There she was, running through the crowd of hurrying passengers. She seemed to be headed for a cop car parked a block away in front of the Delta entrance. As she dodged behind a bus, he saw Ray Gibbs.
Gibbs had spotted her. He spun around, ran straight for her. She didn't see him. The alarm of the Mercedes was still blaring. Another second and Ray would grab her. Joe, speeding over the roofs of parked cars, heading for the unlocked Honda, prayed for luck, prayed they'd been in such a hurry they'd left belongings behind. Had maybe left…Leaping up clawing at the partly open glass, he hung there for an instant then bellied over into the seat praying to find…
A jacket lay crumpled on the seat, half a dozen empty paper cups and wadded paper bags were on the floor, and, beside the jacket, Ryder's open purse. Then they were coming back, he thought frantically.
Rooting in the purse, he found what he wanted. Stuffed down among lipstick, nail polish, wadded tissues, and a packet of broken crackers nestled Ryder's cell phone, either abandoned or forgotten. Pawing open the phone, he was studying it, hoping he could figure this one out, when he heard a scream.
He never knew later how he got up onto the Honda's roof so fast, clawing himself up over the edge and then rearing high…Surprised himself that he had the cell phone clutched in his teeth, probably soaking it with cat spit. They were closer, just outside the parking area. Ray had Lindsey, pulling her arm behind her. She elbowed him and kicked at him. People were staring, but no one ran to help. Pedestrians moved back, scattered. Had the cop seen? Joe stared at the unit a block away. It looked empty.
"What the hell do you want?" Ray was shouting. "Why did you follow us?" Joe forgot about the phone as Lindsey fought, hitting useless blows, twisting around trying to strike at his face; Ray ducked, grabbing both her arms. Lindsey kneed him hard. As he doubled over, Joe turned frantically to the phone. Where was the security vehicle that should have come to the Mercedes's siren blast? Dial 911, Joe thought frantically, dial it now-there it is, the Send button.
But then he stopped.
Ryder's cell phone would be on the Molena Point prefix. If he dialed 911, he'd get Molena Point PD. What he wanted, fast, was San Jose PD or the local sheriff or a nearby CHP unit-and he didn't know the prefix for those. Ray shouted again and hit Lindsey hard, sending her reeling. At the same moment, the Mercedes's alarm went quiet. Lindsey spun around and came at Ray, enraged. "You killed him!" she screamed. "You shot Carson!"
Dropping down again through the Honda's window, Joe laid on the horn, blasting away in a wild and uneven rhythm that should get someone's attention.
When he stopped for a minute, he heard Lindsey shout, "Who was with him when you killed him? Who was she?" This was not the soft-spoken Lindsey Wolf Joe knew, this woman was wired. "Was that Nina with him? You killed Nina, too!" she shouted, and hit him hard in the face.
Joe gave the horn another long, ear-splitting blast then three short ones. Three more, in the signal for Need help. Then he grabbed the cell phone in his mouth, crawled out the open window, dropped to the concrete, and slid under the car. And he took off running beneath the parked cars, listening for footsteps or for some engine starting up, for a car ready to back out. He tried his best not to drool on the phone. Who knew what cat spit would do to that delicate tangle of microchips and electronic mysteries? He was looking for a place to hide, to try to get through to the local cops, when Lindsey screamed in pain. Her voice was closer, and he could hear scraping footsteps as if Ray was dragging her.
Joe leaped to the hood of a pickup in time to see Ray hit her again, so hard she reeled against a car and fell. It was then he saw Ryder, slipping up behind Ray. Joe stiffened as she jammed a pistol in his ribs. He could just see the small automatic in the palm of her hand. "Back off, Ray! Leave her! We're getting out of here!"
Ray spun around and in one swift move slammed Ryder's arm away and grabbed the gun. A shot rang out, echoing beneath the concrete roof. A second shot came as Joe dove for cover behind some crates in the bed of the pickup, wondering if wooden crates would stop a stray bullet.
There was a long silence. He slipped up to look.
He couldn't see anyone. Not Ray, not Lindsey, not Ryder. Leaping to the top of the pickup, he saw a car pulling out of a parking place and another, a black Audi, pulling in hurriedly, as if the driver might be late for a flight.
Apparently the new arrival hadn't heard the shots or had thought they were backfires. As the portly, dark-suited man stepped out of the Audi, Ray appeared behind him, spun him around with a hard punch to the side of the neck. The guy went down in a heap. Ray snatched his keys, fished in the guy's pockets as if looking for a parking ticket, then jumped in the car and burned rubber as he backed out and took off. Over the stink of exhaust, Joe caught a whiff of blood.
Rearing up, he saw Lindsey rise slowly, clutching her side, pulling Ryder up with her. Ryder leaned against her as they stumbled toward Lindsey's Mercedes. Joe lost sight of them as he frantically punched in 911, for Molena Point PD. He thought he should have done that in the first place-but on the first ring, the black Audi came wheeling back, screeching into the same parking spot.
Ray leaped out, gun in hand.
At the same moment, a figure jumped out of the Mercedes and took off running, doubled over. Joe couldn't see if it was Lindsey or Ryder. Brown hair, a glimpse of jeans-both had brown hair, both were wearing jeans. The phone made three rings, then Officer Hendricks picked up.
"Get Garza on your radio," Joe told Hendricks, wanting to shout but keeping his voice low. "Ray Gibbs. At San Jose airport. He just shot either Ryder Wolf or her sister. Short-term parking."
Looking up, he saw Ray standing at the open door of Lindsey's car, looking in. Saw Gibbs fire another shot into the front seat, and then take off running after the escaping figure. As he disappeared among the cars, a police car pulled in, moving slowly, the lone officer scanning the area as he cruised behind the parked cars in the direction of the shots.
Joe could hear Hendricks talking, presumably on the radio, as he'd instructed. The cop car had turned into the lane that would put him behind Lindsey's Mercedes, which stood with its door open. The smell of blood was strong. Stepping out, gun drawn, the officer approached the driver's side, where he could see in. "Hands on top of your head. Get out slowly."
Inside, no one moved.
"Get out now!"
A dozen cars away the black Audi slid quietly out of its parking place and headed at a sedate pace for the exit. With the light glancing against its closed windows, Joe couldn't see if Ray was alone or if he had Lindsey or Ryder.
"He's in a stolen black Audi," Joe said softly. "He's leaving, he-"
He could see the cop on his radio calling for assistance-he looked up in Joe's direction, as if he'd heard the tomcat's whisper. Silently Joe laid down the phone in the bed of the pickup, pawed it behind the crates, leaped over the side of the truck bed, and hit the ground running.
32
DALLAS'S BLAZER had just passed the Soquel exit on Highway 1. From this juncture they had three choices: Stay on 1 up the coast, take 9 toward Saratoga, or take 17 toward 280 and San Jose. They hadn't seen a sign of the navy blue Honda, nor had they had any response to their "Be on the lookout." Moving into the right lane, Dallas pulled off the highway and into a gas station. He was reaching for the radio when Harper came on.