Was he still around?
No car was parked in the trees. If there had been one there, he’d moved it.
Where?
Find out.
Fifteen minutes later, Joe found the car in the driveway of the third estate around the curve of the road. A red Lamborghini was in the driveway, but in the trees to the left was parked a tan Toyota rental car with plates from a dealer in Santa Barbara.
He glided forward. No one in the driver’s seat. Get inside the car and see if he could find any papers or evidence that would link—
The red Lamborghini roared to life and was barreling toward him!
A bullet creased Joe’s cheek, and the car clipped his hip as he jumped to the side.
Pain.
Ignore it. He drew his .38 and fired off a shot that smashed the sports car’s side mirror and ricocheted to hit Drogan’s hand on the steering wheel.
Joe heard a spate of curses, then a bullet struck the ground next to him. He rolled to the passenger side behind the protection of the Toyota.
But Drogan had already reached the road, and the sports car was screeching around the bend.
And the lights were coming on in the house behind him, dammit. The last thing Joe needed was to be found on the property and accused of being a car thief.
He got to his feet and limped into the trees. It wasn’t likely that they’d be searching for the man who had stolen that Lamborghini to be on foot. But he had to get back to the house before there was an uproar in the neighborhood. The owners would report the theft to the police, and they’d be out to intercept Drogan.
But Drogan wouldn’t risk being picked up. He’d abandon that car as soon as he could, and he no longer had his own rental to fall back on. Joe had come close to nailing the bastard, and he was mad as hell he’d blown it. But there were a few good results from a lousy evening. Drogan had a bullet in his hand, no car, and was in no position to go after Beth Avery at the moment.
And he’d bet that Drogan was going to be even more angry than Joe as he tried desperately to get away and cover his tracks.
* * *
HE WAS GOING TO KILL QUINN.
Drogan clutched the steering wheel while he tried to wrap his handkerchief around his bloody thumb with the other. He’d probably lose the thumb if he couldn’t get to a doctor in time. His teeth clenched as he tied the handkerchief above the wound.
Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch.
He had to get out of this car.
He couldn’t risk driving it any longer. This was a high-security area, and Highway Patrol would be breathing down his neck within minutes. The Lamborghini would be as noticeable as a flashing red light.
Get rid of the car.
Find some schmuck and force him to take him to a doctor.
Then find a way to get back here before Quinn took off with Beth Avery.
And find the most painful way on the face of the earth to kill the bastard. Destroy everything and everyone he cared about before his eyes, then take his time killing Quinn himself. Before it had been just a question of eliminating a cop who had gotten in his way, annoying but not particularly important.
But now it was very important. Now it was almost as important as killing Beth Avery.
And the woman who had been with Quinn at the house? He’d taken a photo of her earlier in the evening and been going to transmit it to Pierce for him to attempt an ID.
Do you sleep with her, Quinn?
Too bad. You’d better get used to sleeping alone for the little time you have left.
CHAPTER
12
BETH STRAIGHTENED UP IN HER CHAIR as Joe came into the library. “What happened to you?”
“Drogan.” He limped toward the TV and turned on the news station. “It’s the second time I screwed up and let him get away. What the hell is wrong with me?”
“You’re not perfect?” She glanced at the TV. “What are you trying to watch?”
“Drogan made off with a red Lamborghini. There’s bound to be a pursuit by the local police.” He began channel flipping. “With all these twenty-four/seven news stations, one of them should be covering it.” He leaned closer to the set. “There!”
He was looking at the shot of a red Lamborghini parked in the driveway of a substantial brick home. There was a crowd of police and media personnel swarming around it.
“Abandoned?” Beth asked.
“Yes, and it was out of Seventeen Mile Drive. That may be good for us.”
“How?”
“The search won’t be as extensive in this area.”
“There will be a search?”
“You bet your life. This area is pure money and political pull. They take care of their own.” He glanced at the location where the sports car had been found and typed it into his phone. “But they’ll grab the rental car that he left a few houses around the bend and check this area, too. Which means that we can’t move too soon. There will be an alert out and probably media on every corner for a night or two.”
“Will they search this house?”
“Not unless they think they have a reason. This house is supposed to be vacant and has a security guard checking it periodically. If we stay inside and keep a low profile, we’ll probably be okay until it’s safe to leave. In the meantime, I’ll locate another safe house for you.” He added grimly, “And do a little more-in-depth study about Drogan and the Averys.”
“Should we wake Eve and Billy?”
“Not until we have to. What good would it do? I ran upstairs and checked on her, and Eve had managed to drift off.”
“I’d want to know what was happening.”
“And so will Eve. But she can find out after she gets a little rest.” He frowned. “But Eve has my computer.”
“There’s one over there on the desk. Can you use it?”
He nodded. “I’d rather have my own, but I have the thumb drive.” He moved across the room and sat down at the desk. “If you’re going to curl up on that couch and go to sleep, do it. I can see by the screen, and I’m turning out the light.”
“Why? I told you that you can’t see through those drapes.”
“I’m not taking a chance. There will be intense, not casual scrutiny.” He took out the thumb drive. “But I want to get as much information as I can while we’re having to wait to get moving. I have an idea that Drogan is going to be moving at full speed from now on. I glimpsed his face after I put a bullet in his hand.”
“A bullet? You didn’t mention you shot him.” She was looking at the red streak on his cheek. “Was that caused by a bullet?”
“Yes.” He inserted the thumb drive. “And I only shot him, I didn’t kill him.”
“So it wasn’t worthwhile telling anyone. It wasn’t important.”
“It was important. It had the same effect as waving a red cape at a bull. And I didn’t follow through and put the bastard down.”
Violence, she thought with a shudder. Bullets and rage and Joe Quinn ready and willing to kill a man because he’d become involved in this hideous nightmare in which she’d become entangled.
“It’s too late, Beth,” Joe said quietly. He had looked up and seen her expression. “The game’s begun, and we all have to play by the rules.”
“I don’t understand games like this. But you like them, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “There’s a certain amount of excitement involved. I admit to having a few savage impulses. In time, you might discover you have a few yourself. You’re intensely competitive, and that’s a likely sign.” He smiled. “And you pulled a gun on Eve and Newell.”
“And it scared me to death.”
“The fear will go away, but the power remains. How do you feel right now? Are you angry with me?”
She was silent a moment. “I have no right to be angry. You could have been killed because of me. I should be grateful.”
“And are you?”
She was silent again. “Yes, but I don’t want you to do it again. I’d feel guilty that—”