CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Skip
When Roxy hung up the phone, Skip’s last hopes for saving her disintegrated. He’d been sure he could convince her to return. He slid down into Baldorf’s spare chair as he stared, his jaw slack, at his cell phone. “She’s going to run. The temptation has gotten to her.”
“You look awful, man. You okay?”
Skip shook his head. “She’s leaving. Getting on a plane for—hell, I don’t know where.”
“We could see what planes are going out of LAX this morning.”
“No. She doesn’t want to be found.” He straightened his back and took a deep breath. He felt a building pressure behind his eyes. “I said earlier that I was done chasing her. I am. But I’m going to nail this Sonny Panaman’s hide to the wall for causing all this. The way I feel right now, he’ll be lucky if I don’t kill him on sight.”
“You’ve got it bad, man. This is, like, epic.”
“Are you going to video this guy or not?”
“You bet. I’ll cut the feed if you do decide to commit a felony, though.” Baldorf smiled.
Skip grimaced. “Good, you may need to. How do you want to handle this? Do you have the equipment you need?”
“Leave that to me. I got it covered. Wow, I haven’t seen anyone this bad off in, like, forever.”
“Pick you up at two.” Skip cut off Baldorf and left.
Back at his condo, Skip turned on the TV, but stared past it. He didn’t care what he watched, he didn’t even see it. After about an hour, he decided to walk the beach. He had two hours before he had to pick up Baldorf and he needed clarity. He left his shoes at the edge of the sand and began to walk along the edge of the shore just out of reach of the waves. He made it to the jetty, turned around and headed home.
He stopped in front of Tower 37 to watch surfers test their skill against the waves, but the bodies bobbing on boards as they waited for waves held no interest for him. Further down, in an area reserved for swimmers, body boarders, and kids, he dodged them as they splashed along the shore. He took his time, hoping that the walk would clear his head, but darkness clung to his thoughts. He wanted revenge on Sonny Panaman for kidnapping Richard Tanner. He wanted revenge for bringing him in contact with Roxy Tanner. Yes, he wanted revenge for ruining his life. He’d been content. He’d had a solid business going. And now? What did he have now?
He turned away from the sea and began the trek across the sand to his condo. He sidestepped a girl learning to catch a Frisbee with another girl that looked like her older sister. Their throws went wide of the mark, their catches fared not much better. Still, they seemed to enjoy their play. He glanced up at his condo and froze.
Someone was on his patio sitting in one of the chairs. It was a woman bundled up under a coat, her face hidden by a floppy hat that she’d pulled down. At her side was a roller bag, its handle still standing upright like a soldier at attention. Skip approached cautiously, not daring to let himself speculate who she might be for fear he’d be disappointed.
As he closed the distance, he noticed strands of hair that reminded him of Roxy. He called out, “Can I help you?”
The woman started as though she’d been asleep. She lifted the hat from her head and blonde hair fell to her shoulders.
Skip thought his heart had stopped. He whispered, “I can’t believe you came back.”
“I thought I’d help you catch this guy.”
What was she really here for? Did she want revenge also? “Sonny Panaman’s a son of a bitch.”
Roxy snickered. “Your plan stinks.”
Skip watched her closely, trying to read her emotions, even her intent. “Unless you’ve got something better, at 3:00 p.m., I’m meeting Panaman to turn over a CD. I have a friend who’s going to video the whole thing. I’ll prove that he was behind this and get him arrested.”
Roxy’s cheeks colored, there was the faintest hint of a smile, and her head tilted to one side. She nodded. “I’d like to be there.”
“He knows you. He’ll suspect something’s wrong as soon as he sees you.”
“I can stay out of sight.”
“It’s too dangerous. Besides, how would you accomplish that?”
She stood and waved her hands in the air in a wide gesture. “Let’s see. Maybe I could wear a disguise, hide behind a newspaper with a hole in it. I don’t know. Tell me what a spy would do.”
“What’s this guy look like?”
“Five-ten, one-sixty, dark hair, pockmark left cheek. I could wear a wig. Or a hat.” She glanced at the one she held in her hand.
“Even if I said no, you’d show up anyway, wouldn’t you?”
She glanced at the condo deck. Her eyes glistened as she took in his gaze. She whispered, “You know me better than I do.”
Skip swallowed hard. “I guess you could stay with Baldorf.”
“Who’s Baldorf? Oh, is that the guy who’s got the camera?”
“You hate this Panaman, don’t you?”
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and watched the ocean for a few seconds. “I wouldn’t exactly call it hate—that’s a bit weak.”
“Because he played you?”
“Because he kidnapped my dad. Because he got Stella killed.”
“Because he lied to you and stole the money you stole from other people.”
She recoiled and closed her eyes. “Am I in or did you just want to condemn me? There’s proof of everything in my bag. Stella’s hard drive is in there also. So if you want to send me to prison, take it.” She shoved the bag in his direction with her foot.
It was all Skip could do to ignore the question.
“You have to do what I say.”
“Of course.”
Skip knew that agreement was going to last about ten minutes. He’d have to let Baldorf know about the change. All he needed was Roxy barging in during the middle of his meeting with Panaman.
“You’re the boss. I’m too tired to plan, but I can follow directions.”
“You look it—tired.”
Her eyes were puffy and red, her expression dull. “Thanks. Just what a girl likes to hear. ‘You look like hell.’ I’m working on about three hours of catnaps since yesterday morning.”
“You could stay here and rest.” Skip regretted saying that the moment the words were out of his mouth. He needed to keep an eye on her now that she was back. She was just one step away from being a fugitive for life.
“No, I want to be there. I want to see him confess.”
“Okay, you’re in. But I have a couple of phone calls to make to get ready. Why don’t you go crash on the couch and I’ll call from out here?”
“I couldn’t rest.”
“You were asleep when I showed up.”
“For a few minutes, maybe.”
Skip let Roxy into the condo and got her settled on the couch. He went back out to the patio. He sat for a while and watched the ocean. Roxy’s return didn’t change anything. He was going to follow through on the plan. That meant he had calls to make. He called Baldorf first. “Hey, buddy, are you ready?”
“Almost, I’ve still got time, right?”
“We’ll pick you up in about an hour.”
“We?”
“Roxy’s back.”
“Dude, awesome, thought you sounded better.”
“Not so much. Not after everything she’s done. I have to turn her in.”
Baldorf’s tone turned suspicious. “Sounds like the vengeful lover talking. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I’ve been doing stupid things all week. See you in an hour.”
He disconnected from Baldorf and dialed the number for Sergeant Grimes. Yes, he might regret this next call for the rest of his life, but it was the only way.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Roxy
Apparently, I fell asleep on Skip’s couch almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. I only know this because one minute, he was throwing a blanket over me, the nex
t he was telling me it was time to get up. My head felt as though someone had taken fluffy cotton and stuffed it into every available crevice in my brain. I’m sure a doctor would tell me all the space up there was filled with stuff that belonged there, but at this particular moment, all that “stuff” felt like it had been replaced by soft balls of white that went squish when I tried to think.
Skip showed me to the bathroom and brought in my bag while I began to freshen up. Twenty minutes later, I’d scrubbed my face, reapplied my makeup, put up my hair, and was ready to go. It wasn’t the most meticulous job I’d ever done, but then I wasn’t supposed to be recognized either. I found Skip staring out the slider window. He had a faraway look, the kind that people get when they’re contemplating some life-changing decision. Did that decision involve me spending time behind bars?
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey, yourself.”
“You look deep in thought.”
He spoke without looking at me. “I dumped the GPS locator service that I added to your phone.”
The hairs at the back of my neck stood. Wow, was he crossing the ethics line again? Now that I could put my phone back together, my exit plan had gotten easier, if I even wanted to use it. I cleared my throat. “Thanks, guess that means I can put the SIMs back.”
“I already did that, too.”
And what else, I thought. I could always ditch the phone. I smiled. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
He got a pained look on his face and stared at me. “You ready to go?”
My cheeks felt tight, but I forced a smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Should we take separate cars?”
“I don’t have a car, remember?”
He wasn’t going to let me out of his sight. Why hadn’t I just gotten on the damned plane?
“I’ll drive,” he said.
I closed my eyes and bit my upper lip. “Sure. Go ahead.”
“We’ll pick up Baldorf first. He’s in Oceanside, but then we can jump on the 5 from right near his place.”
The last thing I wanted to do was talk, but I said, “From where the 76 and the 5 cross?”
“That’s the one.”
“There’s not much traffic getting on there. Not this time of day, anyway.”
Our meaningless small talk went on like that for the rest of the trip. When we ran out of directions and traffic to discuss, we hit on the weather. By the time we got to Baldorf’s, my insides were shaking. I’d lost it all. For what? Because I’d been stupid enough to believe in Skip for a fleeting moment?
Skip led me to Baldorf’s apartment. It was a separate bungalow in the back of the main house. The yard was neatly trimmed, the grass green, and there was a mechanical voice that greeted us at the door.
“Enter.”
I shuddered, “Creepy.”
Skip opened the door. “Baldorf? You ready?”
A tall, nerdy looking guy with dark hair hoisted a small knapsack onto his back. He wore a black T-shirt, black jeans, black tennis shoes, and a black baseball cap. The tee was emblazoned with yellow script that read, “Baldorf’s Revenge.”
“You changed shirts,” said Skip.
He winked, “Dress up.” He must have noticed me eyeing the shirt. “It’s my masterpiece.” He approached, his hand extended. “You must be Roxy.”
“Nice to meet you. The T-shirt is your masterpiece?”
“Nah, the shirt is just for marketing. Baldorf’s Revenge is a virtual reality video game. It’s virtually ready, too.” He smiled at his pun.
I gave him a weak smile back, not much in the mood for jokes. “What’s in the pack?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.” His eyes twinkled, his pride about whatever gadget he had stashed in his bag spilling over.
It was 2:15 p.m. We returned to the car and drove to our destination, Starbucks, at the outlet mall. Skip had told me about the location during our directions conversation earlier. How or where we nailed Sonny Panaman didn’t matter to me, I just wanted to see him go down. After that . . . whatever.
Baldorf rode in the back seat, Skip drove, and I was a passenger in my own car. Baldorf prattled on about his video invention thing while I pretended to listen. He was your typical boy-genius, able to spend time talking on a level that only other geniuses understood.
At one point, Skip finally took part in the conversation. He glanced at me, “He must like you. He didn’t explain any of this to me.”
I wondered how well Baldorf could multitask and if he’d be willing to help me since I was making zero headway on an escape plan. Then again, he was a friend of Skip’s. Scratch that idea.
Skip said, “Baldorf, should I be wearing a microphone so we get voice also? Or did you have something else in mind?”
Over my shoulder, I could see Baldorf straining against his seat belt. The guy was like a little kid on an outing to the zoo. “We’ll do both. I have a wireless microphone that will handle the job, but we’ll also have a directional mike going. The wireless will fit under a collar or you can drop into a shirt pocket.”
“And you have the CD?” Skip said.
“Oh, this is so cool. When he opens the CD on anything other than my laptop, if it ever gets to that point, he’ll interface with a web site that mimics the bank’s site. He could bring a laptop along, plug the CD in and even log in. Of course, once he does that, his laptop will be hosed. The next time he tries to log into the laptop, the machine will log into my server and give me his location by the IP address. Staunchly sneaky, man.”
I blurted out, “Staunchly?”
Baldorf nodded. “Staunchly. As in firm, substantial.”
I twisted sideways in my seat so I could see his face and countered, “You are totally into this, aren’t you?”
Baldorf cocked his head from side to side and rolled his eyes. “Totally.”
“Our exit, coming up,” Skip said.
For a moment, I’d forgotten what was about to happen. For a moment, I’d gotten caught up in the thrill of catching Sonny Panaman. For a moment, I’d forgotten that I needed my own plan. And I still didn’t have it.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Skip
The Cannon Rd. exit took Skip by surprise. He started to give himself a mental admonishment for inattentive driving, but instead, muttered, “Screw it.”
At least he’d stayed to the right and hadn’t had to cut someone off to make the exit. He let up on the gas and at the top of the ramp, turned left and crossed back over I-5. Roxy and Baldorf said nothing as they neared the outlet mall. By the time he pulled into the parking lot, they were all as quiet as pallbearers. He parked well away from Starbucks just in case Sonny Panaman went trolling for familiar cars.
As they got out, Roxy said, “Can I have my keys back now?”
Skip shook his head. “I’ll hang onto them.”
He’d expected her to show anger, to threaten him, instead, the color drained from her face and tears welled in her eyes. “At least give me a fighting chance.”
Skip stuffed the keys in his pocket. “Baldorf, you ready to go?”
Baldorf glanced at Roxy, then at Skip. His brow furrowed. “You two sure you don’t want to talk about something before we do this?”
“No time. Let’s get set up,” Skip said.
Roxy gestured toward the trunk. “I need a couple of things. That is, if you don’t want Sonny to recognize me.”
Skip opened the trunk. Silent, Roxy pulled out the floppy hat, a scarf, and a light jacket.
The three began the walk to Starbucks. Outside the store, Skip said, “You two will need to be inside.”
Baldorf beamed. “Perfect.”
Roxy echoed him, but her voice sounded like that of a prisoner condemned to death. “Perfect.”
Baldorf handed Skip a little metal disk about the size of a button. “Toss it in your shirt pocket, this side out.”
Skip put the disk in his pocket.
“I’ll give you a signal if there’s a problem
,” said Baldorf. “There shouldn’t be. I’ve got that laptop rigged up to act like the bank’s system. There’s also a CD in case he brings his own computer. I’ll give everything to you inside.”
Skip watched as Roxy and Baldorf entered the store. He spotted an outdoor table in the shade and leaned the chairs forward so the backs rested against the table. They were twenty minutes early, but he wanted to make sure he had an outside spot. He might as well get a coffee and get Baldorf’s laptop and the disk. He also wanted to see how Baldorf was going to video everything.
Inside the store, he spotted Roxy standing at the counter and Baldorf unpacking at a table off to one side near the back of the store. At Baldorf’s feet stood a two-foot high robot, which reminded Skip of a suited-up astronaut in miniature. He stared at it for a moment, then walked over to Baldorf. “You brought a toy?”
Baldorf tapped a button on a remote control. The robot craned its stubby neck to look up at Skip.
“Hel-lo, Skip.”
“It’s a souped-up QRIO,” Baldorf said.
“A what?”
“It was an acronym Sony used after they renamed their dream robot. They stopped development, but I picked one up after RoboCup 2004. I’ve been toying with the little guy, get it? Toying with it?”
Skip glared at Baldorf. He needed surveillance equipment, not a toy—or jokes.
Baldorf ignored Skip as he continued, “He already had visual circuitry. Sony had designed these little guys to be able to walk and talk, they can even dance. I just needed to tap into their code so I could record everything and give him some limited intelligence.” Baldorf pointed at a laptop screen before him. “See?”
On the screen, Skip saw his image, which appeared to have been shot from the ground. Again, he heard, “Hel-lo, Skip.” That was followed by the conversation he’d had with Baldorf.
Skip took a deep breath. “You’re sure this will work?”
Baldorf pressed another key. “Check it out.”
The screen image changed to one of the front door, which became larger. Skip whirled and watched the robot walk to the front door and do an about-face. He turned back to the screen and saw himself standing over Baldorf. Skip turned back and saw the robot facing him from just inside the door.
License to Lie Page 24