by Chris Mooney
Then again, he could very well be lying to her. He had, so far, refused to tell her the truth about why Ron Wolff and his men had packed up and left.
It was clear that Sebastian was driven to find his daughter—and Paul—no matter what the cost. And that worried her. Desperate men didn’t think their actions through. That made them unpredictable. Dangerous.
When no one answered the door, Sebastian used his elbow to smash one of the small panes of decorative stained glass built around the doorframe.
An alarm shrieked.
“What are you doing?” she asked, yelling over the high-pitched bleating sound.
“Searching the premises.” He threaded his arm through the broken pane, reaching for the doorknob. “Carriers could be locked somewhere inside.”
“If they left, they wouldn’t have left carriers behind. They’re too valuable.”
Sebastian unlocked the door. He threw it open and darted inside.
Shit.
Her job was to protect the asset. Whatever came of this, Roland would want a detailed report.
Ellie hurried after him, trailing Sebastian through a maze of hallways and rooms bigger than her studio apartment.
There was no one here.
Sebastian, Ellie could see, was trying to keep his shit together.
He insisted on driving. He plugged the Ojai address into the dashboard GPS. It took a moment for the satellite to download the information, Sebastian looking like he was going to slam his fist through the screen.
The GPS said they were roughly half an hour away. Provided we don’t hit any roadblocks, Ellie added privately.
“They said Santa Paula wasn’t evacuating. You heard that on the radio, too, right?”
“Wildfires change,” Ellie replied. “The winds shift. They can—”
“I checked online. There was no mandatory evacuation listed.”
“Dixon decided to get out of town. It’s the smart move.”
He glared at her, as though she had just said something offensive.
“Get an update on Ojai,” he said. “Find out what’s going on there.”
“No cell signal, remember?”
The evening sky was quickly turning over to night, the way it did during the winter months.
Sebastian’s driving was erratic. She knew he had packed a good amount of firepower in the duffel bags he’d stored underneath the Range Rover’s trunk floor, where the spare tire was kept. Ellie doubted a patrol cop would look there if they got pulled over for speeding, but why risk it?
“Slow down,” Ellie said. “You’re going to—”
He slammed on the brakes.
The laptop slid off the tops of her thighs and crashed onto the floor. She reached out reflexively to grab the edge of the dashboard with her hands to prevent herself from smashing into it, even though she was buckled up. The seat belt gripped her, and as she was thrown back against her seat she whipped her head around to the windshield, and saw a large dog, maybe even a wolf, charging across the street. The animal had missing patches of fur, maybe from burns. She couldn’t tell. It disappeared around the side of a house.
Ellie stared after it, blinking. She thought back to that morning during the early summer when Danny had almost hit that black Lab. Her life had changed that day. And while she wasn’t one to give credence to omens or superstition, she couldn’t help but wonder, as Sebastian hit the gas, if her life was about to change again.
CHAPTER 48
EVEN IN HER altered state, Grace could keep track of the names of the people standing in the room outside her cell. There were only three now, and she already knew one: Paul. The old man Paul had spoken to earlier was Chauncey, and the sole focus of their attention was the third man, Mr. Jahed.
His full name was Nasser Ali Jahed. Before he came into this room—the converted wine cellar, as Chauncey had referred to it earlier—a pair of dark-skinned men with carefully trimmed black beards—Middle Eastern, Grace assumed, given their looks and the fact that they spoke to each other in what she was sure was Arabic—conducted a thorough search, their eyes blazing with urgency, looking for possible traps, the slightest whiff of danger. They conducted very thorough pat downs of Paul and Chauncey.
The men, she noticed, were armed.
Grace, half dozing and oddly content from the molly, watched them from the floor of her cell. The men didn’t speak to her, barely paid any attention to her. They glanced at her as though she were some common zoo animal they’d seen before, or simply a piece of furniture, and then invested their energy in a thorough inspection of her surroundings.
For what? Do they actually think I’m hiding some weapon in here?
Paul seemed relaxed. He stood with his hands behind his back, smiling, like he was holding a winning lottery ticket and was due, at any moment now, to collect the world’s largest cash prize. Chauncey watched the men furtively, acting like someone who could be subjected, on a whim, to an impromptu three-man prostate exam and then killed.
Several minutes after the armed men left, Nasser Ali Jahed appeared, alone. Given all the security fuss, Grace was expecting to see a tall, sleek-looking, and powerfully built man with a thick mane of black hair, dressed in a suit, shoes, and watch worth the price of a high-end BMW. She was right about the suit and watch, but Mr. Jahed, as Paul and Chauncey kept calling him, was small in stature and somewhat chubby—a nebbish, to use one of her father’s favorite Yiddish words. What was left of his gray hair was buzzed close to the scalp.
Mr. Jahed spoke perfect English, without even the slightest trace of an accent, his voice soft. “Again, I’d like to thank you both for thinking of me to be the first to consider your new business venture.”
“Of course,” Paul said. “And thank you again for meeting with us.”
“I do not want to rush this, but given the unusual weather circumstances, I think it would be best if we proceeded as quickly as possible. If I like what I see, then we can arrange a time, at my hotel, to go over the business side. Does that sound fair?”
“More than fair. Chauncey explained to you the reason behind our presentation method?”
“He did, yes. He explained everything to me in great detail.”
“Excellent. I don’t want to offend any religious sensibilities you may have regarding women’s appearances. I assure you, it’s for your benefit.”
Mr. Jahed grinned. “Fortunately, we’re not in Tehran.”
“The main side effect of my blood product—”
“Chauncey prepared me about what to expect. But thank you for your concern—and your discretion.” His tone said, Enough talking—let’s get to it.
Paul took out a small walkie-talkie. “Bradley, could you please bring Miss Sawyer?”
All three turned toward the doorway. Grace had the best view of Nasser Ali Jahed. She could see his profile, the anxious look in his eyes while he waited.
The woman who appeared in the doorway looked to be somewhere in her mid- to possibly late twenties and wore a thick white terry cloth bathrobe. She was barefoot, and her long and unbelievably thick black hair spilled over her shoulders. She had piercing blue eyes, fine cheekbones, and a prominent jawline—a beautiful and exquisite woman, no question, but definitely a dime a dozen in LA. Yet Mr. Jahed stared at her, his mouth agape, as though an angel had suddenly manifested in human form before him.
“My God,” he muttered.
Even the man named Chauncey seemed awestruck.
Paul said, “As you can see, my product has erased a good ten to fifteen years from her face. The skin is tight and glowing, not a wrinkle anywhere. Her perspiration is rather high, because of increased metabolism, but that will disappear over the next day or two. Please come in, Miss Sawyer.”
She did, and stopped only a couple of feet away from Mr. Jahed, who was still stunned by her appearance. She’s been giv
en carrier blood, Grace thought, watching as the woman slipped out of her bathrobe.
Miss Sawyer wore a black bikini that showed her generous curves. Her olive skin was flawless. No part of her body sagged—everything looked tight, her muscles firm, as though she was in peak physical fitness. She had barely any body fat on her.
The woman looked only at Mr. Jahed. She stepped closer and, placing her hands flat against his chest, said, “Say something, Nasser.”
“You look beautiful.” Then his gaze cut to Paul and, blinking, he said, “This is remarkable. Remarkable.”
“I’m glad you’re pleased.”
“I’m more than pleased.” Mr. Jahed turned his attention back to the woman. “You look as beautiful as the day I met you.”
“I know you’re ready to leave,” Paul said, “but I have one small favor to ask.” He turned to Grace. It sent her heart tripping. “Please stand up so Mr. Jahed can take a good look at you.”
Grace didn’t stand up.
“She’s beautiful, as you can see, but also stubborn,” Paul said. “Which is why I’m wondering if you could take her off my hands, give her to one of your associates back in Tehran, put her to work in one of your . . . pleasure centers. My only condition is that I take a finger or two.”
Fear exploded in Grace’s heart.
The woman, Miss Sawyer, touched Mr. Jahed’s arm. “Do you still desire me?” she asked.
“Yes, of course.” His voice was dry. “More than ever.”
“Show me.”
She began to untie her bikini top.
* * *
* * *
The streetlights in Ojai were turned off, but in the Rover’s high beams Ellie saw people hosing down roofs and the vegetation around their homes. She saw sprinklers running and she spotted a handful of people armed with flashlights as they packed suitcases and other belongings into their cars.
Sebastian was less than seven miles from their destination. A black silhouette of a man or woman stood on the roof of a nearby house, watching a helicopter the size of a toy in the distance dumping a red-colored flame retardant onto a fire. The flames shrank and then seemed to die, but then Ellie saw them leap to life again.
Then the last mile came and the road was, as far as she could tell in the glow of the high beams, nothing but one long stretch of undeveloped land with a couple of ranches, not a home anywhere in sight.
“There,” Sebastian said, slowing. “Straight ahead.”
She saw it—a Spanish Colonial so large that it looked more like a private resort than a single-family home. What made the details easier to see was the fact that almost all the inside and outside lights were turned on—the downstairs lights in the house, the white string lights wrapped around the trunks of several palm trees, the solar-powered ground lamps that lit up a long flagstone driveway that wound its way up an incline and ended in a circle around a small fountain.
Ellie turned in her seat and reached into the back for the binoculars.
“House must have its own generator,” Sebastian said, killing the lights.
A massive ornate gate made of wood blocked the long driveway leading up to the house. That, along with the six-foot stone wall that ran along the perimeter of the property, was more ornamental than built for security purposes.
The Range Rover was equipped with a bullbar. Made of welded steel, the bar, designed to protect the front of the vehicle from a collision with a large animal or another vehicle, would easily smash down the gate without damaging the Rover—a course of action, Ellie believed, that Sebastian was more than capable of performing.
“I’m counting two . . . no, three vehicles parked in the front, around the fountain,” Ellie said. “One’s a small limo. The others are SUVs—both Mercedes.” She switched to thermal. “No one’s sitting inside them.”
“What about outside?”
“I’m looking right now. . . . No, the area’s clear. Move a bit closer so I can get a better look at the front of the house.”
Sebastian did, keeping the lights off. “This has got to be the place.”
“That, or someone’s throwing a party.” She adjusted the magnification, locked onto the front of the house. Saw the potted plants near the front door made out of an enormous slab of wood, like something in a medieval dungeon. “I don’t see anyone standing outside, but I do see two more vehicles parked near the front. If this is the place, we’re going to conduct proper surveillance first. We’re not going to— Hold on—the front door just opened. Three men—no, two. Two men in suits and a woman dressed . . . I think it’s a bathrobe.”
“Is it—?”
“No, it’s not Grace Lewis. This woman’s older.”
The men stood on either side of her. The woman had long, dark hair and the bathrobe was loosely tied. Ellie saw what she was pretty sure was a bikini. Did the place have a heated pool? The woman didn’t look wet. And why was she smiling? The large, dark-skinned man with the shaved head to her right gripped her arm.
The woman, barefoot, padded alongside him and then came to a halt.
“What’s going on?” Sebastian asked.
Ellie didn’t answer, watching the woman trying to unbutton the bald guy’s shirt. The man didn’t look happy about it; he gently but firmly moved her hands away and said something to her.
The man’s suit jacket moved, and Ellie saw a flash of a shoulder holster.
The armed man released the woman. She moved closer and, while trying to kiss him, reached for his belt. The other guy, standing to the side, his thick black hair slicked back and looking stylish, chuckled into his fist.
Ellie thought about the morning she and Danny found Sophia Vargas in the backyard. She lowered the binoculars, turned to Sebastian, and said, “We’re definitely in the right place.”
CHAPTER 49
SEBASTIAN KILLED THE headlights and pulled the Range Rover off the main road and parked along the east-side wall, well out of view of anyone who might happen to drive by. He got out, gathered the supplies he needed from the trunk, climbed on the Rover’s roof, and hopped onto the top of the wall. Crouching, he studied the front of the sprawling home through the gaps between the tree branches. He brought the pair of night-vision binoculars gripped in his hands up to his face to take a closer look.
The three vehicles Ellie had seen parked around the fountain were now down to two. The Mercedes SUV carrying the two bodyguards and the bathrobe-wearing woman had driven away. Two cars were here, and two cars Ellie had mentioned were parked near the front of the house. Sebastian couldn’t see them— too much tree cover.
So who else was in the house? How many people?
Paul. He was in there; Sebastian knew it.
Was Grace somewhere in there with Paul?
The size of the home wouldn’t have been a problem if Ron had given him the use of some of his men; they could have stormed the place, gotten everyone down on the floor, and conducted a proper search. But he had only one other person at his disposal.
Sebastian jumped down into the yard, behind a grouping of Chinese flame trees. He had put on a black Windbreaker and black industrial-grade nitrile gloves, the kind used by home security and mechanics. They provided superior grip even when damp. He also wore a clear plastic mask that distorted his features, in case any nearby security cameras were pointed in his direction.
So far, he had found only one, a camera pointed at the gate. Before parking the Rover against the wall, he had slid behind the camera and covered the lens with thick foam shot from a thin tube connected to a spray can containing chemicals for sealing walls against drafts. Then he waited, watching to see who would come out to investigate why the camera had gone dark, but no one had.
Sebastian jogged over to the gate, found the control box, and pushed the button to open it. When the gate opened, he turned and darted up the grassy incline near the wall for cover
, heading for the dim light he’d seen coming from a grouping of windows on the first floor of the east side of the house, near the back.
There was no need to wait for Faye. He had already instructed her on what to do.
The windows were long and wide, and, maybe because of the lack of neighbors, the owners didn’t feel the need to draw the blinds. Sebastian brought the binoculars up to his face.
He had once shown a house that had a “drawing room”—a seventeenth-century term for a space designated for receiving and entertaining guests before and after dinner. The room he was now looking at was nowhere near as wide and cavernous and as opulent as the one from his memory, but this space—with its tall stucco walls, fireplace, abundant furniture, and, in the far corner near the pool table, a bar large enough to seat six people comfortably—was clearly used for entertaining.
Sebastian counted six men, each one dressed in a suit, each one clearly from somewhere in the Middle East. They wore serious expressions and sipped from small bottles of Pellegrino. He assumed they were all armed. He wondered who they were waiting for—who Paul was meeting.
If Ron hadn’t abandoned him, he could have grabbed a license plate and had Ron get a name with a few clicks of the mouse.
When this is over, I’m going to pay him a visit, Sebastian thought.
No. No, he wouldn’t. After this was over, it was over. He was going to be living a completely different life—one with his daughter and, hopefully, Ava.
He heard Faye step up beside him, her breath coming hard and fast from behind her mask. He had also given her a black Windbreaker with a hood.
“Find anything?” she asked, after she caught her breath.
“Just more guys from the goon squad. I’m going to see if I can get a better view.”
Sebastian withdrew the binoculars and moved back toward the driveway gate, which was open. He’d left it open in case, for whatever reason, they had to make a quick exit.