“Car coming out,” Guy said. “Looks like Becca’s Honda.”
“Turning north. Our good luck. He’ll have to stop at the slide.” She reached for the mike to ask that Ulrick be detained there, told Guy, “Get down! He’ll know this isn’t a routine patrol if he sees two heads. We never patrol in pairs.”
She’d slowed the cruiser to a normal speed, and the Honda passed it as she was calling in, traveling at a crawl. She peered over at it but couldn’t identify its driver. When it was out of view, she made a U-turn and followed. The Honda continued to creep, then veered across the centerline.
“What—?” she said.
It was pulling into the turnout. Going to Point Deception, where it all had started.
Guy hunched over, smelling a medley of odors from the floor mat, none of which he cared for. He felt the heavy vehicle leave the pavement and brake abruptly, sliding him forward so his head connected with the dashboard.
“What’s going on?” he asked through his pain.
“They’re at Point Deception. Somebody’s getting out of the driver’s seat... walking toward the fence.”
“Who?”
“Ulrick, I think.”
Guy straightened as Rhoda released the shotgun from its brace. She asked, “You know how to use a handgun, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She pulled a gun from her bag and thrust it into his hand, grip first. A .357 revolver. “Take this. Becca may be in the car. If so, I want you to get her out of there. She won’t be armed — she has a horror of guns — but she may resist you or try to warn Ulrick. Use force if necessary, but bring her back here and see she stays put.”
“And where’ll you be?”
“Going after Ulrick.”
He hesitated. Her job, she could handle it.
“Follow me,” she said, opening her door.
Order not necessary, he thought. I’d follow you anywhere.
Rain lashed Rho as she stepped out of the cruiser into a deep puddle. When she started across the highway she had to lean into gale-force wind. Guy was right behind her.
They ran across the pavement to a stand of pines at the south end of the turnout. Becca’s old Honda was nose-in toward the fence, its headlights off, motor running. On the bluff a faint beam of light bobbed about; Ulrick had a flashlight. Rho noted its location, then started intently at the car.
“I can’t tell if Becca’s in there or not,” she said.
“Me either.”
“He may have left her as a lookout.” She motioned to Guy. “This way.”
Gregory Cordova’s fence was strung with barbed wire here. Rho held it apart so Guy could slip through, then followed. She felt her jacket snag, wrenched at it, tore it free. “I’ll go first,” she said, moving her feet tentatively till she found a deer track. She inched along on slick, flattened grass, then back upslope to where the fence continued around the turnout.
“Okay,” she said, “from here on you’re on your own. If you crouch down and follow the fence she won’t see you. At the far side where the No Camping sign is, you’ll be in her blind spot.”
He hesitated. She was afraid he’d try to stop her from going after Ulrick alone, but he simply said, “Be safe.” Then he was gone, ducking down behind the split rails.
Rho waited a moment, conjuring up an image of the terrain. She and her father had crossed Point Deception many times to fish in Lantern Cove. Later she’d come here for high school beer busts and to neck in the grass with boyfriends. She knew this bluff as well as anyone — certainly better than Ulrick.
Lily Gilardi had told her about encountering Chrystal Ackerman as she emerged from a clump of pampas grass. Chrystal was acting “freaky,” as if she had been doing something wrong. That must be where she’d hidden the money, and where Ulrick was going. He’d managed to extract its location from Ackerman, but Rho didn’t want to consider what methods he’d used.
Okay, the thickest stand of the insidious plants had always been dead center on the bluff. That bought her time, because from where Ulrick had crossed the fence the fishermen’s path would take him due north. In the dark and the rain it would be a while before he realized he’d gone out of his way and decided to double back.
She found the deer track again and started down the slope. She’d lost sight of the bobbing flashlight beam; when she reached a good vantage point she stopped and scanned the bluff. There it was, nearly at the northwest cliff edge. The rain was letting up, although the wind was still brisk. Now she could hear the crash of waves in the cove. She began moving along the track again, slipped, and went down on one knee.
Dammit, that bastard Ulrick had waited thirteen years for the money, and he had to choose a night like this to claim it! Of course, he hadn’t chosen, not exactly. He’d probably planned to stay in town till his lease ran out, to avoid suspicion. But the influx of media people had changed that plan. Ulrick was no fool. He had to know that sooner or later someone might dig up a more recent photograph of him and he’d be recognized. He needed to retrieve the money and get out tonight.
She crept along the track, toward where the pampas grass grew thickest. Ulrick’s light had vanished. Cradling the shotgun, she paused every few yards to search for it. Nothing moved but the pale fronds, frantic in the wind. She could hear nothing over its howl and the roar of the surf.
Guy. How was he doing? Had he gotten Becca safely to the cruiser?
Sound from below? She peered through drizzle.
Nothing.
Sound from above!
She whirled, shouldering the shotgun.
No one.
God, she was letting the storm and Ulrick’s unseen presence spook her!
She drew deep, calming breaths. Reminded herself that this was her territory, her advantage.
When she was fully in control, she went on.
When Guy crept up in the blind spot of Becca’s car, he saw the front seat was empty. He checked the backseat, the trunk, then shut off the ignition and pocketed the keys. As added insurance, he raised the hood and disconnected every cable and wire he could find.
He crouched behind the vehicle, staring at the fence and clutching Rhoda’s .357 — a weapon which he, a stringent advocate of gun control, could use and use well because his father had insisted no son of his be less than a perfect marksman — and felt profoundly useless.
Her job, yes. She could handle it, yes. But he couldn’t handle the danger to her. Couldn’t handle the fear of losing her. He had to do something.
He pushed away from the car and ran across the turnout. Stepped over the fence and moved downslope, feet angled on the slippery ground, digging for purchase. The rain suddenly smacked down again, so heavily that he couldn’t see a foot ahead. After a ways something sodden and hairy touched his face. He slapped at it. One of those damned fronds.
From what Lily had said, he figured the Ackerman girl must have buried the money in a clump of pampas grass. He was close to it, close to Rhoda. Close to Ulrick, too...
He stood still, listening. Heard nothing. Peered around. Saw only darkness. Closed his eyes and willed his ears to tune in to a frequency humans seldom employed.
Rhoda, he thought, where are you?
Snapping sound. To the right. He slewed about. Brought up the .357.
No one.
What if the cocksucker had grabbed her? Overpowered her? Right now he might be—
No. She could handle him. He had to believe that.
Another sound. Similar to the last. Origin uncertain.
He made a three-sixty sweep with the gun. Saw nothing.
I feel like a kid, he thought. A scared kid lost in the dark with a popgun. It’s been years since I fired on anything, and never on a living person, but if he’s got Rhoda...