Recon complete, I bought a breakfast burrito and a coffee from one of the hole-in-the-wall food places close to the beach. I’d planned to avoid the water, but I felt the pull of it like the tide to the moon, and I found myself heading for the pier and taking the stairs down to the still-cool sand almost without thinking.
I sat down near the water. The beach was deserted except for a few surfers, rising and falling on the waves, and the joggers that populated every beach I’d ever been to in California. Gulls wheeled out over the sea, calling to one another as they swooped down, skimming fish and scraps of food off the surface. The water crawled toward my feet before withdrawing back into the well of the ocean. The sound of it was hypnotic, and my nerves smoothed out just a little. I closed my eyes, letting my breath match the rhythm of it, trying to commit the sound and smell to memory. Maybe I could call on it the next time I was heaving against a crumbling building, trying to catch my breath.
By the time I finished my breakfast, I felt a little better. More in control. Like I might actually be able to pull it all off. I made my way back up to the promenade and bought a bottled water at the café across the street from the Reel Inn. Then I sat down at one of the window seats and waited.
I wasn’t due to meet Detective Castillo for nearly two hours, but if the police were setting up a sting, they’d have to do it in advance. I pulled out a magazine I’d pilfered from the lobby of the hotel and scanned the surrounding buildings through the lenses of my aviators. I looked for sudden movement around the restaurant, for a group of people—mostly men—moving toward it. I looked for activity on the roof, people talking on headsets, meaningful glances that would be out of place passed between strangers. But it was quiet.
The crowd slowly increased as the lunch hour approached. People walked by with shopping bags and paper cups of coffee. There were even a few uniformed officers strolling the walkway. But no one was in a hurry. No one was being too careful, too casual.
Thirty minutes before I was scheduled to meet Detective Castillo, little had changed. Someone had opened the door to the Reel Inn, propping it open with a sandwich board, and there were a few more people, some of them in business suits, hurrying over the walkway. But that was it. No police that I could see and nothing that could be an undercover operation. If Detective Castillo’s men were moving in, they were completely undetectable to my eyes.
I’d found only a couple of photos online of Raul Castillo, both of them taken during press conferences. In one shot he was standing off to the side, hands clasped behind his back, eyes aimed at someone in a suit standing in front of a microphone. In the second picture he’d been half hidden behind a detective named Fletcher, whose steely gaze was aimed directly at the camera. Neither of the angles had provided me with a full view of Detective Castillo’s face. Instead I had gotten a glimpse of powerful shoulders, a strong jaw beneath unsmiling eyes, dark hair cut close to the head. I kept the images in mind as I watched the front door of the Reel Inn, afraid to even blink in case I missed him.
Finally, just before one p.m., a solidly built man approached the restaurant. He moved so quickly and with such assurance that I almost dismissed him. I’d expected him to look around, to try to spot me before he went inside. But he moved toward the door with single-minded purpose. He was wearing a navy Windbreaker, his eyes hidden behind aviators that weren’t very different from the cheap ones I’d bought at Rite Aid. I wondered if he had been in the military; he had that kind of gait, confident that nothing would deter him from his purpose, daring anything—or anyone—to try.
I took out my phone and dialed as he disappeared inside the restaurant.
“Grace?”
“Leave the restaurant and turn left. Keep walking until you get to the Gap. Go inside, all the way to the back of the store.”
“You don’t have to—”
I hung up before he could finish. A few seconds later he appeared in front of the restaurant and started walking. I waited, watching for signs of anyone on the move, anyone following him. There weren’t any, and I stood up and left the café.
I hung back, careful to keep the navy Windbreaker in view as it bobbed in and out of the growing lunchtime crowd. My heart was beating a mile a minute, and a bead of sweat dripped down my back. I half expected to hear the clatter of boots behind me, the voice of someone telling me to freeze. When he ducked into the Gap, I stopped at a hat kiosk in the middle of the promenade and dialed his number while I tried on fedoras and newsboys.
He sighed in lieu of a greeting. “I came alone. Like I said I would.”
“Great. Leave the Gap and walk to the corner. Turn right and keep walking until you hit P.F. Chang’s. Go inside and sit at the bar with your back to the door.” I disconnected the call and put my phone in my pocket.
He appeared a moment later. I watched him follow my instructions; then I returned the sun hat I’d been trying on and moved into the crowd.
I tailed him to P.F. Chang’s, still hanging back. He worked his way around a group of people in business suits, skirts, and button-downs and disappeared inside the restaurant. I waited two minutes before I went inside.
The restaurant was as dark as I remembered, and I stood in the entryway, letting my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. I looked through the people standing around—talking about work, texting, waiting for a table—until I found the bar.
He was sitting there, his broad back to the door just liked I’d instructed.
I took one last glance around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and I started for the bar, marking the swinging kitchen doors in case I needed a quick escape.
Time seemed to slow down. I waited for a hand on my arm, a shout through the crowd, a group of uniformed men to appear from the kitchen or the hallway leading to the bathrooms. No way would Detective Castillo let go of an opportunity to bring me in. Not on a high-profile case attached to a name like Warren Fairchild. It would be a career maker—or a career breaker.
Detective Castillo’s navy-clad back remained in front of me. Once I reached him, detaining me would be as simple as a cuff around my wrist, a tight hold on my arm. I wasn’t some kind of highly trained assassin. I knew people, not martial arts. If he wanted to take me in, even by himself, there wouldn’t be much I could do to stop him.
I slid carefully into the seat next to him, surprised to see that he seemed to be reading the menu.
“I made you back at the Reel Inn.” He turned to face me. “But I said I’d come alone, and I did.”
Nine
He insisted we order lunch, and I shoveled spicy dan dan noodles into my mouth, slowly at first in case it was an attempt to distract me while his men moved in, and then more quickly when I realized he was really alone.
“How is Parker?” I finally asked Detective Castillo.
He wiped his mouth on his napkin and took a long drink of water. “I haven’t seen him since he was moved to County. No point.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged a little, the gesture incongruous coming from such a big guy. “He wasn’t going to crack. Knew that right away. I’ve seen grown men, hard men, who are less calm when their balls—” His cheeks reddened. “Sorry. When they’re up against a wall.”
I nodded. “Not much scares Parker. But also, he didn’t really know where we were going. Neither did I.”
Detective Castillo raised his eyebrows. “Mom and Dad keep those details to themselves, huh?”
Now it was my turn to blush. A second later, anger rose behind my embarrassment. “It worked, didn’t it? Parker couldn’t tell you anything because he didn’t know anything.”
He leaned in. “Worked for them. Parker’s in jail, and you’re trying to negotiate his freedom with information I don’t think you have.”
I swallowed hard, my bluster gone. “I know all about them,” I said, a little desperate. “How they set things up, what they look for.”
“Do you know where they are now?” he asked.
“Cormac wa
s in Washington State when I last saw him.”
“When was that?”
I thought about it. “A week ago?”
He nodded. “And Renee?”
I looked down, trying to ignore the sucker punch I felt to my gut every time someone mentioned the only mother I’d ever really known. I couldn’t think about her, couldn’t hear her name without remembering how I’d felt that day in the hotel room when Cormac and I had discovered her betrayal. I’d had five months to get past the hurt and anger. Now I was just ashamed. Ashamed of being naive enough to believe she’d really loved me.
“She left right after the Fairchild job,” I finally said. “With the gold.”
He sighed, drumming his fingers on the top of the bar. “What can you tell us about their operation? Do you have contacts? People who gave you fake IDs, provided you with financial information, that kind of thing?”
I combed through our jobs in my mind, already knowing it was pointless. Cormac and Renee had kept Parker and me insulated from the details. They’d said it was for our own good, but I was starting to realize they were the only ones who’d benefited from the arrangement.
I finally shook my head. “They didn’t tell us that kind of stuff. Cormac planned everything. He only told us what we needed to know to get the job done.” I paused. “What about the details of the Fairchild job? I could tell you about that: how we planned it, how Cormac came back from Allied with blood on his shirt . . .”
He sat up a little straighter. “Were you there when the altercation with the guard happened?”
“No, but I saw the blood, and Cormac said they did what they had to do. Or maybe that was Renee. . . .” I thought back to that final, terrifying night at the Fairchilds’ when everything had come crashing down around us. “I think it was Renee.”
Detective Castillo rubbed his chin. “It’s not enough. Parker was part of a major robbery—and so were you, I might add. Someone died. They could take my badge for having this conversation instead of bringing you in. I know you’re the best chance we have for nailing the people responsible, and I want to help you, but if you want to help Parker, you’re going to need real information: where they get their fake documents, who’s part of the underground network that supports them, where they get private data on their marks. None of those things are easy to come by. My hunch is that they have some heavy hitters on the payroll. That kind of information would be worth a trade to the prosecutor.”
“I don’t know any of that stuff.” I heard the defeat in my own voice.
He sighed. “I hate to say it, but that’s not our only problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’ve put another detective on the case.”
I sat up straighter. “You mean you’re not even working it anymore?” I fought against a surge of hysteria. “Then what am I doing here?”
His eyes scanned the restaurant, like he was as afraid of being seen as I was, then spoke more softly. “I’m still on the case, but the chief has partnered me up with some ass—” He cleared his throat. “With another detective from LA County.”
“What does that mean for Parker? For me?” I asked.
“It means we have to hurry. Fletcher is an attack dog looking for his next piece of steak.”
I had a flash of the flinty-eyed man blocking Detective Castillo in the photograph I’d found online. Fletcher. “What are you saying exactly?”
He seemed to think about what he would say next. “Word on the street is Fletcher’s not as interested in the truth as he is in his next promotion, and he’s all but guaranteed one if he can bring in you or Cormac or Renee. He’s been all over the case files, reinterviewing people, rescouting the scene of the crime . . . The DA wants this case solved, Grace. His campaign contributors aren’t too happy with the idea of people cozying up to their sons and daughters and then stealing from them right under their noses.”
My cheeks burned.
“Sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I said softly. “It’s the truth.”
He seemed to hesitate. “I feel obligated to tell you that you should turn yourself in, to remind you that you’re a fugitive from the law and that the best thing to do is to throw yourself on the mercy of the court.”
“You don’t sound convinced,” I said.
“Once you’re in custody, you won’t have access to any of the information that might be a bargaining chip for Parker—or for yourself. That’s a fact.” He sighed again, his shoulders sagging a little. “I just hate to see you become collateral damage if there’s a chance to do it another way.”
“So what should I do?”
He was drumming again, his fingertips rising and falling on the bar. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll call in a favor in Seattle, see if anyone can get a line on Cormac. If he’s still there, the tip should give you at least a little leverage with the prosecutor.”
“And if he’s not?”
“I don’t know. Let me run down this lead, see where it takes me.” I gave him the alias Cormac was using and he wrote it in a notebook he pulled from his jacket pocket. “In the meantime, you should think through everything you’ve done with Cormac and Renee. Every job, every detail. Did you wait in the car while one of them talked to a source? Were you ever with them when they picked up your documents? Did they let slip the name of someone feeding them financial information on your marks? Even something small could lead us to something big, so don’t discount anything.” He reached into his pocket. “Let me take your number and I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
I shook my head. “I’m not giving you my number. I’ll get in touch with you in two days.”
There was something sad in his eyes as he nodded. “Call me any time of the day or night. And for God’s sake, lay low. Fletcher’s all over the place, and he’s not exactly a team player. I don’t always know where he’s going to be from one day to the next.”
I took the business card and stood to go.
“Are you all right?” he asked me suddenly. His eyes were brown and moist, the eyes of a protective German shepherd. “Do you need money or . . . anything?”
I felt the bristle of shame. “I’m fine. I can take care of myself. I just need to get Parker out of jail, that’s all.”
He didn’t say anything as I rose from the bar stool.
I’d already started for the door when I turned back. “Why are you doing this?” I asked him. “Why are you helping me?”
He stared into my eyes for a long time before answering. “I have a daughter. She’s a bit younger than you, but not so young that I can’t see where a few bad choices could take her.” He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. “I don’t like what they did to you. And to Parker.”
It was the first time anyone other than Parker had thought us innocent. Or, if not innocent, at least less guilty than Cormac and Renee. It didn’t change anything. Not really. But I felt a loosening of the guilt that had wound its way around my heart, trailing through the rest of my body like a parasitic vine, threatening to strangle me. I wanted to thank him for seeing something in me that I couldn’t see in myself, but I couldn’t speak around the lump in my throat. I felt his eyes on me as I disappeared into the crowd.
Ten
I took the long way back to Torrance, getting off at the Marriott a half mile away from my hotel and sitting in the coffee shop for an hour before getting on another bus. I didn’t think anyone was following me, but I knew at least part of my confidence was based on Detective Castillo and the feeling that I could trust him. I wanted to believe it was true, but there was too much at stake to take anything for granted. Especially now.
I was beat by the time I finally walked into the lobby of the Motel 6. I paid for two more nights, trying not to panic as I pulled two hundred and forty more dollars from my bag. I’d planned to approach Selena by now, beg her for a place to hide out while I figured out my next move. Now the thought made me nervous for more than one reason: I still felt sick
at the idea of having to face her after what I’d done, but I had to worry about Detective Fletcher, too. If he was digging into the case, Playa Hermosa was the last place I should stay. I decided to wait until my next call with Detective Castillo. If he managed to place Cormac in Seattle, going to Selena might not be necessary. I could broker a deal with the prosecutor and then Parker and I would be free. I headed for the elevators, promising myself that if Detective Castillo didn’t find Cormac, I’d go to Selena for help. It would suck, but I wasn’t exactly overflowing with other possibilities.
I spent the next two days making lists on my computer of every job Parker and I had done with Cormac and Renee, every detail, every stop we’d made. I played back conversations in my head, wishing Parker were there to contribute to the meager list of things I thought I’d heard, names I might or might not have remembered correctly, places Cormac and Renee had mentioned in passing while looking at each other in ways that in hindsight might have been meaningful.
I left only for food, bringing it back to my room, where the curtains were never open more than a crack, the bedside lamp on at all hours of the day and night, the TV muted. I worked for hours at a time, putting everything into a spreadsheet and using the VPN to google anything I wasn’t sure about, hoping that something would ring a bell in my mind. When my eyes burned with exhaustion, I fell onto the rumpled bedsheets, my mind racing, the results of my online searching still seared behind my eyelids. Then I would turn up the TV and stare blankly at it until I fell into a sleep so profound, I woke up feeling drugged.