Her Mercedes was parked round the corner and she got in it and drove in the opposite direction from the shop, so she didn’t have to pass it. She knew they were looking for the car, and the fact that she’d covered the plates in dirt meant she risked being stopped by the police. It wasn’t easy, she thought, being a fugitive whose photo was all over the news.
It was close to 1 p.m., and the day was beginning to heat up, when she finally reached Carmel Valley town. She took the road up towards the Reyes place and, as she passed the turning that led directly to their house, saw that it was blocked off with a high wrought-iron gate marked ‘Private Property’. Next to the gate, two men in uniform sat in a car with ‘Saber Security’ written on the side in bright yellow, above a picture of a roaring lion. Both men looked up as she passed, but didn’t pay her any heed as she continued driving further up into the hills.
After a couple of wrong turns and some vertigo-inducing bends as the road wound higher, Brook finally found the spot she was looking for, by the side of a steep, potholed single-track road near the top of the ridge. She parked the Mercedes a few yards away in a dent in the road and found a spot in the grass near the edge, where she couldn’t be seen.
Through the binoculars, Brook could see that the Reyes house was a Mexican-style hacienda on two floors, built around a central courtyard. On one side were perfectly manicured gardens with a pool, while on the other was an open field containing horses and a large stable block. A high brick wall topped with razor wire, designed to keep out even the most determined intruders, surrounded the whole compound.
The only way to get into the house was through a gated entrance leading into the courtyard, which was guarded by a man in a fortified booth. Another man, with a rifle strapped to his back, patrolled the perimeter wall with a German shepherd. For a respected local businessman, Tony Reyes clearly had a lot of security.
Brook could see three cars in the courtyard, one of which was the sky-blue Porsche 911 that Maria drove, which meant she was probably either in residence or dead. Brook knew she couldn’t break into the compound without coming up against armed resistance, and she wasn’t going to risk that yet. Therefore the only alternative was waiting.
So she waited.
And waited.
She wasn’t a patient person at the best of times. She’d tried hard to make herself one over the years by taking up meditation, and reminding herself that being impatient wasn’t going to make the things that she wanted to happen, happen any faster. But it hadn’t worked, and with the heavy burden of pressure adding to her sense of frustration, as well as the relentless sun, those next five hours were some of the most painful she could remember and gave her a new-found respect for cops on long surveillance jobs. In that time, aside from the two guards, she saw no one. The problem was that she only had a limited time – most likely hours, a couple of days at most – to find Paige before the cops found her. So to lie there, sweating and uncomfortable, watching the clock tick steadily down, when for all she knew Tony and Maria Reyes were on vacation in Palm Springs or Hawaii, was soul-destroying.
But if Maria Reyes was at home and unharmed, she was going to have to show herself eventually. She might have been a gangster’s wife, but she obviously had a fair amount of freedom if she’d been able to embark on an affair with Logan, and she clearly didn’t travel with bodyguards. And if she’d already been punished by her husband, then he too would have to show himself at one point. And as a last resort, Brook would talk to him.
Thankfully it didn’t come to that because, at 6.23 p.m., with her body stiff as a board and all her food and most of her water gone, Brook’s prayers were finally answered. Maria Reyes appeared out of her front door and walked towards her sky-blue Porsche. She was dressed smartly in jeans and heels, and didn’t look like a woman under any kind of duress as she climbed inside and switched on the engine.
She was going out. And she was alone.
Brook ran back to her car and drove as fast as she dared along the treacherous, winding road back down towards Carmel Valley town, hoping she could remember the directions properly.
It took her eight minutes to reach the main road. By her calculations, it would have taken Maria no more than five to get to the same spot, which meant she was at least three minutes ahead. The left turning led in the same direction that she and Logan had driven for the ransom rendezvous at the nursery, two days and a thousand years ago. In other words, nowhere. Which meant that Maria had almost certainly gone right, in the direction of the coast and Carmel.
The traffic wasn’t especially busy and the road was wide and well maintained, so Brook drove fast, hitting seventy most of the way. She found it hard to believe that Maria hadn’t heard what had happened to Logan by now. After all, it had been all over the news. And it bugged Brook, because if Tony Reyes had killed Logan to punish him for having an affair with his wife, then why hadn’t he also punished Maria? Because if he had, he was being a lot easier on her than he’d been on Brook’s family. Maybe Reyes still loved her and had forgiven her, on the basis she didn’t cheat again. Maybe Maria was glad, too, to be free of Logan, although the photos of them together suggested she’d had strong feelings for him. Either way, she had questions to answer, and Brook was relieved it was Maria she was going to be approaching and not Reyes himself.
She finally caught up with the Porsche at the intersection with Highway One. The road was busier here, and Brook sat ten cars back as the Porsche turned north towards Monterey.
Maria didn’t drive fast. She kept close to the speed limit and overtook only when it was absolutely safe to do so, and Brook found it easy to stay well back and still keep track of her. After ten minutes Maria took the turning off to Monterey and then drove back on herself through Cannery Row, the site of the many now-defunct sardine canneries that had once made the area famous, but which was now just a tourist trap of overpriced restaurants. From there, and with Brook travelling several cars behind, Maria continued along Ocean View Boulevard, doing a steady forty miles per hour as downtown Monterey gave way to the palatial homes of Pacific Grove, with their views over the entirety of the bay, and where the real rich of central California lived. The traffic began to thin out now, as the road became open and scenic with the Pacific Ocean on their right and a fiery red sun beginning to set over the horizon.
And then, as Maria drove past the park at Lovers Point, she slowed down and turned into the parking lot of Lovers Beach restaurant, the most exclusive in the whole area, with its terrace overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It was where Logan had taken Brook for their first wedding anniversary, when things between them had still been good, and where the future had seemed full of hope. They’d shared a huge shellfish platter that had dominated the whole table, made a real mess of themselves trying to crack open all the crab claws and drunk way too much wine. But, boy, it had been a fun night, and the memory caused a deep pang of regret at the way it had all turned out.
She pushed the memories aside and turned in, a few seconds behind Maria. The lot was mostly full, but Brook saw a spot in the corner close to the restaurant entrance and drove straight into it, switching off the engine and watching in the rear-view mirror as Maria Reyes got out of her Porsche and walked up to the restaurant doors. She looked glamorous, dressed in a black leather jacket, tight jeans and heeled boots and wearing big-rimmed, Jackie Onassis-style sunglasses. It was hard to tell whether or not she was under stress. She was wearing the sort of arrogant frown that you see on some very rich people, as if they’re permanently on the lookout for poor people to avoid, and straight away Brook hated her, feeling an almost perverse desire to make her suffer as she herself had suffered these past few days.
But it was too late to approach her now. It was still daylight and the tables directly inside the entrance looked straight out onto the lot. She was going to have to intercept Maria on the way out.
Brook watched as a young guy coming out the entrance held the door open for Maria, who completely ignored him as she
disappeared inside.
Brook’s eyes bored angrily into her back. And then, just as she sat there pondering her next move, she glanced in the rear-view mirror again and caught sight of someone she recognized walking across the parking lot towards the restaurant.
Brook’s breath caught in her throat, and she could feel her heart beating faster because, even though she was having difficulty processing what and who she was seeing, she knew without a doubt that this was no coincidence.
And now it meant she was in real trouble.
27
The police interview room
Now
Brook Connor stopped telling her story for a moment, suddenly thirsty, and looked down at the empty plastic cup in front of her. ‘Do you mind if I have some more water?’ she asked the male detective, Giant. He was the kindest of the two cops interviewing her, but he was also the man who’d met her husband the previous week, just five days before Paige had disappeared, even though he was denying it. But Brook didn’t buy this. She might have been exhausted and under huge amounts of stress, and he might have shaved off his beard, but the more she recalled that photo, the more convinced she was it was Giant.
‘Sure,’ said Giant. He turned in his seat, pressed an intercom button on the wall and requested a jug of water. Then turned back and faced Brook, giving her a smile. That was the thing about Giant. He seemed to be a nice, unassuming guy, the kind who, because he hadn’t been too lucky with his looks, had grown up relying on kindness and personality to foster relationships. And yet it was clear to Brook that there was more to him than met the eye.
‘Are you going to tell us who else you saw at the restaurant?’ asked Detective Jenna King, her voice – like her face – hard. It was obvious she thought Brook was guilty and she wasn’t making any bones about it. Brook had always assumed they didn’t do good cop/bad cop in real life, but maybe she’d been misinformed.
A uniformed officer came in with a jug of water and laid it on the table. Giant poured Brook a glass and she thanked him, then downed half of it.
She opened her mouth to speak, suddenly feeling nervous.
‘Come on, Ms Connor,’ said Giant, the first hint of impatience in his voice. ‘Who else did you see at the restaurant?’
Angie Southby leaned forward in her seat, looked at the two detectives in turn and took a deep breath. ‘She saw me. I was the one meeting Maria Reyes.’
The room fell silent for a long moment while the two detectives stared at Angie.
‘Care to tell us what you were meeting her about?’ asked Giant, a frown on his face.
‘I’m afraid not,’ answered Angie. ‘Attorney–client privilege.’
28
Saturday night
As Angie Southby locked her brand-new Tesla convertible (a gift to herself that was meant to make her happy, but hadn’t) and walked into the Lovers Beach restaurant, she was carrying an almost intolerable emotional weight on her shoulders. She’d always been a tough, perhaps even ruthless, woman, and her business life had been a great success because of this. Her personal life, however, had been the exact opposite: a minefield of her own making, littered with the corpses of past relationships – quite literally, in the case of Logan Harris, the man who was now responsible for so much of her emotional weight. The man whose weakness for the opposite sex had always been his Achilles heel.
It wasn’t lost on Angie that her own Achilles heel had been her weakness for Logan Harris. He’d betrayed her more times than she cared to admit, but she’d always managed to forgive him, at least until this latest disaster. Angie thought back to her meeting with Brook at their house the previous evening, and how hard it had been to keep up her usual cool, businesslike demeanour. More than once during the conversation she’d wanted to tell Brook the truth about the whole thing, but had held back. Anyways, it had been too late by then. Even if Brook had known the true extent of Logan’s troubles, there would have been nothing she could have done about it. Angie hoped Brook hadn’t noticed the maelstrom of conflicting emotions she’d been feeling as they’d talked. It would only just make everything more complicated.
It was going to be hard for her to keep up the cool, businesslike demeanour in this meeting as well. In truth, she’d been dreading it, and had thought more than once about not turning up. But that was the thing. Even in death, Logan Harris’s hand still seemed to guide her. He’d made her promise to help, and now here she was.
‘Oh, Jesus, Logan,’ she whispered to herself as she walked inside the restaurant and saw the maître d’ lead Maria Reyes to a private table in the corner. ‘Why did you do this to me?’
29
Giant looked at the dashboard clock as he and Jenna drove down Highway One back towards Monterey: 7.30 p.m. They’d just come from Carmel, where they’d interviewed a friend of Logan Harris’s, a big, cheery Norwegian guy called Stig Hansen, who used to drink with him in the bars of Carmel once a week or so. Hansen was the fifth associate of Logan’s they’d interviewed that day. Three had been women whom Logan had coached at tennis, and the other had been a tennis buddy and the owner of the courts where Logan played and taught. All five had said pretty much the same thing about him. That Logan was a decent, friendly guy, but one who, in recent weeks, had seemed distracted, as if something was on his mind. Hansen had been the only one of the interviewees who admitted to asking Logan what the problem was.
‘And what was it?’ Giant asked him.
‘He said it was women trouble,’ Hansen told them. ‘But he wouldn’t tell me any more than that. I figured it was his wife.’
That was another thing they were getting, wherever they went. The fact – sometimes only hinted at – that it wasn’t a happy marriage, but it was clear that none of them had known Logan that well, and that only one of them – Hansen – had ever met Brook, and in his case only once (he’d described her as ‘a cool chick, but one you wouldn’t want to fool around on’).
They’d asked all five interviewees whether, to their knowledge, Logan had been having an affair, and they’d all said no, they didn’t think so. Everyone expressed shock about what had happened, and it was clear none of them could shed any light on it.
They were still tracking down Brook Connor’s friends, and not having that much luck. It didn’t sound like she had that many, which was interesting in itself. They had a list of moms with kids Paige’s age at the kindergarten to talk to, but that could wait until tomorrow. Giant was tired. He guessed Jenna was, too. It had been a long twenty-four hours, and now that the US Marshals Service had taken over the search for Connor, he was feeling increasingly pushed out of his own investigation and reduced to the basic legwork, while all the glamorous stuff was left to the marshals, who’d arrived en masse earlier that afternoon (forty of them altogether, including support staff) and, according to one of Giant’s junior detectives, had overrun the whole station, pissing off even the Chief.
Giant had no desire to head back and get involved with all the hoo-ha surrounding the hunt for Brook Connor, which, if the lack of noise on the radio was anything to go by, hadn’t got much further than it had done this morning.
He looked at Jenna. They’d been together all day, and every time they were alone, Giant felt like he had ants in his pants. He was attracted to her in a way he had almost forgotten existed, and it was getting worse. Sometime soon something was going to have to give. ‘You know, I think we might as well knock off for the day,’ he said. ‘I’ll call in what we’ve got to the Chief.’
Jenna yawned. ‘Good move. I’m pooped.’
Giant had a sudden thought and spoke it before he could stop himself. ‘Would you like to grab a beer, a drink, or something? You know, now. On the way back …’ The sentence trailed off and he immediately felt stupid.
Jenna raised an eyebrow, an amused look on her face. ‘Are you asking me on a date?’
Giant felt himself going red. He cursed himself for his stupidity and his pathetic lack of confidence. ‘Well, you know – no, of course no
t. It’s just …’
Jenna laughed. ‘I’m only ribbing you, Ty. Sure. Let’s go pick up my car and we can get a beer downtown somewhere.’
‘Sounds good,’ he said, trying to regain control of the situation while simultaneously reviewing Jenna’s exact words, for clues as to whether this was a date of sorts or simply a drink with a work colleague.
He still hadn’t come to a conclusion when the radio crackled into life. ‘All available units, we have reports of a possible two-one-five in the parking lot of the Lovers Beach restaurant at Lovers Point, Pacific Grove. We need urgent response now.’
Giant and Jenna exchanged puzzled looks. People didn’t tend to get carjacked in Pacific Grove, especially not at eight o’clock in the evening. The Pacific Grove turn-off was coming up just ahead. They were ten minutes away from the restaurant at most, and Giant was never going to ignore an emergency.
Neither, it seemed, could Jenna. ‘I guess that’s us,’ she said.
‘I guess it is, but I’m holding you to that drink,’ he answered, taking the turning as Jenna picked up the radio and told the dispatcher they were on their way.
30
Brook watched through her rear-view mirror as, a little over forty-five minutes after she’d walked into the Lovers Beach restaurant, her lawyer and former friend Angie Southby came walking back out again, fishing her car keys out of a Hermes purse as she strode towards her car. She was dressed for business in a tailored black pantsuit and court shoes with three-inch heels, and Brook toyed with the idea of confronting her and demanding to know what she was doing, meeting the woman that her husband had been having an affair with, but she held back, figuring she’d do better to wait for Maria Reyes’s appearance.
We Can See You Page 14
