The Target (12 page)

“That will cost you another fifty, with half up front. But I have to check out the location and security and see if it’s doable.”

They walked past a young couple waiting for a cab and were quiet for a moment.

“I may be able to get some of the information you need. And I have the first payment with me.”

“What’s the address?”

Cheryl relayed the location and slipped her the cash.

“I’ll be in touch.” K handed her the thumb drive, then abruptly turned and darted across the street.

Cheryl hurried home, racking her brain for where she could borrow more cash, so she didn’t have to touch her emergency supply. Her father would probably give it to her—‌he’d gotten more generous with age—‌but she hadn’t spoken to him in six years. Not since he’d been ashamed to be seen with Amber as a toddler—‌before they’d diagnosed the disease that explained her bizarre behavior. Cheryl couldn’t bring herself to ask him for a favor now.

Friday, July 11, 6:35 p.m.

Dallas grabbed Thai takeout on the way to the condo. She was eager to check in with River but didn’t want to drive and talk on the phone until she was more confident about getting around San Diego. Her hometown of Phoenix was laid out in a massive grid, so driving there required little skill or attention. At home, she called River on the BioTech burner phone, eating bites of fresh summer roll while she waited for her to pick up. Dallas was about to click off when River answered. “Hey, how was work?” They didn’t use personal names, even on their case phones.

“Splendid. If you like data entry.” Dallas washed down her food with a long slug of cold beer. “Did you get the text image I sent?”

“The number’s not registered, which makes the message suspect.”

“Is it enough for a subpoena of Grissom’s phone records?”

“No, but in combination with something else, it could be.”

“There’s more. We had a fire alarm during lunch break.”

“That’s odd.”

“It’s stranger than you think. While everyone was out of the building, I stepped into Max Grissom’s office. But before I could dig into anything, someone came into the outer office.” Talking about it recharged her energy, so Dallas got up to pace. “I ducked into the bathroom as a cover story, then watched to see if he would grab something and go. But it wasn’t Grissom. Some guy downloaded files from his computer to a flash drive, then left.”

“Good glory. A competitor spying on TecLife?”

“It had to be. I followed the guy, but he went out a side door and scaled a patio wall. Then a fireman forced me to exit.”

“Describe the unsub.”

“Five eight, slim build, maybe one-fifty or less. He had a beard, but it could have been fake. He wore jeans, a baseball cap, and loose black pullover. I took a picture on my cell phone from the bathroom, but it’s probably worthless. I sent it right before I called.”

“Maybe the facial recognition software will pick him out.”

“Unless he’s not in the databases. This was a dirty, white-collar crime. He could be from the competition.” Dallas sat and took another pull of beer. “We should look at a roster of ProtoCell employees. Maybe they know TecLife is engaged in corporate warfare, so they’re striking back.”

“Good idea. If they have nothing to hide, they should open up their files.

“Don’t count on it. The public isn’t very trusting of us watchdogs anymore.”

“I can be very charming.”

Dallas heard the smile in her voice. “Indeed you can.” River had kept an eco-terrorist from killing his shrink. Which reminded Dallas that she needed to talk to Dr. Harper.

“Did you find out anything else?”

“Mostly background details. For example, Max Grissom is a rally-the-troops kind of CEO who hits on all the women, and Cheryl Decker is a no-nonsense workaholic. But she’s developing a top-secret weight-loss product that she says will be a blockbuster and that her competitors would love to get their hands on.”

River made a skeptical sound. “I’m surprised she told you on your first day.”

“She had me sorting data and wanted to express how confidential the information was.”

“But today’s unsub stole files from Grissom’s computer?”

“Yes. But they’re likely networked, and Decker locks her door every time she leaves her office.”

“Do you have a feel for which is more likely the mastermind?”

“Grissom is more competitive, and that text asking him to bring cash is compelling.”

River added, “If you locate their IP addresses, I can get a tech guy to activate their computer cameras. Then we can overhear phone conversations.”

“I’ll prioritize it.” Dallas snuck a small bite of summer roll. “Do you have anything new for me?”

“The CDC was at our task force meeting for Joe Palmer. The ME had sent over tissue samples, and they say Palmer was exposed to a new bacteria, similar to a staph infection.” River paused, and when she continued, her voice was throaty. “The bacteria probably killed Joe, and if it came from one of the med-tech companies, then we need to be cautious. You especially, if you access the lab.”

“I’ll wear gloves and a face mask.” Dallas knew it probably wouldn’t be possible, but she didn’t want River to worry. “Decker’s product is bacteria-based.”

“If you can get a sample, we could compare it to Palmer’s tissue.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Dallas wasn’t optimistic, but she knew how important this was to River. “I’ll check in soon.”

They hung up, and Dallas finished her dinner while watching the news on her laptop. From the bedroom, she heard her personal phone ringing in its case. Damn, she’d forgotten to turn it off. Might as well see who was calling. She hoped it wasn’t Sam, or worse, her mother again.

But it was her mother. She let the call go to voicemail, then stared at the phone, trying to decide if she should listen to the message. This would be about her dad, and she didn’t want that responsibility right now. Her work was more important. She walked out to the patio to clear her mind, but moments later turned back inside. Her mother’s message was brief but typically manipulative: “Your dad is dying. If you don’t come see him, you’ll regret it.”

A white-hot rage burned in her chest. How dare her parents demand anything of her? She’d always been an afterthought to their addictions and self-indulgence. Except for two brief phases of sobriety. They’d had a good year when she was four. Dallas remembered trips to the park and her dad pushing her in a swing. Then after a short stint in jail, her father had been sober for a couple of months when she was thirteen. He’d apologized for past behavior and even come to one of her school plays. A mixed bag—‌joy that he’d come and embarrassment about his crappy clothes and unshaved face.

A groan escaped her, and Dallas shook it off. She went to her laptop, clicked open Skype, and called her shrink, not really expecting the older woman to respond. Why should she? It was after hours and the start of a weekend. But Dr. Harper’s wrinkled face came into view in the little box. Her brow was puckered, and Dallas couldn’t tell if she was worried or cranky.

“Are you okay, Jamie?”

Only her family, her best friend, and her shrink called her Jamie. Even her boyfriends called her Dallas because that’s how she introduced herself. “Yes and no. I’m sorry about bothering you in the evening.”

“I’m glad you reached out. But I only have a few minutes. I have tickets to a concert.” A pause, then quickly. “Unless you’re in crisis.”

Not a chance.
“I’m fine. I just wanted to run something by you.”

“What is it?”

“My dad is sick, maybe dying, and my mom wants me to fly home and see him. But I’m involved in an undercover assignment, and I don’t want to go.”

“I thought you’d forgiven your parents.”

“I never said that. And even if I did, it doesn’t mean I owe them anything.”

Dr. Harper spoke with a gentle tone. “This isn’t about your father. It’s about you. If going home will make you unhappy, then don’t. But if not going will have a long-term negative effect, meaning guilt and regret, then suck it up and get it over with.”

Right to the heart of it. That’s why she kept having sessions with this woman. “But what if I don’t know how not going will make me feel? I’d like to think I don’t really care.”

“And yet, you’re talking to me about it. And you hate talking to me.” The shrink smiled, looking every day of her seventy-some years. “You must feel somewhat guilty about not going.”

“My mother’s making me feel guilty.”

“She has no control over your feelings.”

So easy to say.
“Okay, you win. I’ll fly out this weekend while I have some time, give the old man his peace of mind, and come right back.”

“Probably a good choice. Where are you, by the way?”

“San Diego. It’s pretty here. I love the ocean.”

“Did you break up with Sam before you left?”

“Not exactly. But I told him he was free to date someone else.”

“How is the sex? Were you getting bored with him already?”

The question no longer bothered her. It was why she’d started counseling with Dr. Harper in the first place. “It was still fine, but that’s because Sam isn’t clingy.”

“I guess we’ll see what happens when he starts talking about a commitment.”

Dallas started to mention that she might look up an old boyfriend while she was home, then changed her mind. Dr. Harper had plans. “Thanks for your time. I’ll let you go. Have fun at the concert.”

“What are you not telling me?”

Dallas waved and closed Skype. They could talk about it afterward, when she had something to report. Time to get online, buy a last-minute ticket to Flagstaff, and notify River. Being gone from her target location, even for forty-eight hours, felt wrong. But there wasn’t much she could do for the assignment this weekend, and it was still early in her investigation—‌so nothing was likely to happen while she was gone.

Saturday, July 12, 7:45 a.m.

Cortez woke to the sound of soft grunting. A wet tongue licked his hand, and he opened his eyes. Grumpy, his aging pot-bellied pig, nudged him. Cortez sat up and scratched the pig’s head. The little guy was always hungry. “Okay, already. It’s the weekend. Can’t a guy sleep in?”

He trudged to the kitchen, put last night’s leftover macaroni and cheese in his pet’s bowl, then started a pot of coffee. His phone rang before he’d taken his first sip. A glance at the caller ID:
Detective Hawthorne.
Maybe it was a break in the case. “Good morning, sir. How’s your leg?”

“The same pain in the ass it was yesterday. And just call me Thorn like everyone else. Okay? We’re working this case together.”

Partners.
Cortez beamed, glad Hawthorne couldn’t see him. “Do you have something new for me?”

“A patrol officer spotted Avery’s Mercedes on a dead-end street about a mile from where we found the body. Just at the edge of National City.” Hawthorne read off the address. “I need you to check it out and have the vehicle towed to the processing building.”

“I’ll go right now.”

“Did you establish a timetable or get anything unusual from the widow?”

“Sorry, but no.” Frustration surfaced again. “I called the top fifteen people in Avery’s cell phone, and no one saw him Tuesday after he left his house. I questioned his wife and his brother in person, and neither has any idea who would want him dead.”

“What about the Freison woman who filed the paternity suit? Did you find her yet?”

He felt downright incompetent. “I’ve called three times and stopped by the only address on file for her. I called her lawyer too, but he didn’t answer and didn’t return my call. I’ll try again today.”

“Let’s put out a BOLO if she doesn’t turn up.”

“What about Avery’s bank records and credit cards?” Cortez asked, shifting the focus.

“Harris didn’t find anything unusual.” A voice in the background sounded like a nurse asking Hawthorne to get up. After a moment, he said, “You’d better hope the Hollywood reporters have another story or scandal to latch onto soon. If they keep calling the department, Riggs will pass this case to another team.”

Cortez doubted that, but he said, “I’ll work through the weekend. There has to be a lead somewhere.”

“Keep checking in.”

“Copy that.” Cortez felt a burst of energy. He hung up and vowed again to find his icon’s killer. He regretted telling his mother he would do yard work for her that afternoon. He texted her and said he had to work instead. She read his texts, but never responded. His mother had adopted the parts of technology that worked for her—‌such as free TV on the internet—‌but ignored the rest. Plus her mix of English and Spanish didn’t work well for written communication.

Cortez usually made huevos rancheros on Saturdays, but now he didn’t have time. He threw a burrito in the microwave, got dressed, and put Grumpy outside. The pig could come and go through his little pet door, but Cortez always encouraged him to get out in the morning while it was still cool.

If the silver Mercedes Benz S had been left closer to Division, it would have been stolen, stripped of its license plate, and sold for a fraction of its value. Instead, it sat on a dead-end side street, mostly out of view of the main road. Cortez parked behind the black-and-white squad car and wondered what the patrol cop had been doing in the area. As he approached the car, the officer climbed out and strode up to him. A pretty woman about his age.

His throat tightened. “I’m Detective Cortez. I’m working James Avery’s homicide.”

“Officer Adie Silva.” Petite and curvy with big brown eyes, she held out her hand.

Adie for Adelena? Her warm touch sent a charge up his arm.

“Avery’s death is a shame. He was a fine actor and a good man.”

She was a fan too.
“I agree. I’ve seen every one of his films.”

Officer Silva gave him a crooked smile. “He hasn’t made a movie in a while, but I still love him.”

He wouldn’t let himself think of her as
Adie
while they were working. Torn between continuing their conversation and his responsibility to Avery, Cortez finally stepped toward the Mercedes. “Have you searched the vehicle?”