Iris Johansen, Roy Johansen
Night Watch
The fourth book in the Kendra Michaels series, 2016
PROLOGUE
Big Bear Lake, California
THOSE CHAMBER OF COMMERCE brochures were right on the money, John Jaden thought. It was freezing, and he was practically up to his ass in snow, yet surfers and sunbathers preened on a warm beach less than ninety minutes away. He’d seen them as he’d driven up the highway on his way to Big Bear.
A little longer than ninety minutes, he reminded himself. The highway patrol had made him turn around to buy tire chains before they let him up Bear Mountain. Annoying as hell. He knew how to handle himself on ice and snow, even if these other sunbaked idiots didn’t.
It didn’t matter. This was going to be the best day he’d had in a long time.
He pulled his jacket tighter around him as the snow fell harder. He’d left his car in a parking lot a mile back. Couldn’t risk getting stuck. Not today.
The snowplows hadn’t found their way to this cluster of rustic vacation houses on a street called Starvation Flats. He shook his head. What the hell kind of name was that? Probably a story there, but not one he’d care to explore once his business was done. Most of the houses appeared deserted on this Wednesday afternoon, with no fresh footprints coming or going from any of them. He’d only seen one car since he’d set out on foot, a group of pretty-boy ski bums on their way to the slopes.
Perfect.
He looked ahead to a two-story wood cottage at a bend in the road. The Bavarian-influenced structure reminded him of one of his grandmother’s old cuckoo clocks, just as it had when he’d first been shown the photo at dinner the night before.
A bit kitschy for its resident, a man he’d always respected for having taste and intelligence. He smiled as he pushed his white hair back from his forehead. Of course, if Shaw was all that smart, Jaden wouldn’t be standing in front of this house right now.
He steadied himself on the path to the front door. His jeans were wet from the snow, and his athletic shoes were better suited for running than protecting him from the elements.
No biggie. In just a couple of hours, he’d be tossing back whiskey shots in front of the fire pit at Gracias Madre.
He rapped on the door and waited.
No answer.
He tried again.
Nada.
Shit. He’d been told that Shaw was always-
Wait. He listened.
Squeaky hinges and hurried crunching footsteps on fresh powder.
Around back.
He bolted around the side of the house and leaped over the short fence. A stocky man was running away from the cabin, slogging through a snowdrift and pulling a long coat over his T-shirt and sweatpants. Jaden ran faster and overtook him.
“Dr. Shaw!”
Shaw stopped and looked up at him. His round face was red and covered with sweat. He was out of breath. “Jaden…” He finally wheezed.
“What the hell? Do you know how far I came to see you?” He looked down at Shaw’s bare feet in the snow. “No shoes? You were in that much of a hurry to get away from me?”
He glanced around nervously. “I wasn’t sure if you were alone.”
“Of course I’m alone. You see anyone else here?” He smiled. “How important do you think you are?”
He shook his head. “I’m not going back to London.”
“No one’s asking you to.”
He studied him for a long moment. “How in the hell did you find me?”
“I had help. It’s hard for people to hide and stay hidden these days. No matter how smart you are.”
“Does he know where I am?”
“Sure. Who do you think sent me?”
“That’s why I ran, Jaden. I don’t trust him. I don’t trust any of them. If you’re smart, you shouldn’t, either.”
“Stop being paranoid. He just wants to talk. To consult with you occasionally. If it’s a matter of money…”
“The money was never a problem.”
“Then you can stop running. He’ll find you wherever you go anyway. He just wants to know that you’ll be available when you’re needed.”
His eyes narrowed on Jaden’s face. “That’s it? That’s why he sent you all the way here?”
He nodded. “He’s just looking for assurances. You know how he is.”
Shaw stared at him for a moment. Then he nodded, and his fingers ran through his rumpled gray hair. “Okay. But I’ll never go back to London. He has to know that.”
“He understands. And now I’m glad that you do, too. Thank you.” He extended his gloved right hand.
Shaw half smiled as he started to take a step forward to shake his hand. “What would you have done if I’d said no?”
He shrugged. “Same thing.”
Two shots fired from his glove, muffled by a silencer.
Shaw dropped to his knees. A bloody stain spread across his chest and drizzled onto the pristine white snow.
His lips moved as if he was trying to speak, but no words came forth.
“Shhh.” Jaden put away his gun. “You’re a smart man, Dr. Shaw. You had to know it would end this way.”
Shaw fell facedown into the bloody snow.
As his last breath left him, the wind whipped up and blew fresh powder from the snowdrifts around them.
1
Pepperdine University
Malibu, California
“ANY QUESTIONS?”
Kendra Michaels looked out at the four-hundred-odd seminar participants at Pepperdine’s Elkins Auditorium. She’d just delivered her latest research paper at a conference on aging, and it had seemed to go well. She’d documented several success stories using music therapy to treat Alzheimer’s patients, but there was still resistance in the medical community. Not as much as there had been only a couple of years ago, when most academics still put her in the alternative-therapies woo-woo column.
She had helped move that needle, one study, one paper, one boring academic conference at a time.
Try not to go on autopilot, she told herself. Stay in the moment.
But how could she, when she knew that the man in the front row was obviously angry with his colleague about something. His pursed lips, narrowed eyes, and clenched fingers told the story as she watched him make small talk before the presentation. And how about that female brain surgeon who clearly hadn’t operated on anyone in months? And, sadly, probably wouldn’t again, if the slight tremor in her left hand was any indication.
Stay in the here and now. Answer the questions with crystal clarity and politeness even as condescending as some of them were. She’d show them.
She looked up toward the back of the auditorium.
She froze.
It couldn’t be.
A man stood in the doorway, partially silhouetted by the light from the corridor beyond. She couldn’t make out his facial features, but she didn’t need to.
His ramrod-straight posture, impeccably tailored suit, crossed arms, and slight tilt of the head told her all she needed to know.
Dr. Charles Waldridge was in the room.
How long had it been since she’d seen him? Four years, maybe five. And then it had only been an accidental meeting at a conference. She felt the usual rush of excitement and intimidation. Suddenly everyone in the room faded but the man in the doorway. No one on earth had changed her life more. Why was he even on this continent?
Concentrate.
Get through with the questions.
She finished the Q & A, and as the participants left the auditorium, Waldridge moved down the aisle toward her.
“Well done, Kendra.”
He spoke in his British accent that always sounded distinctly upper-crust to Kendra, though she knew he’d grown up in a working-class neighborhood in South London. Waldridge was in his late forties, and he had a few more lines and gray hairs since she’d last seen him. But his angular good looks hadn’t faded, and the added maturity only made his face more intriguing.