but I’ll talk to him.”
Hicks watched Riley return to his car and the car pull away.
Hicks stood in the parking lot, hand in his pocket, gripping the pistol. He counted to sixty. Young hipster dudes and funky chick poets passed, all staring at their phones. They laughed, and smiled, and even talked to each other, but all of them stared at their phones.
Hicks climbed into his car, and called Blanch.
“On my way. You there?”
“I’m here.”
Hicks pulled out of the lot. He felt good. Confident. Hicks was absolutely certain he knew how to find her.
42.
Riley
His employer lived two hours ahead. Riley didn’t like disturbing his boss at such a late hour, but the old man was used to it. With business interests stretching across four continents, the old man often took calls at odd hours.
“Pull over up ahead. Anywhere.”
The driver, Pitchess Lloyd, guided the big sedan into a gas station and up to the pumps. His other two men, Terrence and Charlie, pulled in behind them. Like Pitch, Terrence and Charlie were security operators in the old man’s organization. Pitch swung open his door.
“I’ll top her off.”
“Grab a candy bar, would you? Whatever they have. I’m starving.”
They’d been on their way to dinner when Hicks dropped the bad news.
Pitch said, “You bet. Want a pop?”
“Just the candy. Get something for yourself. Ask the boys.”
Pitch hadn’t missed any meals. The car swayed when he climbed out.
The old man’s phone rang nine times before he answered. The old man had staff to field calls, especially in the middle of the night, but he’d given Riley special access.
His voice sounded phlegmy with sleep.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“Riley. Sorry to wake you, sir.”
The old man cleared his throat.
“Let’s hear it.”
“Ms. Ryan’s daughter is gone. Hicks lost her again.”
“Meaning what, did he kill her?”
“She isn’t dead, so far as we know. She’s missing.”
“Hang on.”
Riley heard shuffling before the old man continued.
“Is Hicks with you?”
“I just left him. He’s looking for her.”
“How’d he manage to lose her? I thought they had her locked in a house.”
“There was a shooting. Hicks was with me when it happened. Three bodies were found, but not the girl. He believes they were his men.”
“He doesn’t know?”
“He wasn’t able to reach the site. What he knows, he learned from a source.”
The old man huffed.
“And just like that, she’s gone.”
“No survivors were found. Only dead males.”
The old man was quiet for several seconds.
“I guess she let those boys have it. That would’ve been something to see, wouldn’t it? This little girl cutting them down. That how you see it?”
“An outside player might be involved. The person who interfered with our first attempt.”
“Ah.”
The ah sounded sarcastic and harsh.
“This is how Mr. Hicks explains it?”
“It’s possible.”
The old man went silent again. Riley didn’t know what to say, so he let the silence ride. The old man finally finished thinking and filled the silence himself.
“Twenty-four years, eight months, thirteen days, and some odd hours.”
“Sir?”
“That’s how long I chased the bitch. Missed her by what, a year?”
“Just about.”
DeeAnn Ryan had died eleven months ago. Three weeks later, purely by chance, a drug runner Riley knew from Miami mentioned a rumor he’d heard, that a U.S. Marshal out in the California desert helped hide a witness from the New Way trial. After twenty-four years, eight months, thirteen days, and some odd hours, this was the first real lead the old man had. He told Riley to run with it. They didn’t know she was dead. They knew nothing about her until Ted Kemp told them.
The old man said, “Hicks did all right with the marshal. Came through real well, finding that fella and making him talk.”
“He did.”
“But now, with this girl, I don’t know. It’s one shot of bad news after another. Makes me wonder what’s going on out there.”
“He seems to think he can find her.”
“Maybe he’s thinking about running off with my nineteen million dollars.”
“I don’t think so, sir. Not Hicks.”
The old man laughed.
“He’s a thief. Thieves steal for a living. Of course he’d take my money.”
“Not with me on deck.”
“All right, then. I’m going back to bed. I want you to do something—”
“Yes, sir?”
“If you get any good news, call me. I could use a little good news after all this bad, so call with something good.”
“I will, sir. Right away.”
“One other thing—”
“Sir?”
“Watch your back. I don’t trust him.”
The old man hung up.
Pitchess had paid for the gas, and was waiting outside. When Riley put away his phone, Pitch climbed in, and held out a bag