Blind Side

by Josh Lanyon

Will put his hands up in a Don’t Shoot gesture.

  Taylor gave him a final glare and stalked out of the kitchen. Riley wagged his tail, watching him, then turned to Will.

  Will said, “Tell me the truth. Is my head still there?”

  Riley grinned, tongue lolling.

  * * * * *

  The news wasn’t a whole hell of a lot better at the office.

  “What in the name of God is that?” Will stared in horror at the gold-painted…bird? covering most of the lobby wall.

  Euphonia said doubtfully, “It’s our logo, right? The American eagle?”

  “That’s not an eagle. It’s a…a chicken. A giant golden chicken.” Or maybe a vampire bat? No, a bat would have ears. Maybe a dragon? He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from the menacing-eyed monster chicken swooping down from the ceiling, talons stretched toward prospective clients.

  “It might be a little overwhelming,” Euphonia agreed diplomatically.

  “A little? It’s the whole wall.” Will shook his head. “We were better off with the lovebirds and parasols. Get the painters back in here. They’ve got to fix that. If MacAllister sees it, he’ll hunt them down one by one and shoot them.”

  Euphonia smirked, but was back to business a moment later. “Is Agent MacAllister coming in today?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Because these were delivered first thing this morning.” With an apologetic look, she handed over two identical, fat, official-looking envelopes with the return address of US District Court, Central District of California, Western Division.

  Subpoenas.

  Great. Because life wasn’t complicated enough right now.

  Will retired to his office, now a restful shade of cloudy blue-gray, and opened the envelope. Inside was a subpoena to appear at deposition.

  Well, well. It looked like Mikhail Bashnakov—The Technician—was finally going to face justice.

  That had been a long time coming. So long, in fact, Will had almost forgotten the court case was still pending.

  He wondered if he and Taylor would be seeing Kelila Hedwig in a courtroom someday soon.

  The good news was they did not need to appear until after the New Year, so in theory, it would not interfere with completing the surveys for Webster Fidelity. They could enjoy their holidays in peace.

  Yeah, right. Webster Fidelity had them on an electronic leash, and that’s how it would be from now on.

  He picked up the phone to call Taylor, then decided this news could wait. Instead, he tossed the subpoenas in his desk drawer, told Euphonia he’d probably not be back that day, and headed out for Encinitas.

  Rain poured down, flooding the freeway. In the distance, streaks of flashing light turned the pewter-edged clouds a bruised black and purple.

  Will kept an eye out for the silver Honda Accord—for any sign of a tail—on the four-hour drive to the Webster Fidelity jobsite, but there was no indication he was being followed. And as sure as he’d been the day before, he found himself now wondering if he really had simply made too much of a coincidence.

  There was no word yet from Stuart Schwierskott, so he tried phoning Dina Shey at Gently, Fallis & Landreth again. To his surprise, his call was put through.

  “Dina Shey,” stated a cool, melodious voice.

  “Ms. Shey, nice to finally speak. This is Will Brandt, one of the men you hired Schwierskott & Associate to run surveillance on.”

  Shey didn’t miss a beat. “I would say what a surprise, Mr. Brandt, but given that you’ve left us thirteen messages over the past weeks, I’d be lying. What can I do for you?”

  “You can start by telling me who hired you to hire Schwierskott & Associate.”

  “You’re a former federal agent, Mr. Brandt. I’m sure you’ve heard the term attorney-client privilege before.”

  “You’ve presumably passed the bar, Ms. Shey, so I’m sure you’ve heard that if a client initiates a communication with a lawyer for the purpose of committing a crime, the attorney-client privilege typically doesn’t apply. Likewise, the State of California allows attorneys to disclose information learned from a client that will prevent death or serious injury.”

  She chuckled with apparent good humor. “Rule 3-100B Confidential Information of a Client: A member of the bar may, but is not required to reveal confidential information relating to the representation of a client to the extent that the member reasonably believes the disclosure is necessary to prevent a criminal act that the member reasonably believes is likely to result in death of, or substantial bodily harm to, an individual.

  “Do you have any proof that my client—currently unknown to you—is planning a criminal act likely to result in death of, or substantial bodily harm to, yourself or another individual?”

  “No. I don’t have any proof.”

  “I didn’t think so. Well, it was lovely chatting—”

  Will said quickly, “Ms. Shey, I don’t know you, but you’d have to be a special kind of cold-blooded not to care if your actions, or lack of action, resulted in real harm to someone else. I’m asking, as one human being to another, is that who you are?”

  Shey was silent.

  “Maybe you don’t know it, but you’re on the side of the bad guys,” Will said. “Is that really where you want to be?”

  Another stretch of silence. Then, “Do you realize what you’re asking?” There was no humor in Shey’s voice now. “I could lose my license.”

  “I’m not asking for anything more than a name. That’s it. I just want to be sure that I or my partner aren’t going to get shot walking out to our car one night.”

  “I have no idea.”

  He expected her to hang up—he thought she intended to hang up—but she stayed on the line.

  After a long pause, she said, “My client asked that surveillance be terminated. Which is what I instructed Schwierskott & Associate to do.”

  “Did your client request that you initiate surveillance through another firm?”

  “No. My client determined that you and Mr. MacAllister no longer posed a threat.”

  “Posed a threat…”

  “Correct. And that is all the information I’m willing to share. You and your partner can walk to and from your cars in safety. No one is following you.”

  She hung up.

  He stopped for gas and a restroom break in Carlsbad, and sure enough, when he walked out of the mini mart, he spotted a silver Honda Accord parked on the other side of the lot.

  Will pretended not to see the car, making a production of checking his coffee and adjusting his sunglasses. As soon as he got in his Toyota Land Cruiser, he yanked open the glove compartment, grabbed his compact binoculars, and turned them toward the Honda Accord.

  Despite the rivulets of rain trickling down his windshield, he had a perfect view of the Honda slinking out of the lot. He studied the rear license plate. “6 Golf Tango X-ray 534,” read Will. “Got you, you son of a bitch.”

  He pulled out from the pumps, parked beside the tire air station, and phoned the office.

  “American Eagle,” Euphonia greeted him pleasantly. “How may I direct your call?”

  “Nee, who at the DMV owes you a favor?”

  “Here we go.” She sighed. “Is this why you hired me?”

  “You know why we hired you. Come on, I’m serious.”

  “Who doesn’t owe me a favor?” Euphonia retorted.

  “I need someone to run a California license plate. And, if at all possible, I need it fast.”

  “Plate number?”

  “6 Golf Tango X-ray 534.”

  Euphonia repeated, “6 Golf Tango X-ray 534?”

  “Correct.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” She hung up.

  It took four hours to complete his survey of the Webster Fidelity jobsite. By then it was three o’clock, Will was starving, and he stopped for a late lunch at a little pub called the Regal Seagull.

  He was drenched in the quick jog from vehicle to building. Shoving thr
ough the glass door outlined in Christmas lights, he heard the blast of “All I Want for Christmas is You,” and it was Hark! I bring you not-so-great tidings. Lt. Commander David Bradley sat on his own at a table near the bar.

  Maybe it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise, the way his luck was going. Encinitas was about half an hour from San Diego, and San Diego was home to several Navy, Marine Corps, and Coast Guard bases.

  David glanced up from the menu, spotted Will, and his face lit up. He half rose. “Will!”

  What could Will do? Frankly, he was irritated with a situation in which he felt guilty just engaging in the normal, courteous social behavior. Of course, he was glad to see David. He liked David. He went over to the table, and they hugged hello.

  “This is a surprise,” Will said.

  “You can say that again. What are you doing down here? Why didn’t you let me know you’d be in the area?”

  David was a big, handsome moose of a guy. Six-plus feet of well-toned muscle. He had a silky dark beard, smiling brown eyes, and a deep voice that still gave Will a little tingle at the base of his spine.

  Will said, “Webster Fidelity is a client. I’m down here doing a security survey for them.”

  David looked puzzled, but then his face cleared. “Right. The global security consulting business. How’s that working out?”

  “Business is good,” Will said, with about as much enthusiasm as he could summon after a day of interviewing employees, analyzing assets, and making a preliminary identification of what security measures had to be highest priority.

  David’s smile was sympathetic. “This was MacAllister’s plan?”

  “This is all on me,” Will said. “I dragged Taylor into it.”

  “Well, come and join me,” David invited. “Unless you’re meeting clients?”

  “God no,” Will said. “About the clients, I mean. Yes to lunch. I need a burger and a beer.”

  He got them both within a matter of minutes, along with David’s easy, and frankly charming, company. They were of a similar temperament, which Will had always considered one of the strengths of their relationship, but that day he couldn’t help wondering if he and David weren’t maybe too much alike. Would they maybe have bored each other eventually? Taylor could be mercurial, mulish, and downright maddening, but no question, life with him would never be dull.

  David had been overseas at CFNK at Busan Naval Base, and they talked about his trip and the current precarious situation with North Korea. Will finished his burger, declined a second beer, admitted he should be heading home, and his cell phone rang.

  Taylor.

  Christ, it was like he had a built-in sensor where David was concerned.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” Will said, relieved to hear no hint of the morning’s ire in Taylor’s voice. “What’s up?”

  “I just had a phone call with Mike Zamarion. He says he wants to talk to me.”

  “That’s a good sign. Maybe this will be cleared up by the end of the week.”

  Taylor gave a funny laugh. “Or maybe not. He’s asking me to bring twenty grand and meet him on Carpinteria State Beach at seven o’clock at lifeguard tower number eleven.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Will said.

  “I’m not bringing twenty grand, no, but I do want to hear what he has to say.”

  “What makes you think he’ll tell you anything if you don’t have the money?”

  “My knowledge of human nature?”

  “Try again.”

  “I think he wants to talk. He’s an opportunist, sure, but just from the hints he dropped, this is a guy with a story to tell.”

  Will checked his watch. “Look, I’ll do my best to get back in time to go with you. I’m still in Encinitas.” He glanced at David, who was watching attentively, and realized, awkward or not, he could not risk this looking like anything but the accidental meeting it was. “I ran into David when I stopped for lunch.”

  “Of course you did,” Taylor said. “Well, don’t let me rush you, but it would be nice to have some backup.”

  “You’re damn right I’m going to back you up,” Will said. “If you have to leave before I get back to the office, I’ll meet you at the beach. You said lifeguard tower eleven?”

  Taylor said briskly, “Be there or be square,” and hung up.

  Will reached for his wallet and rose. “Sorry. I’ve got to go.”

  “Lunch is on me,” David said. “I had no idea MacAllister was so insecure.” His expression was sympathetic.

  Will felt a flash of irritation. “This isn’t anything to do with that.”

  “No? I have to say, from my end, it kind of sounds that way.”

  It occurred to Will that the moment had come to draw a line in the sand. He liked David a lot, but he loved Taylor.

  “He isn’t insecure, generally speaking. But in fairness to him, you haven’t made any secret of the fact that you’d like to get back together. That you think it’s a possibility.”

  “In fairness to me, I can’t make that happen without cooperation on your part.”

  “That’s true. But we both know—all three of us know—that what you and I almost had together was something we both thought might be serious.”

  David stopped smiling. “Yes,” he said. “I believe we had something special together. But I’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to realize that you and MacAllister have something pretty special too. I don’t think there’s any getting in the middle of that, and I wouldn’t try. I’d like to stay friends, but if you don’t think MacAllister can handle it—”

  “I think he can handle it, so long as he’s confident everyone’s on the same page.”

  David raised his brows but said nothing.

  Will said quietly, “I hurt him in Paris. That can’t ever happen again.”

  “You can’t be blamed for what happened in Paris. Nor is there a likelihood of those circumstances ever being replicated.”

  “He doesn’t blame me. He knows none of it was deliberate or even in my control. But the pain I inflicted? Never again. So long as I have the power to prevent it, nothing will hurt him like that again.”

  David’s dark brows rose. “That’s very admirable. I don’t know how realistic it is. People do hurt each other. But I can see you mean every word. I only hope MacAllister appreciates what he has in you.”

  Will’s mouth curved without humor. “One thing he wouldn’t appreciate is me telling you any of this, and it’s the last time I discuss him with you. But I feel it’s only right to let you know that if I did offer mixed signals or seemed divided in my feelings, that was a mistake. I know exactly who and what I want, and that’s Taylor and our life together.”

  “Message received loud and clear.”

  Will nodded. “Thanks for lunch.”

  “My pleasure,” David said. His smile was rueful. “Next time we’ll try to arrange it so MacAllister can join us.”

  His cell phone rang while he was merging onto the I-5 N. Traffic was always a snarling mess this time of the afternoon, and the heavy rain made it that much worse. Will was starting to fret he would never make it back to Ventura, let alone reach the office before Taylor left.

  Ordinarily, that wouldn’t have been cause for sweat beading his hairline or warming his underarms, but he’d had a sense of foreboding ever since Ashe Dekker walked into their office, and it was a feeling that grew stronger by the day, stronger by the hour.

  AMERICAN EAGLE appeared on his screen. He pressed to accept.

  “Nee. Anything yet?”

  Euphonia said crisply, “License Number: 6 Golf Tango X-ray 534. Make: Honda Accord. Registered Owner: Anne or Michael Zamarion, 3000 Foothill Road, Carpinteria, California.”

  Will blinked, stared unseeingly at the gleaming roadblock of cars in front of him. “Say again?”

  Enunciating clearly, she repeated, “The car is owned by a Michael Zamarion.”

  Chapter Six

  “I thought you’
d call last night,” Ashe said. His laugh was strained. “Hell, I thought for sure you’d come by.”

  He pushed away from the front door frame, walking down the long hall, bare feet soundless on the distressed hickory wood floor. Taylor stepped out of the rain, followed him, conscious that he was leaving wet boot marks on the hardwood floors.

  “I didn’t have anything to report last night.”

  Ashe threw a bleak look over his shoulder. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

  Taylor smothered a sigh. “Ashe.”

  “Forget it. It’s just lonely here.” He glanced back again, but now he was smiling. “It’s haunted, you know. The house. Lots of ghosts. Including yours.”

  Taylor quelled his rising impatience. “Ashe, we need to talk.”

  “Sure. Did you want coffee?”

  “Coffee would be great. But just coffee. I’ve got a lot to do today.”

  Ashe shivered. “Is it cold in here, or is it just me?”

  Now that he mentioned it, it was cold. It felt like a window was open somewhere and a rainy wind was blowing through the house.

  “It’s December. Even in California, that’s cold,” Taylor said.

  Ashe said nothing, so he probably had not been referencing the weather. Taylor followed him into the long airy kitchen with its vaulted ceiling and incredible views of the fog-shrouded ocean.

  “Do you still take sugar?” Ashe asked, pouring coffee into red mugs.

  “No. Not usually.”

  Taylor was not one for beating around the bush, but he was finding this difficult. Not just awkward—painful. He watched Ashe going through the motions. Maybe not drunk, but clearly hungover.

  What would Will do? Will would get it over with.

  Taylor decided to get it over with. He said, “Part of the trouble I’m having in locating Zamarion is his legal address was changed to this one almost three years ago.”

  Ashe didn’t respond.

  Taylor tried to keep any hint of accusation out of his voice. “I don’t understand why you lied to me. I spoke to Lt. Capaldi at the sheriff’s station, and he said Zamarion was living here while your mother was alive. A bunch of squatters didn’t invade this house after it was left empty. Zamarion, his wife, a friend, and the friend’s baby were already living here. They were maintaining the house and garden for your mom in return for room and board. And it seems like they even took care of your mom once she got sick.”