Cindy noted the names, and she sent out an e-mail to the staff writers at the Chron, asking if anyone had contacts in the Chicago PD.
Then Cindy wrote to Henry Tyler:
To: H. Tyler
From: C. Thomas
Subject: Update Morales
Henry, Morales may have held up a bank in Chicago and killed two people. Her name has not been released. I’m following up, digging in. More TK as I get info. Cindy.
Then Cindy wrote to Captain Lawrence, thanking him for the lead. Next, she booked a flight to Chicago.
CHAPTER 33
MACKIE MORALES WAS behind the wheel of the silver Acura she’d boosted from a parking space on State Street, a high-end shopping street in Chicago’s Loop. Well, she’d seen the keys in the trunk lock, so the Acura’s owner was definitely a dummy, probably still wondering where she’d parked the car, and would take her time to report the theft.
Meanwhile, as Mackie set out due west, she and Randy had had some laughs. He said, Sometimes life hands you dummies.
“Good one, lover.”
When Mackie stopped for gas in Bettendorf, Iowa, two and a half hours west of Chicago, she found the dummy’s peacoat in the trunk. She transferred her gun from her blue trench to the dummy’s felt coat and stuffed her own coat into the trash bin near the pumps.
About that time, she also found a pair of leather gloves in the pocket of the peacoat, very handy, and about sixteen dollars in ones and coins. It would have been great if the dummy had had some real cash in the car, but there had been a package of Oreos in the console and Mackie had been glad for those.
Now, after several cash purchases—gas and snack and dinner in a truck stop outside Cheyenne—Mackie was keeping to the speed limit on the interstate, cutting through the barren plains of southern Wyoming. She was looking for a good radio signal and a clear road with no cops. Instead, she saw a figure on the side of the road near the Laramie on-ramp.
As she drew closer, she saw that the figure was a young woman wearing jeans and a denim jacket. She had long dark hair and held a piece of cardboard with a sign written in marker, reading ROCK SPRINGS.
Randy’s type. To a T.
Mackie slowed the Acura to a stop, and the girl picked up her backpack and ran toward the car.
Mackie buzzed down the window.
The girl said, “Hi, wow, thanks for stopping. How far can you take me?”
“I’m driving to Portland,” Mackie said. “I can take you all the way.”
“Oh, that would be great. Thanks.”
The long-haired girl took a bottle of water from her backpack. Mackie saw the finger marks on her wrists just before the girl pulled her jacket sleeves down to hide the bruises.
“I’m Leila,” she said.
“I’m Hannah,” said Mackie, picking a name out of the air. “Leila, sorry to be nosy, but why are you hitching this late at night?”
“Oh, boyfriend trouble. I was visiting my, well, I guess he’s my ex now, at the University of Wyoming.”
Leila used her thumb to point behind her to Laramie.
“We had a fight. About another girl he’s been seeing, of course. Now I have to get back home on my own, but I sure don’t ever have to see that shit again.”
“And you’re not afraid to hitchhike?”
“Not at all. I would only get into a car with a woman. Do you live in Portland?”
“My mom. I’m going to spend a little time with her. She’s a million laughs and she cooks, too.”
“Cool. Hannah, I didn’t get any sleep last night. Would you mind if I nap for a few minutes?”
Mackie dialed around and found a light-music station. By the time Leila was asleep, Mackie was thinking about Lindsay Boxer. It was good to be going back to San Francisco. Richie and Lindsay wouldn’t even be thinking about her.
Surprise. We’re ba-a-ack.
Beside her, Leila stirred.
Between now and San Francisco, she had to deal with the girl.
CHAPTER 34
YUKI STOOD WITH Brady and gangs of lighthearted after-dinner guests who were filling the FinStar’s world-class Ocean Bar to the walls. Inside, the bar was all gold trim and rusty autumn colors. Beyond the curving floor-to-ceiling windows, the night was ink-black, lit only by the foam breaking, leaping around the bow as the glorious ship steamed toward Sitka.
Yuki wore a sexy black dress, her new pale coral necklace, and strappy heels. She nursed her first margarita, hoping to see the aurora borealis, an amazing natural light show that often appeared at night in this part of the world.
Brady looked savagely handsome. He, too, was wearing black: turtleneck, blazer, and trousers. His dark clothes contrasted wonderfully with his flashing blond hair. He held out his hand.
“Come with me, sweetie. Let’s go to the Veranda Deck.”