That morning when she arrived, well before the counselors or kids, Marisol found a blue nylon bag on the ground beside the front door.
That the bag would be here was odd, but more odd was the card pinned to the bag. It was a simple white index card bearing her name.
She looked around to see if anyone was watching, like maybe someone playing a joke to see what she would do, but she saw no one.
She brought the bag inside and put it on her desk. The bag had a hefty, bulky weight, maybe eight or ten pounds, like it might be filled with chocolate.
Father Art called from the back.
“Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me. Who else?”
“Don’t come back here. I’m on the toilet.”
“Finish your business. Call when you’re ready.”
Marisol went behind her desk, studied the bag, then pushed her suspicion aside and opened it. The first thing she saw was another white card. The note on this card was simple.
Someone is watching.
53
Elvis Cole
Cole saw the red mist. The dream woke him that morning, as it had the night before, and the night before that, and more nights than he remembered. Now, he stood on his deck on a bright empty day, thinking about how close they had come.
Muzzle flashes in a dingy room. A woman’s shadow cast on the wall. Dark glasses spinning in space. Joe Pike falling through a terrible red mist.
Cole had not seen or spoken with Joe Pike since they left Mulholland Drive eleven days earlier. Even during the aftermath with the police, Pike had seemed more distant, as if he had withdrawn even more deeply into a secret place only he knew.
Cole had left messages, but Pike had not returned his calls. Cole had gone to Pike’s condo, but not found him home. Pike could and would disappear for weeks at a time, but this time was different.
Two red-tailed hawks floated in slow circles over the canyon. Cole watched them, wondering what they were searching for. He had been watching them for hours. His cat sat on the edge of the deck, watching Cole watch the hawks. Bored.
Cole said, “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
The cat narrowed its eyes, falling asleep, then suddenly stood and sprinted into the house.
Cole said, “Thank God.”
Cole went to the sliders as Joe Pike came through the front door. Pike was framed in the door for a moment, surrounded by light, then he shut the door and came out onto the deck.
They stood face-to-face, neither of them speaking, then Pike pulled him close, and hugged him. Didn’t say a word, just hugged him, and went to the rail.
After a while, Cole went to the rail, too, looking out at the canyon spread before them like a hazy green bowl.
“Good to see you.”
Pike nodded.
“You want something to drink?”
“I’m good.”
Cole held tight to the rail for support.
“We should talk.”
“No need.”
“She was going to shoot you.”
“I know.”
“I had to. I didn’t want to, but I had to. You understand?”
Pike squeezed Cole’s shoulder, then looked at the sky.
“Hawks.”
“Been up there all day.”
“It’s where they belong.”
Cole nodded, and felt the tears come. They watched the hawks together. Where they belonged.
ALSO BY ROBERT CRAIS
The First Rule
Chasing Darkness
The Watchman
The Two Minute Rule
The Forgotten Man
The Last Detective
Hostage
Demolition Angel
L.A. Requiem
Indigo Slam
Sunset Express
Voodoo River
Free Fall
Lullaby Town
Stalking The Angel
The Monkey’s Raincoat
Robert Crais, The Sentry
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