A Dangerous Man (Elvis Cole and Joe Pike #18) - Robert Crais Page 0,9
the silence in his condominium. The furnishings were spare, and in order. The space was immaculate. Sofa, chair, coffee table, lamps. The walls were bare. No art or photos disturbed their surface. Pike kept his Jeep, his gear, his home, and himself shipshape and squared away. These lessons had been impressed upon him when he was a young Marine. Pike’s childhood had been uncertain and violent. The Marines taught him the beauty of order.
Pike watched the news as he ate, then turned off the television, and changed into shorts. He spread a yoga mat on the living room floor. Pike had never been married. He had come close, once, and loved another he couldn’t have. He had girlfriends, but, outside of a barracks, he had not lived with anyone more than a few days. Private military contractors with Pike’s particular skill set lived demanding lives. He would leave on a moment’s notice, be gone for long periods, and often could not disclose where he was going or where he had been. Pike had decided not to ask anyone to share such an unpredictable life. This was a decision he sometimes regretted. He kept no plants or pets.
Pike closed his eyes, and breathed. Slow breaths in, slow breaths out. He emptied his mind, and thought about nothing. His heart rate slowed. Forty-two, forty-one, forty beats per minute. Pike sat like this for half an hour, then stretched on the couch, and read for the remains of the evening. He wondered if Isabel would call, then put her out of his thoughts. She would, or she wouldn’t.
At ten minutes after eleven, he armed the security system, shut the lights, and went to bed.
His world was silent.
Pike held his breath, and listened.
There was nothing, and no one, to hear.
10.
Pike’s phone rang at six-oh-five the following morning. He had been up for hours. He’d gone for a run, finished PT, and now he was dressing. His first thought was Isabel, but the caller ID read CTY LAPD.
Pike answered slowly.
“Pike.”
“This is Braun. We have a couple of follow-up questions.”
A cool frost bloomed in his chest. Braun wouldn’t call this early for questions.
“Is it Isabel?”
“Look out the window. We’re having a party.”
Pike pulled on a pair of jeans, and went to the window. Pike’s condominium complex was comprised of several four-unit quads, with each quad having its own parking area. Entry to the grounds required a key card, but Braun’s unmarked sedan and a black-and-white sat in his parking lot. Braun and DeLako stood by his Jeep, bathed in a milky pre-dawn glow. Two uniformed officers stood by a patrol car. The uniforms meant Braun expected trouble.
Pike said, “Coming out.”
Pike grabbed a sweatshirt, then tossed it aside. He wanted them to see he was unarmed. He walked barefoot and shirtless out to the parking lot.
Braun looked tired, but wary with tension.
“Here he is now, the damsel’s hero.”
DeLako’s eyes were cool.
“You always up this early?”
Their skin had the greasy sheen of too little sleep, and their jackets hung like wrinkled drapes. They looked like a couple of cops who’d spent the night at a crime scene.
Pike said, “Did something happen to Isabel?”
DeLako laid her hand on the Jeep’s hood.
“Your engine’s warm. Been out and about?”
“Sullivan Canyon. Running.”
“In the dark?”
Pike stepped closer. Braun stepped back, and the uniforms shifted.
“Did something happen to Isabel?”
“Have you seen or spoken with her since the incident?”
Now Pike was curious. They were asking about Isabel, but Pike sensed their interest lay elsewhere.
“The day she was attacked, after she left you. She called. She called again yesterday. We’re playing phone tag.”
“Why’d she call?”
“I don’t know.”
DeLako patted the Jeep’s hood. Pike didn’t like people touching his Jeep.
“Where were you last night, say between seven and ten?”
Pike didn’t like the way they were watching him any better.
“Why does it matter?”
Braun repeated the question.
“Where were you?”
“Here. Ate, read for a while, went to bed. That’s it.”
“Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts?”
“Got home about six. A neighbor saw me. Put out garbage around nine. The kids in the next quad were here in the parking lot, flying a drone. Now talk to me, Braun. What’s going on?”
“Karbo and Bender made bail. They were released yesterday afternoon.”
Pike waited. His body was still, and his face gave them nothing. They weren’t finished.
Pike said, “And?”
Braun’s voice turned flat as a plate.
“They were murdered last night.”
DeLako touched her temple.
“Single tap here, each one. Straight-up executions. You’re not playing the Punisher, are you? It’s not inconceivable when we’re talking about you.”