Quietly she closed the door and started the engine. Behind her, Joe took a chance and reared up-just as a dark blue Honda Accord came nosing up out of the parking garage. He dropped down again, fast. Was that the car he'd seen at the ruins? Sure looked like it, small navy blue coupe. Ray was at the wheel and Ryder beside him.
Lindsey waited for three cars to pass, putting them between herself and the Honda. Then she took off slowly, following Gibbs and Ryder through the tangle of cars that crept along the narrow streets.
From the floor of the backseat, Joe had no view of the street, only of the shingled, angled rooftops. She turned left, which would send her back toward Ocean. There she turned east, in the direction of Highway 1.
When she stopped for the light at the top of the hill, Joe, staring up through the window, could see the signal change to the green arrow. She turned left, up 1, heading north. Watching the tops of the cypress and pine trees swing by, he had no idea where this ride would take him. He was alone, at the mercy of Lindsey's judgment. And she was alone, possibly following a killer.
She did have a phone? he thought. She must have, she ran her own business, surely she carried a phone. Had she already called the station to tell them what she was doing? Would there soon be officers behind them, to take over this unprofessional surveillance before it turned into a chase?
Or would she think Dallas wouldn't pay any attention to her if she called? Would tell her not to mess in police business, to lay off and go home?
She had her windows cracked, and the smell of pine trees filled the car, soon accompanied by the salty iodine smell of the bay where Highway 1 would be near the shore. Now, on the left, he could see only sky through the windows above him, and once in a while a gull sailing over. He knew they were moving north.
Was Gibbs only heading up the coast to one of the small beach towns? Or was he running, making for a connecting freeway, for some distant destination where, if they stopped, a cat might find himself forced out of Lindsey's car for any number of reasons? Where a cat had no backup, where a cat could find himself abandoned in a strange town, alone and on his own?
29
RIDING CROUCHED on the floor of the backseat, Joe couldn't see anything but sky, and, despite the fact that this was a nearly new, upscale car, the noise and vibration on the floor were singularly unpleasant, and he was breathing gas vapors that humans apparently didn't notice. But more frustrating, he couldn't see the road signs. Couldn't see where they were headed, he only knew they were still going north.
Also, unable to see the traffic and see what the driver was doing, he worried about Lindsey's driving skills or the lack thereof. With the way she was changing lanes, he felt sure she was still on Ray's tail, trying to stay out of sight but not lose them.
What was she thinking as she followed them? Wondering if she'd alerted them so they'd drive farther and longer, trying to ditch her? He wasn't proud of himself that, apparently, either Ray or Ryder had been lurking among the ruins all morning and he nearly hadn't seen them at all from his broad vantage point on the roof.
Well, but Rock had missed them, too, even with his tracker's nose. Weimaraners were adept at both sight and scent, bred to both kinds of hunting. But this morning, honed in on his all-consuming objective to track Clyde, the good dog had apparently not seen or smelled their stealthy presence.
Careening up the freeway on the floor of the car, unable to see much but sky, Joe thought that right then, he would sell his kitty soul for a phone to call the station, a chance to whisper into the speaker and hear a cop's friendly voice.
Getting soft, Joe thought crossly. Relying too much on human technology. On the electronic conveniences that had become so much a part of his life. But he liked the luxuries of the human world, no denying it. Liked using the phone both to call in tips to the department and to spy on and harass the perps-to say nothing of calling his favorite deli.
Clyde had once suggested a collar with a tiny, voice-controlled cell phone attached. But despite any excuse they could think of for a cat wearing a phone, such an encumbrance would generate too many prying questions. Besides, he hated the thought of a collar, which seemed to Joe nearly as bad as a straitjacket.
THE WOODS WERE growing dark, but the sky was still silver beyond the dark branches that laced above Charlie and Kit; hurrying ever deeper through the black woods, they had tracked Sage for over a mile. Charlie couldn't believe he'd come this far, hindered by the cast and bandages, yet stayed ahead of them. But Kit still followed his fresh scent, and Charlie, following Kit, stared into every shadow, watching for the young tom's pale coat and the white gleam of bandages.
She had, shortly after starting out, made Kit wait for her, safe in the branches of a pine, while she hurried back for a flashlight and a bottle of water and, feeling silly but thinking better safe than sorry, had strapped on her holstered.38. The woods would soon be pitch-dark, and there were coyotes and sometimes a bobcat that would be a danger to Sage and Kit. Even an occasional cougar visited these wild hills, and cougars living so close to humans had grown bolder than Charlie liked; several dogs had been killed, as well as a neighbor's nice yearling colt; that had truly sickened her.
Kit stopped suddenly, staring back at her. "Did you hear that?" she whispered. "A twig breaking, something moving…" Then Kit leaped ahead so fast that Charlie had to run to keep up and made too much noise, stepping on twigs. Unlike Kit, she couldn't run in silence; blackberry vines clawed at her, tripping and slowing her. The next time Kit spun around, Charlie stopped dead still. This time they'd both heard it. A scream. Loud and blood chilling. A cat's scream of rage and challenge-answered by the high, yip-yipping of coyotes.
Hastily Charlie scooped up Kit to keep her safe, tucking her flashlight under her arm and releasing her holstered.38. Another series of yips and another scream of rage, and the dry scrambling of claws on a tree trunk. Kit clung to Charlie's shoulder with claws deep in her jacket. The enraged scream could only be Sage, and as she swung the light around, snarls greeted them. Two big coyotes were leaping up the trunk of an oak tree. Above them Sage clung barely out of reach, barely keeping his balance on the thin branch, his bandaged leg hanging down as the beasts scrabbled and leaped at him.
Kit tensed on her shoulder, ready to leap at them but Charlie dropped the light and grabbed her. Kit fought to get free. Charlie held her tight, the beam from her fallen flashlight canting off uselessly into the treetops, barely showing the beasts-until suddenly the larger coyote spun around and faced her, his eyes caught in the light. He was nearly on her, Kit clawing into her shoulder to leap at him, he was inches from her, he seemed right in her face when she fired.
He dropped, twisting, then came at her again. She ran backward away from him, fired again, two shots. He dropped and lay still. His companion, who had paused among the trees, suddenly charged her. This was behavior she would not have expected from coyotes. She fired twice more and he dropped. Only one shot left. Feeling in her pocket for her reloader, she stood staring down, sickened, at the two dead coyotes lying at her feet, hoping there were no more. On her shoulder, Kit was shivering.
"Could you ease up a little, Kit? Before you claw me to death?"
Kit eased back her claws and lay more gently across Charlie's shoulder. Above them, Sage still clung to the branch, his eyes huge, his injured leg dangling. Charlie holstered her gun and reached up to him. She got one hand on the pale little cat but was afraid to drag him off, afraid to injure him even more.