“It’s my only chance, so I’m going to work like hell at it. How’s the little man?”
“It’s impossible to tell.”
“I think we ought to shoot him full of tranquilizers and package him up and throw him down Beatrice’s mine. Just you, me, and Reyes. That way, he’s trapped forever and you’re a free man. Who’s the prisoner now, Hood? I mean, what is there really to say to that sonofabitch day in and day out? He’s going to wear you down or find someone and talk them into something, just like the serpent he is. Or he’ll dig out or climb out or something. I feel like I owe you, Charlie, for helping get you fired.”
“They didn’t fire me. I quit.”
Bradley smiled. The surgeon had changed that, too, but it was still a good one. “I’ll still help you chuck him down the shaft.”
“I like that idea.”
“Beth still gone?”
“More and more so.”
“You’re about to hear from someone extraordinary.”
“I don’t know if I can handle any more extraordinary.”
“You can handle this, my friend. I guarantee it.” Bradley shrugged and went to one knee and rubbed Call’s throat. He looked at Hood. “They got Joaquin’s head but all they got off me was some of my face. It’s evolution, Charlie. Mom would be proud. And guess what? I finally forgive you for falling in love with her. Given your situation, I would have done the same.”
• • •
Later Hood walked down to the pond. The night was warm and a breeze scented with orange blossoms came out of the west. The moon was nearly full. He heard voices and laughter from the patio and he turned to see Owens and Beatrice exchange a hug. Owens then lifted two wineglasses off the railing and came down the steps and across the grass toward him.
“Feeling lonely, cowboy?”
“Depends what you and Beatrice are plotting.”
She handed him a glass, then touched it with hers. “Splendid things. She’s so good at reading my heart. She seems to know it better than I do.” She drank, then looked up at the moon. “Remember years ago when I put my number in your cell phone and said I wanted you to call me?”
“And the way you turned my face left then right and studied it, and I felt like a dog being examined. And you said I’d have a reason.”
“I think that time is now. We don’t need the phone. Let’s go up to the dock and take out the rowboat. I’ve never been on a boat in the moonlight and I want to be on it with you.”
They followed the waterline north. The frogs went silent ahead of them, then splashed into the water as they passed. When they came to the dock, Owens stopped and Hood stepped into the rowboat and offered his hand. She climbed aboard lightly and smoothed her dress and sat in the middle of the fore bench facing back. Hood handed her his glass and untied the ropes, then took up the oars and pushed off. The boat made a sipping sound and the oars splashed softly. The moon lined up over Owens’s shoulder and cast a widening silver ribbon on the water behind her and she was looking at him.
55
Hood sat in the October shade of his courtyard and saw Reyes’s car coming up the road. Owens looked up from her book and lifted the floppy brim of her hat. “Are you expecting him?”
“No,” said Hood.
“I’ll batten down the hatches in case he’s not alone.”
Owens started with the grate under the carport roof. Hood heard the metal clang of the lid sliding and the squeal of the latch closing and Owens strode across the courtyard and into the house. Music came on inside and from new outdoor speakers disguised as rocks. The car ground up the rise and came level near the carport and Reyes pulled in and parked directly over the grate, next to Hood’s new/used Camaro.
Gabriel climbed out and looked at Hood, then the passenger door opened and out stepped a stout woman with straight, short orange hair. She wore a denim pantsuit and sky blue cowboy boots. She took off her sunglasses and gazed around with a formal air. Then they came across the gravel and through the courtyard gate, where Hood and Owens stood and welcomed them.
Reyes introduced her as Camille Gomez, city manager of Buenavista. Hood had seen her in the paper and on TV. She was short and heavily hung with turquoise, the centerpiece being a squash-blossom necklace that was half as wide as her torso and reached clear to her beltline. Plus turquoise earrings, bracelets, rings, and buttons on the denim jacket. Her eyes were green and surrounded by laugh lines defeated by her dour expression.
Reyes and she sat on a bench on one side of the courtyard picnic table and Hood sat across from them. Hood heard the music get just a little louder. Reyes asked after Beatrice, whom Hood had not seen or heard from since September. Reyes seemed hurt that she’d vanished without a word, but Hood figured she’d been doing it for centuries. Owens came back with four glasses of tea and joined Hood on his side of the table.
They drank and made small talk until Camille Gomez interrupted Reyes mid-sentence. “I came here to offer you a job as the Buenavista chief of police. Gabe here was good, but his replacement isn’t . . . confident. He has in fact received death threats from the North Baja drug cartel, though I think pretty much every border cop between here and Texas has gotten some kind of threat, too. Real or implied. I need a man with hair on his chest. Or a woman. Maybe not that. Anyway, it pays okay and the bennies are decent but nothing like the old days. I can offer you a take-home car and—”
“I accept.” Owens squeezed his leg under the table.
“I’m not done, cowboy,” said Gomez.
“When do I start?”
Camille Gomez considered Hood, then smiled, the lines of her face now fully employed. “Well, Mr. Hood. That was about the easiest recruitment pitch I ever made.”
Reyes toasted the new chief and they lifted their glasses and drank.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Deepest of gratitude to everyone at Trident Media Group for your unflagging alliance. And respectful thanks to Dutton for helping bring these stories to life.
About the Author
T. Jefferson Parker is the bestselling and award-winning author of nineteen previous novels and a three-time winner of the Edgar Award. Formerly a journalist, Parker lives with his family in Southern California.
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