Milo finally located the park entrance and drove down a long straight road for about half a mile. The road curved and curved again before it reached a huge hill. Much to his disappointment, there weren’t any Ferris wheels or trains. He drove all the way around the hill. He could smell a foul odor, but with the car windows up and the air-conditioning on, he thought it was coming from the engine.
There was no sign of Lyra, or any other human being for that matter, but Milo decided it could be worth his while to wait. She might show up. He turned around and headed back toward the park entrance, looking for a good place to hide his car. He thought about using branches as camouflage, but that would take too much time and effort. The abandoned park shelters didn’t offer enough cover. There was a pile of rubbish big enough for the car to hide behind, but he was afraid some of the sharp objects lying around the heap would cause a flat tire. He finally decided to leave his car behind a burned-out building across the street from the park entrance.
Once the car was hidden, he went back to the park to find a hiding place for himself. He wanted a good vantage point from which to watch her, and if he was close enough and she was alone, he might even try to engage her in conversation. This time he’d be prepared. He’d felt a strong connection between them when she’d smiled at him at the yard sale, and he was certain she’d felt it, too.
IT WAS A WARM MORNING, and with each step the odor grew stronger. Milo had almost reached the base of the hill, and was standing on the road mopping his brow, when he heard a car coming. Where to hide? Where to hide? He couldn’t hide on the hill unless he could get quickly to the top. He whirled in a circle. The car would soon reach the first curve and he’d be exposed. There were dead bushes to his left, and in a panic, he dove into the dried shrubbery.
The stench was horrible. His face was buried in something foul. He used his shirtsleeve to wipe it off, then pulled his shirt over his face, all the way to his brow.
Was that Lyra driving into the park? He could endure just about anything as long as he got to look at her again. The car stopped, and he heard doors opening and closing. Milo lay in a gully wrapped in garbage and covered with dead shrubs and branches. He thought he heard a man’s voice, but he couldn’t be sure, and he couldn’t take the chance of raising his head, fearing he’d get caught.
He suddenly remembered the gun he’d stowed in the glove compartment. How could he protect his love without a gun? He hadn’t been thinking. Stupid, he told himself. Stupid.
There wasn’t a sound for several minutes, then he heard a man’s voice in the distance, coming closer to the car. Someone was with him. Milo thought he heard a woman’s voice. They stood for a couple of minutes talking before they got back in the car. Milo couldn’t stand not knowing if Lyra was in the car with some man. He darted a quick look. The passenger side faced him, and there she was, staring out the windshield. His heart sang. If Lyra turned just a little, she would look straight at him.
Screeching tires signaled another car roaring in their direction. Milo started to rise up to take a look, but then heard gunshots and flattened out in the garbage again. Someone was shooting at Lyra’s car. Charlie! It had to be Charlie and his sidekick, Stack. Those stupid thugs. No class at all, those two. How did they find out about Lyra’s Paraiso Park project? Probably the same way he had, Milo thought.
The gunfire got louder and closer. A bullet smacked into a rotten banana peel close by, and he ducked. He’d kill them if they hurt her. He heard gunshots, screeching tires, and roaring engines. It all finally stopped after the sirens blared past him.
Milo raised his head. Seeing no one, he darted from the garbage heap and raced down the road to his car. As he drove away from the abandoned building, he held tight to the steering wheel to keep his hands from shaking. Lyra had barely escaped being shot by her attackers, and he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. He had put his love in terrible danger. This was all his fault. He never should have told Mr. Merriam about her.
Tears flooded his eyes. Letting her go was the only way Milo could save her.
TWENTY-THREE
THE GOOD NEWS WAS THAT THE TWO MEN TRYING TO KILL Sam and Lyra were now in handcuffs. The bad news was that they weren’t the two men who had broken into her apartment.
Sam drove her to the police station where the men were being processed. She stood in a tiny room behind a one-way mirror and waited while Sam stepped out into the hall to talk to two other agents. Ed, the man who had delivered the car, saw her and came in.
“I looked at the car, and not a single bullet touched it. The perps were either lousy shots or Agent Kincaid was too fast for them.” Shaking his head, he repeated, “Not a single bullet.”
Sam walked up behind Lyra and put his hands on her shoulders. “They’re bringing them up. Ready?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Have they said anything?”
“Yes. They want lawyers.”
Two men were led into the interrogation room. They hadn’t even taken their seats when Lyra said, “They aren’t the same men who were in my apartment.”
“You’re sure?” Sam asked. “You told me they were wearing masks.”
She looked through the glass again. “They were,” she said, “but these men are much shorter and stockier. The man I hit with the pepper spray had coal black eyes, and he was over six feet. He was almost as tall as you are,” she added. “The other one was tall, too, but thin. Those two,” she nodded at the men sitting at the table facing her, “they’re much shorter, and the color of their eyes … they’re not the same men.”
“Max is on his way here with Sidney. She was with them long enough to recognize their voices.”
“Who are they? Did they have identification?”
“Wouldn’t matter. They’re both in the system. They’re members of the Flynn gang.”
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“They’re enforcers for a local crime boss, Michael Flynn.”
“What would they want with me? What did I do to cause all this?” She folded her arms and took a step toward the window. “I’d like to go in there and ask them.”
“They want nothing from you. You’re just a job.”
She stepped back and looked at him. “A job?”
“They’re hired guns, Lyra.”
“Then thank God they’re locked up.”
He nodded. He didn’t tell her that whoever had sent these goons would only send more. He glanced at the clock and said, “Lyra, it’s almost five, and I’m starving. Let’s go.”
Lyra wanted to wait until Sidney arrived, but her stomach was grumbling, too. Neither she nor Sam had had anything to eat since breakfast. They’d been too busy getting rid of explosives, dodging bullets, and giving statements at the police station to think about food.
A woman opened the door and stuck her head in. “Agent Kincaid? There’s a call for you.”
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“I’m preparing dinner,” Lyra told him.
“You can cook?”
“Not really, but I’m going to prepare dinner.”
Lyra waited until he’d left, then pulled out her phone and called Noel’s restaurant.
“Hi, Tim, it’s Lyra. I’d like carryout, please.”
“Same credit card, love?” the voice on the other end said.
“Yes,” she answered and ordered a couple of Noel’s specialties. “I’ll be there in thirty to pick it up.”
Sam returned. “Ready?” he said.
“I think I could be a good policewoman, except for one thing. I might get in trouble shooting too many suspects … but only the ones I knew were guilty.”
He opened the door for her. “I wouldn’t put that down on an application.”
Sam once again checked they weren’t being followed before heading back to the duplex.
“We have to make a quick detour.”
She gave him directions. “There it is, on the corner. Pull into the side lot, please.”
She made a call and said, “We’re here.”
They didn’t have to wait long. A heavyset man wearing a chef’s jacket carried out two large shopping bags.
“Pop the trunk … ooh, no, don’t,” Lyra said. “Our smelly boots are in there. Backseat will have to do.”
She got out of the car and opened the back door. Tim placed the bags inside, shut the door, and kissed Lyra on both cheeks before hurrying back inside.
“French, huh?” Sam asked.
“No.”
“Then why’d he kiss you on both cheeks?”
She smiled. “He likes me.”
“You shouldn’t let him kiss you like that,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “Tim’s my friend.”
“Half of California’s your friend,” he countered.
“Did you ever find out who Rooney worked for?” she asked suddenly, remembering the yard sale.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“A guy named Merriam,” he answered. “Rooney did some laundering for him. We’ve been watching Merriam for a while.”
“What does he do?”
“Owns a big collection agency.”
When they pulled into the garage, Sam said, “Food smells good.”
Lyra carried both bags inside while Sam put their boots by the garage wall to air out. He carried in her backpack.
“This is preparing dinner, huh?” he asked her, grinning.
“I’m warming it up,” she said, arching an eyebrow as she lifted one container out of the sack. “Thus, I’m preparing dinner.”
“Need any help?”
“No thanks, I think I can manage.”
“I’m going to make some calls.”
He went upstairs, which meant he didn’t want her to hear any of the conversation. Maybe he was talking to a girlfriend. Odd, she never thought to ask Sam if he had one. It no longer mattered. He’d be gone in the morning. And she was glad about it, she reminded herself.
Sidney called while Lyra was setting the table, and they had a long talk about the two men in lockup. Lyra gave her all the details of the shooting at the park, and Sidney asked a hundred questions.
“How did Flynn’s thugs find you? Were they following you?”
“No. There was no way anyone could have followed us. Sam made sure of that.”
“So how did they know you were at the park? Maybe you weren’t their target. Maybe it was a random drive-by.”
“This was no drive-by, Sidney. They were there deliberately to shoot us. When they drove by us the first time and missed, they turned around and tried again.”
“That means they knew you would be there. Who else knew about your film project?”
“Almost anyone could have found out about it. Most of the students in my class, the techs at the lab … countless people. Our project titles were even posted on a bulletin board outside the classroom—anyone could have seen it. Oh, and we went to Mia’s party last week, remember? I told a number of people about my film. Then, of course, there’s everyone at City Hall, the reference librarians at the public library, the archivists at—”
“Okay,” Sidney said to stop her. “I get it. Everybody could have known. But not everybody knew the time and day you would show up.”
“That’s true. They had to be waiting nearby.”
“The police said they are hit men?”
“They’re not very good ones,” Lyra said. “They couldn’t even hit our car.”
“Don’t take this lightly. They’re not talking, but Max says it won’t be long before they know who they’re working for.”
“That’s good.”
“I wanted to stay and watch the interrogation, but Max said we had to leave. He’s very … assertive.”
“You like him?”
“Not enough to … you know. What about Sam?”
“He’s leaving first thing in the morning, so I’m making him a farewell dinner.”
“Luigi’s or Noel’s?”
Lyra laughed. “Noel’s.”
“You still need a bodyguard.”
“I’m getting a new one in the morning.”
“Why is Sam leaving?”
“He has other commitments. He doesn’t do this type of work. He’s only helping out as a favor to Alec.”
“You sound funny … strained. I can hear it in your voice.”
“I’m just tired. Dinner’s going to get cold. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Stay safe.”
“You, too.”
When Lyra had dinner on the table, she ran upstairs to get Sam.
She knocked on the door. “Sam?”
“Yes?”
She made the mistake of opening the door and peeking in. Sam had just stepped out of the shower and was barely wrapped in a towel that hung low on his hips. His chest and legs glistened with drops of water.
“Dinner’s ready.” She sounded hoarse.
She tripped hurrying down the stairs and surely would have broken something vital if she hadn’t grabbed the handrail. The thud of her feet on the steps sounded as though an elephant had lost its footing. Cause and effect were at play here. If she hadn’t seen him barely covered, she wouldn’t have tripped. But she had seen him, and it was going to take her a long while to get that image out of her head. Just looking at Sam made her throat dry.
How could any man be that perfect?
She was taking the rolls out of the oven when Sam walked in wearing a white T-shirt that hugged his muscles, faded blue jeans, and soft leather loafers.
The kitchen was small. Lyra closed the oven door and held the hot pan over her head, pressing her back against the refrigerator so Sam could get past.
“Steak or chicken?” she asked.
“Which do you want?”
“Chicken.”
They made small talk through dinner, sharing stories of their families and their homes. After hearing about all the exotic places Sam had lived, Lyra felt that her life was rather mediocre and humdrum, but Sam seemed just as interested in her stories of the ranch and her grandmother and her dreams of becoming a filmmaker as she did in his stories.
He never once mentioned his wife, and Lyra was afraid to ask about her for fear of intruding. She remembered what Gigi had said when Lyra asked if she’d ever remarry: there’s only one true love. Maybe Sam felt the same about his wife.
