Unlucky 13(57)

Cindy kept going, past the gate to Presidio Terrace and onward toward the Presidio, a former army post for more than two hundred years and now a National Park.

Where was Morales going?

It didn’t really matter. All Cindy had to do was follow her to her destination, then park inconspicuously, and call Lindsay, text Lindsay to death, wait for Lindsay.

As Cindy passed Inspiration Point on her right, she saw the Subaru gather speed around the next curve. Traffic had thinned so that now there was very little cover on the two-lane road between her Honda and Morales.

Whatcha going to do now, Cindy?

Cindy eased up on the gas. That was really her only option. She let a gray Lexus pass her and then a line of three motorcycles, and now the road split at a fork; it continued as Arguello on the right and was Washington Boulevard on the left. And there, up ahead, was a stop sign and there was no running it. This was a damned three-way stop. Cindy swore as she braked, and traffic filled in from Washington, crossing in front of her, blocking her view. And when she could move forward again, she didn’t see the Subaru anymore.

Had Morales stayed on Arguello, the main route to the lower part of the Presidio? Or had she taken the left onto Washington? Cindy stayed on Arguello, but a short distance later, as she passed Infantry Terrace, she knew that she had lost Morales and maybe given herself away.

She drove on at a steady fifty, her eyes going everywhere looking for a station wagon that would no longer look green in the dark.

She wanted to call Richie. She wanted to hear him say, “What is it, Cin? What’s wrong? Okay, I’ll put in a BOLO for that Outback. We’ll find her. You sit tight.”

It was a compulsion the size of a long-haul truck, but her phone was somewhere on the floor and there was no place to stop. Cindy was actually glad she could wait out the urge to call Richie.

Just then, somewhere near the gas pedal, her cell phone started to ring. Cindy had a horrible feeling it was Mackie Morales calling to tell her that she was an asshole and a loser.

She wished she could take that call. She wanted to tell her, “Grow up, Mackie. Meet with me. I want to talk with you and I’m not giving up. Not now. Not ever.”





CHAPTER 75


CINDY BACKTRACKED ON Arguello, still looking for Morales, knowing that for tonight at least, there was no fucking way.

She slowed as she neared Infantry Terrace. She turned into the entrance between tall stone gates, backed around so that she was facing traffic, and braked her car.

Her hands were shaking, but don’t tell that to her boss.

Shit. She hadn’t eaten anything in eleven hours.

Cindy shut off the engine and the headlights. She felt around on the floor, picked up her handbag and located her phone under the seat. She checked her missed calls and was relieved that her last call hadn’t been from Morales.

Seriously, she wanted to talk to that bitch, but she wanted to talk to her from a position of strength. And she wasn’t there yet.

Her last caller had been Lindsay, returning her calls.

“Sorry, Cindy. I couldn’t call until now. Call me back.”

Cindy stabbed redial and listened to the ringtone.

Lindsay’s voice came through her earpiece and Cindy said, “Linds—” before realizing that once again she’d gotten Lindsay’s voice mail.

She pounded the wheel with her palm, and at the beep, she said, “Linds. This is urgent. Mackie is in town. She coasted past your apartment about an hour ago. She could be looking for you. Understand. She could be looking—”

The beep cut her off.

She pressed redial, and after Lindsay’s tiresome outgoing message finished, Cindy said, “Linds. She wrote to me, so believe me, I’m not hallucinating. I ID’d her. I followed her and then I lost her somewhere in the Presidio. She’s driving a stolen green Subaru Outback, so watch—”

She had about one bar left of battery life on her phone and figured she’d better save it. In case Mackie was waiting in front of her apartment house for her. She opened her purse and took out her gun. She considered it. It was one thing to shoot at targets, but could she actually shoot a person?

She put it back in her bag, picked up her phone again, and hit speed dial number 5.

The phone rang three times and then Claire’s voice came through: “You’ve reached Dr. Claire Washburn. My office hours are from eight a.m.—”

Cindy clicked off, dropped her phone into her bag, and started up her car. Totally disgusted, she headed toward her dark and empty home.





CHAPTER 76


YUKI FOLDED HERSELF under Brady’s arm, her nightgown cold and wet with sweat in the aftermath of the killing moments ago.

The woman’s name had been Kara. She had thick red hair and taught special education in Ann Arbor. She was young, in her twenties. Kara’s parents had given her this cruise as a gift. Kara had been standing right next to her only a few days ago when the whales had dazzled and amazed the passengers by swimming so close to the ship.