or under a floorboard. It could be anywhere. Or that girl could have it and not know what it is … until she watches it,” he added with a shiver. “We’ve got to get it back.”
“I’ll get it for you,” Milo promised.
“Was the girl there when Babs killed her husband?”
“No, she had just left. And after Babs shot him and made sure he was dead, she walked inside and shot herself. That’s what it said on the news. Most people at the yard sale stood around and watched, but I didn’t wait for the police to show up.”
“I’m going to have Charlie Brody and Lou Stack get into Rooney’s house tonight. I want them to bring me every DVD they can find. It’s a big house,” he lamented. “The damn thing could be anywhere, but I’m not taking any chances. If they can’t find it after a couple of tries, they’ll blow the place up. I don’t want there to be anything left to sift through. Charlie has connections, and he says he can get explosives that will do the job.”
Shocked by what he had just heard, Milo stammered, “You … you already told Charlie and Stack what you were looking for?” But not me, he silently added. I had to practically beg you to tell me.
Mr. Merriam didn’t notice how rigid Milo had become. “Sure I did. They needed to know.”
“Yes, of course they did.”
Milo was angry and feeling horribly insecure. He’d thought he was Mr. Merriam’s number one, but it seemed his boss had more faith in the two bone breakers, Charlie and Stack. Apparently, Merriam didn’t care that they were sloppy and unprofessional.
“It sounds like they’ve got it under control.”
Milo stood to leave, but Mr. Merriam waved him back down. “Hold on now. Let’s go back to your pretty girl. She just wanted books? No jewelry or furs … I know Babs had a couple of furs …”
“Just books and DVDs. Babs had made a big pile of them, and I heard her tell the woman she was going to burn what she didn’t take. None of the other shoppers were interested in a bunch of old books.”
Merriam shook his head. “I don’t know how you’re ever going to find her.”
Milo was ready to impress. “I know how.”
“What’s that?” Merriam popped up from his chair and braced his hands, his fat stomach resting on the desktop.
“I said I know how to find her.” He couldn’t keep the cockiness out of his voice.
“How?”
“I wrote down her license plate number.”
Mr. Merriam looked flabbergasted. “What made you do that?”
Milo couldn’t admit the truth, that the beautiful young woman had gotten into his heart, and that she would belong to him one day. His Bond girl. If he told his boss he had found his soulmate, Merriam would probably laugh at him. No, he couldn’t tell him the truth.
“I thought there might be something hidden in one of the books. You hadn’t told me what Rooney had on you, so I thought I’d be on the safe side … it just seemed like the thing to do.”
“Good for you, Milo, good for you. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Give me the number of that plate. I’ll get her name and address.” He reached for his cell phone and found a phone number in his list of contacts. “It pays to have connections,” he told Milo as he waited for an answer.
A few minutes later Mr. Merriam was writing down the woman’s name and address.
“Lyra Prescott.” He rattled off the address, which Milo hurried to write down, and said, “She lives in San Diego or just north of it by the zip code. Thanks, Milo,” he added almost as an afterthought. “I’ll send Charlie and Stack down there right away.”
“That would be a waste of time,” Milo blurted out, his lies coming fast and furious. “The woman was going out of town with her friend for a long weekend.” His mind raced to come up with a convincing story. “They were flying out of Los Angeles, and her car might be in the long-term or short-term parking. Why don’t you let me take care of this? Charlie and Stack have a big job going through Rooney’s house.”
“All right. She’s all yours.”
Milo was feeling good when he left the office, but by the time he got home, his insecurities had come roaring back. Mr. Merriam wasn’t a patient man, and Milo knew it would be only a matter of time before the boss called on the bone crushers to lend a hand.
He consoled himself with the knowledge that he knew more about Lyra Prescott than the crushers did. They hadn’t seen the university sticker in her vehicle’s back window. Her address might be San Diego, but Milo was betting she lived in L.A. while she went to school. Saturday morning he would drive to San Diego. He’d break into her home and find something with the L.A. address. If the house wasn’t empty, he’d figure out another way to get what he wanted.
He needed a disguise. And he wouldn’t drive his own car either. He’d rent one.
Friday evening he purchased what he needed for the disguise, and early Saturday morning took a bus to the rental agency. He used a fictitious name and a phony identification when renting the car, and because he knew there would be cameras monitoring the office and the lot, he wore his new disguise.
There were, however, a few glitches along the way. He should have tried on the black wig before buying it. It had way too much synthetic hair, especially the thick, straight bangs. He was afraid to thin it by cutting some of the hair out. He’d paid good money and didn’t want it ruined, even though the bangs made him look like Moe from the Three Stooges. He also wore a black beard—glued to his face so it wouldn’t slip—and dark sunglasses, which were almost covered by the long bangs. The man working the counter at the car rental office kept staring at Milo’s new hair and barely paid attention to his ID.
As Milo drove off the lot, he glanced in the rearview mirror. His disguise had turned out pretty good. No one looking at the surveillance video would recognize him.
He was halfway to San Diego when his face started to itch, and scratching only made it worse. He must be allergic, he decided, but the irritation wasn’t unbearable. For now, he could take it. As soon as he was back home, he’d remove the phony beard.
Once in San Diego, he found the address, then circled the block a couple of times before finally parking a few houses away. Acting as though he was nothing more than a neighbor out for a
stroll, he passed the house and turned the corner, spotting Lyra’s SUV through the garage window. He couldn’t believe his luck. The books and DVDs from Rooney’s yard sale could be right in front of him. It didn’t take a minute to get inside the garage, but the sun streaming through the open door soon revealed that the SUV was empty. She must have taken the books and DVDs into the house.
Milo slipped out of the garage and was sneaking around the side of the house when he saw her standing on the porch looking out at the ocean. She turned toward the door and called, “Gigi, I can’t stay for Sunday dinner tomorrow. I have to get back to L.A. to finish some work.”
An old lady came onto the porch, kissed Lyra on the cheek, and gave her an affectionate hug. “I understand, dear. I’m just glad to see my granddaughter whenever I can.”
He was right after all. Lyra Prescott did have a place in Los Angeles. Milo smugly congratulated himself on his detective skills.
He sneaked back to his car and drove around the corner. Would she leave the books here or take them back with her tomorrow? He would wait and see. If Lyra left without them, then he’d break into the house when the old granny wasn’t home.
He parked on the side street adjacent to the garage and hunkered down to wait. Throughout the evening, a stream of visitors came and went, the last one departing around ten o’clock. Milo figured if Lyra hadn’t left for L.A. by eleven, she was in for the night.
All the lights were out by midnight.
Milo found a motel about a mile away. After checking in to his room, he pulled off the wig, tossed it on the table, and went to work on the beard. His face was itching like crazy, but no matter how much he pulled, the beard wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe he shouldn’t have used superglue. Each time he managed to rip out a clump of hair, he took skin off with it. After an hour of tugging, he looked in the mirror to see bald spots between the thick patches. Where he’d ripped off the beard, the skin was bruised and blood-red. His face looked as though he’d been afflicted with a horrible rash. Exhausted, he collapsed into bed.