I’m sure he thought it was a good plan.
And if I hadn’t learned about it, it would have been even better.
WEEK FOUR
SIXTY-SIX
Carter and I spent the rest of the day making plans. We needed some things to take with us, and we needed a second car. I rented a Chevy Impala rather than risk going back to my place to get my Jeep.
By the time we pulled off the freeway into El Centro, midnight was descending on the Imperial Valley. The moonlight threw shadows over the gravel and sand as we drove down the road toward the Vasquez house. I shut the visions of Liz out of my head as I parked the rental in front of the home.
I didn’t want to ring the doorbell in the middle of the night, and I figured no one would attempt entering with two strange cars parked in front of the house. Carter and I tried to sleep in the cab of his truck but ended up taking turns dozing more than anything else.
At eight the next morning, Carter and I went up the front walk and I rapped on the screen door. The front door opened and Lucia Vasquez looked at us, her expression puzzled for a moment before recognition filtered onto her face. “Mr. Braddock?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Vasquez,” I said, then gestured at Carter. “This is my friend Carter Hamm.”
They exchanged nods.
“May we come in for a moment?” I asked.
She looked reluctant.
“Please,” I said. “It’s important.”
She pressed her lips together, then held the screen door open for us. We stepped in past her.
The television was on in the living room, the volume turned down.
“My boys,” she said. “They are still asleep.” She pointed at the sofa. “Please, sit down.”
We sat, and she moved into the chair across from us, sitting on the edge. “Why are you here?”
“The man who arranged to bring Hernando here,” I said. “Landon Keene. Have you heard from him?”
Her features immediately filled with alarm. “No. No. Why?”
“I think he’s looking for you,” I said. “I believe he’s on his way here.”
She brought her hands to her chest. “What? Why?” “I’m not sure,” I said. “But I feel certain he’s coming here. To your home.”
She whispered something in Spanish, then looked at me. “I won’t let him hurt my boys. I won’t.”
I nodded. “I won’t either. That’s why I’m here. I’d like for you and the boys to go with Carter. I hope just for today, but it might be longer. He’ll make sure you are safe.”
She looked at Carter, who remained expressionless.
“I’ll stay here and see what happens,” I said. “When I know it’s safe to come back, I’ll let you know.”
“Should we call the police?” she asked. “Detective Asanti?”
“I think it’s better if we keep them out of this at the moment,” I said. “I don’t want to bring any unnecessary attention to your family.”
I was using her situation to get myself in the situation I wanted to be in. It wasn’t fair, and what I’d said wasn’t necessarily true. But it had the desired effect.
She stood. “I will go wake the boys.” She left the room.
Carter watched her go down the hall. “You’ll be alright here?” he asked. “If he shows up, you’ll be alright?”
I waited for Lucia Vasquez and her boys to return, not knowing how to answer that question.
SIXTY-SEVEN
For three days, I wandered around the Vasquez home, looking at pictures, checking closets, waiting. Periodically I called Carter, making sure all was okay. They were twenty minutes away, in a hotel in Yuma, safe. The kids thought they were on vacation. Lucia seemed concerned but was making the best of it.
On the fourth day, I was beginning to think that what Carter had suggested was true. Maybe Keene was just coming down to attend to other business and I’d overreacted. Maybe he’d assumed that Liz’s death had sent me into a downward spiral since I’d disappeared and he was in the clear. Maybe I had unnecessarily disrupted the Vasquezes’ lives for my own agenda. But I’d told him about my conversation with Klimes and he’d gone through the trouble to blow up Carter’s car. I just didn’t think he’d run. It didn’t fit with everything else he’d done.
I decided to sit through one more night. Then, if nothing had happened, I’d call it off.
The house was mortuary quiet for most of the evening, just like all the previous nights. A few creaks and hums in the dark, but nothing more. I sat in the far corner of the living room, listening to the tiny sounds, wondering if Keene was coming.
It was just past four in the morning when I stopped wondering.
At first, I wasn’t sure I’d heard anything. I listened hard and it was quiet. But then I made out the faint scrape of a footstep outside the front door.
I lay down next to the couch, pressing myself into the floor. My eyes had adjusted enough to the dim light that I could see the doorknob move. It jiggled, the hand on the other side slowly working it back and forth. Finally, it gave.
I steadied the 9mm in my hands and aimed right at the door.
The door inched open, and initially it seemed no one was there. But my eyes focused, and I could see Keene dressed entirely in black. He’d made the mistake of coming in without his gun drawn. He shut the door behind him, not a sound coming from him or the door.
He turned away from the door and eyed the hallway. If Lucia and the boys had been there, Keene would’ve smiled and thought about how clever he was.
I squeezed the trigger and the quiet of the house exploded. The bullet hit Keene’s thigh with a wet thud, and he collapsed.
I vaulted off the floor and was on top of him immediately. His hands were grasping at his leg, and his eyes were wide with shock. I dropped my knee onto his thigh where I thought the wound was, and he howled. I slapped a hand across his mouth.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” I said, grinding my knee harder into his leg.
He strained against me, ugly groans echoing against the palm of my hand.
“See you in a little bit,” I said, then dropped the butt of my gun into his temple.
SIXTY-EIGHT
I drove east on the highway, then south without a road, until we were out in the middle of the dark desert. Keene was still unconscious in the passenger seat. I opened the door and threw him to the ground.
He rolled over with a grunt, his left thigh decorated with a wide swath of dark blood. I pulled out the garbage bags I’d lined the interior of the rental car with and tossed them in a pile next to him.
His eyes opened slowly.
I fired the Sig Sauer Carter had obtained for me about a foot from Keene’s left ear. He jerked and rolled hard to his right. He came face up again, dirt and sand now caked in the bleeding gash above his eye.
“You killed Darcy,” I said and fired again at the ground, this time to his right. My voice sounded unusually loud in the silent and lonely desert.
He yelled and rolled in the opposite direction. He pushed up on his hands and sat up, his breathing ragged.
“You left my father to rot in prison,” I said.
Keene tensed, waiting for another shot. I surprised him with a roundhouse kick to the jaw and felt the bone snap as I drove my foot through the kick. He fell to the side, his hands coming to his face.
I dropped to my knees and pulled him up. He grunted, and a weird smile came over his busted-up face. Even knowing he was near the end of his life, Keene was arrogant.
I held onto his shirt, our faces two feet apart. “And you killed the only person who has ever really mattered to me.”
The tears welled up in my eyes. I looked away for a moment, angry that I was showing him how much he had hurt me and that I couldn’t get a handle on my emotions. I waited, willing my control to return.