“If I were, I’d expect you to know it. You’re the expert.”
“I used to think so,” Abby said, remembering the photos on the disk.
Wyatt’s beer arrived. They passed a few minutes sipping their drinks, not speaking.
“Truth is,” Wyatt said eventually, “I’ve been hanging out here a little more than usual. Hoping I might run into you.”
“It worked—just as long as you weren’t followed.”
“I wasn’t.” He swiveled on his stool to face her. “So how are you doing, Abby?”
“Never better.”
“Not sure I believe that.”
“Well, I’m alive and fully functional. How are things with you?”
“No complaints.”
“And no heat from your friend Cahill or anyone else?”
“Zero heat. There’s no reason for anybody to link the Hickle case to Emanuel Barth. And no reason anybody would link me to you.”
“Unless somebody at Hollywood Station remembers that I paid you a visit a few hours before the excitement started.”
“Nobody remembers. Hollywood’s a busy place. People come and go. So we’re okay, Abby. The case is closed. It’s over.”
“It’s over,” Abby echoed. The words felt good to say.
Wyatt looked away. “I understand how you wanted to keep things out of official channels, but I wish you’d confided in me. When you came to see me at the station, you already suspected Travis, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You should have said something.”
“I wanted to handle things myself.”
“Yeah.”
“Typical of me. Right?”
“You said it. I didn’t.” He tipped the beer mug from side to side, sloshing the foam in the glass. “You know, I’d like to keep seeing you.”
“Absolutely. You’re my main resource in Hollywood. I depend on you.”
“What I mean is—not on business.”
“Oh.” Abby was quiet for a moment, staring into the mirror behind the bar, where her face gazed back at her, calm and contemplative. “I don’t know, Vic.”
He studied her, his expression showing more bewilderment than hurt. “We get along pretty well, and you wouldn’t have to keep any secrets from me, so…why not?”
“Maybe because of what you just said—I can’t keep secrets from you. See, I don’t like to be with people who know me too well. I like staying hidden. I like having my space. It’s been like that for me since I was a kid. I keep my distance, always.”
“That’s no way to live, Abby.”
“But it’s a way to survive.”
He let his hand rest gently on hers. “I won’t pressure you. If you change your mind, call me. Think it over, okay?”
“I will. I promise.”
They parted a short time later. Abby was first to leave the bar. When she looked back from the doorway, she saw Wyatt sitting alone at the bar.
The sun was setting when she returned to her condo. On her balcony she watched the red glaze of the sky. She remembered sitting with her father before another sunset, years ago, and asking if her aloneness, her need for solitude, was a good thing. He’d said it would be, if she could make it work in her favor. His words were like a riddle she had never solved.
Call me, Wyatt had said. She wondered if she would.
In the living room, her phone rang. She left the balcony to answer it. For some reason she expected to hear Wyatt’s voice, but it was Gil Harris on the line—the New Jersey security consultant who’d brought her in on the Frank Harrington case. “Abby, how you doing?”
“Fine, Gil. I’m great.” She carried the cordless phone back onto the balcony.
“I take it you’ve recovered from your latest run-in with a crazy man,” Gil was saying.
She wondered how he could know about Hickle, then realized he was referring to Harrington. “Sure,” she said easily. “It’s amazing what ten days of rest and relaxation will do for you.”
“Well, I hope you’ve had enough vacation time, because I’ve got something that’s definitely up your alley. Interested?”
She hesitated only a moment. “When do you need me?”
“Soon as possible.”
“I’ll catch a flight first thing tomorrow, be at your office by late afternoon. Deal?”
“Works for me. Oh, and I should warn you—this one could be kind of tricky.”
“They’re all tricky, Gil.” She leaned back against the railing and smiled. “Although I have to admit, some are a little trickier than others.”
After the call she lingered on the balcony, watching the last of the sunset. She felt her old friend, adrenaline, pumping through her body, and she knew it was what she needed. Wyatt could wait. Her personal life, whatever there was of it, could wait. In the end it was the job that kept her alive and sane. The job was what she lived for. The job was who she was.
People were always reaching for what they didn’t have—fame or wealth, youth or love, some final victory or vengeance. They chased after the prizes that would sum up their lives, seeking to complete themselves. It was so easy to get caught up in the chase. Easy but unnecessary, at least for her, at least right now.
If you can make it work in your favor, her father had said.
When the sun was gone and there was only darkness, Abby went inside to pack.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I invite readers to visit my website at michaelprescott.net, where you’ll find information on my other books, as well as updates on my current and future projects.
The original edition of The Shadow Hunter, published in 2000, benefited from the insights and assistance of many people, including Joseph Pittman, Carolyn Nichols, Louise Burke, my agent Jane Dystel, and her partner Miriam Goderich.
Jane and Miriam also shepherded this new edition through the publishing process. My thanks to editor Maria Gomez for acquiring the book, and to the whole Amazon Publishing team, who have done a great job while treating me like family.
Michael Prescott
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Keith Mills, 2005
Michael Prescott was born and raised in New Jersey and attended Wesleyan University, majoring in film studies. After college, he moved to Los Angeles to pursue a career as a screenwriter. In 1986 he sold his first novel, and has gone on to pen six thrillers under the name Brian Harper and ten books as Michael Prescott. He has sold more than one million print copies and is finding a large new audience through e-books. Fan-favorite character Abby Sinclair, the “stalker’s stalker” first introduced in The Shadow Hunter, has since appeared in three more books.
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