“Who knows why we do what we do? Are you well enough to walk on your own, or should I get a wheelchair?”
“Why me? Why did you choose me?”
He rose. “Let’s go.”
A red Audi of the same model as her car was out front. Ian held open the door for her, and she got inside. He went to the driver’s side, got in, and pulled away from the hospital.
He wiped his mouth again, making sure no more drool was leaking out of him-a side effect of the medication he had been taking, as was occasionally slurred speech. He would have to watch himself more closely.
“It’s your car now,” he said. “One year newer.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want something that you killed to get.”
“Who said anything about killed? I bought this for you. Look at the licensing on the back window. It was purchased today. Cost me forty grand. Plus an extra five to get the dealer to come in at this hour.”
She glanced back and saw the yellow tag with the date. “Why would you buy me a car?”
“Because I ruined your last one. It’s only fair.”
She shook her head, staring out the window at the passing homes and trees that swayed in the darkness like shadows. “I don’t understand this. I don’t know why I’m here.”
“There’s only three more names on the list. After that, I’ll let you go. I promise.”
“Who are the three people?”
“No one you’d know. The next one is a man that works for the National Security Administration. He’s thinking about leaking information about the imprisonments.”
“What imprisonments?”
“Oh, that’s right,” he said with a grin. “You don’t know. They’re rounding everyone up. Anyone displaying symptoms of a certain disease is taken to various hospitals for personal quarantine. Everyone else not displaying symptoms are taken to cages set up in fields and on beaches, in the middle of streets…”
Her stomach dropped. “What about my dad?”
“What about him?”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know. If he had arrived in LA before they shut flights down, he’d be in a cage. But I’m guessing he never made it out here.”
For a long time, she was quiet, staring out the window. In college, the school had had an earthquake scare once, and everyone had panicked and run out of the building. Going outside was the last thing you were supposed to do, and everyone had known better, but they’d done it anyway.
Under stress, people’s reasoning broke. Their calm broke. They did what their reptilian brains told them to do. She had known this her entire life. But something was different about the man sitting next to her. He wasn’t like that. Even when he was murdering people, he was completely calm, without a trace of emotion.
His eyes were forward, concentrating on the road. She was embarrassed of the thought, but it crossed her mind that he was extraordinarily good looking. She wondered why someone with his talent, intelligence, and looks would choose to do what he did. Murderers were supposed to be the monsters that hid under our beds, not someone who could be in a J. Crew catalogue.
“What’s really going on?” she asked softly.
He glanced at her and then back out at the road. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
33
Howie stopped about a dozen feet from the entrance to the cage. He swallowed hard, not so much from nervousness but because of an itch he’d been having in his throat. He was still sweating although he didn’t feel like he should be, and a general malaise was coming over him. He ignored it, attributing it to fatigue, and went forward.
The guard at the entrance looked up. Howie didn’t recognize him.
“Hey, how are ya?” Howie said.
“Good.”
“Here for two people. They’re being transferred up to the Hills.”
The man pulled out his iPad and opened a document. “What two people?”
“Jessica Burke and Harold Burke.”
He flipped through the document for a moment. “Okay, where they going again?”
“Facility up in the Hills. I don’t know why. Lieutenant just said to come get ’em and take ’em up.”
“Lieutenant Edmonds?”
“Yeah.”
The man thought for a moment. “I’m gonna call and verify really quick.”
Howie swallowed and felt the sweat slowly trickle off his head and down his neck. “Listen, I was supposed to take these two up there at the beginning of the night and screwed up. You call the lieutenant, and he’s gonna chew my ass, brother.”
The man thought for a few seconds and said, “Fine. Just get ’em outta here quick.”
The guard let Howie into the cage. He walked toward the back. On a cot with her legs crossed, her head tilted to the side, was Jessica, fast asleep. In the cot next to hers was Mike. His cot was pulled closer and to the front of Jessica’s. Howie knelt beside her and glanced at the guard at the entrance. He wasn’t paying attention.
“Jessica,” he whispered.
Her eyes opened, and he put a finger to his lips, indicating for her to be quiet. She sat up and put her arms around his neck. He didn’t know how to respond at first, and then he hugged her back-something he hadn’t done since she was a child.
He said, “Let’s go.”
Mike had woken. “How’d you get back here?”
“I’ll tell you later. Come on, I got you outta here, too.”
“How?”
“Don’t worry about how. If anyone asks, your name is Harold Burke. Let’s go before they change their mind.”
They walked in front as Howie stayed behind them. He nodded to the guard at the entrance, who was eyeing him. The guard watched them a good five or six seconds before returning to what he was doing.
As soon as they got around the corner and out of sight of the guard, Howie said, “Run, now.”
The metal of the jeep groaned as all three jumped in. Howie turned the ignition and spun a U-turn, then headed down the block before turning onto Belvedere, toward the city.
34
Samantha sat in the passenger seat of the military jeep parked in front of Los Angeles County General Hospital. The building was white with neon-green trim. The parking lot was nearly empty. They got out of the jeep, and the driver informed them she would wait there.
Clyde Olsen had told them where to find Jane. He was reluctant to hand over the information once he’d heard that she’d been put into personal quarantine. “Sam, I don’t think this is going to end well for her,” he’d said.
But Samantha had insisted that she needed to see her sister.
Jane Bower Gates was a classically trained violinist who played for the Seattle Symphony Orchestra. While Sam had always been assertive and daring, Jane was softer and more sensitive. She lived in her own world, and music had always been her escape. After initially wanting to go into a career in mathematics, Jane had changed majors as an undergraduate at the last moment in her senior year and completed three years’ worth of music courses in three semesters.
There had always been a little bit of a rivalry between them when they were younger, each trying to prove to their parents she was smarter than the other. At the time, the competition was annoying and stressful, but as Samantha grew older, she understood that most families emphasized looks, not intellect. And she was grateful that it hadn’t been that way in their home.
On the day Jane got married, she told Samantha that she had been her role model and that she’d switched from mathematics to music because she saw how passionately Sam pursued medicine. Samantha had forgotten that she’d told her sister to do what she loved and that if she loved doing something, she would eventually make money at it, regardless of the short-term consequences. Jane told her that that had changed her life.
“You sure you want to see this?” Duncan asked.
Samantha started to say something, but no words came. Her eyes welled up with tears against her will, and she put her hand to her mouth as the tears rolled down her cheeks. Duncan put his arms around her, and they stood silently in the night for a moment before going inside.