He stepped inside, past a toy store, a T-shirt place, a churrascaría. Bennett slipped through the crowd, looking for his man.
5
Daniel’s palms were wet, but he made himself move slowly, not turn around. This would only work if the guy didn’t think he’d been spotted. Daniel was willing to bet that he wouldn’t last long in a fair fight.
So don’t fight fair.
He took a quick lap around the market. Rich smells came from every direction, dizzying in their variety, salsa verde overlapping chocolate; caramel corn battling roasting beef. The sun slipped through gaps in the canvas tents. At a nearby bar, a group of men exploded in laughter.
There was a place that sold sunglasses and jewelry, and he stopped, pulled a pair of shades off a display, tipped them way down his nose and looked in the tiny mirror. Over his shoulder, men and women of all ages moved through the aisles. A lot of them wore baseball hats. Damn. He put the sunglasses back on the rack, kept moving. He needed a quiet place, somewhere away from all these crowds.
He started working his way to the outskirts. Glancing at every man he passed, wondering which one was the killer. The Mexican with the tattoos? The dude in the suit? A short, ripped guy wearing a Dodgers cap? It could be any of them. Be cool. He won’t make a move on you in this crowd.
He hoped that was true.
5
Belinda had sprinted across the parking lot, going for a gate a little farther down. No point coming in right behind Bennett. “Excuse me,” she said, nearly knocking over an aproned man with pork- chop jowls. She stopped at the corner of a barbeque place on the east patio. Plastic tables and chairs, the sweet smell of garbage, the closed-in feeling of tent shadows. No sign of Daniel, but she saw Bennett moving west, and mirrored him one aisle over. The gun tucked in the belt of her jeans chafed her belly.
A deli, a candle store, an aromatherapy place. It was crowded, and she couldn’t see Bennett. Was she reading him wrong? Maybe he was just following Daniel, making sure the man didn’t vanish.
No. Bennett had always said that the trick was to be very careful until it was time to act boldly. Coming in wasn’t careful. Which meant—
Daniel Hayes crossed her row, all the way at the end, the bright print on his shirt slipping between the tables of diners.
Belinda glanced around. No sign of Bennett. She’d have to move anyway. She touched the pistol through her shirt, then started forward as fast as she dared.
5
After the crowded halls of the food court, the maintenance hall was a stark change. Painted institutional gray and lit by fluorescents, it screamed “employees only.” Daniel stepped into it and around the corner. The hall ran thirty yards before turning the corner. There were a couple of doors near the end, closets maybe?
Halfway down, two men leaned against opposite walls, talking in Spanish. They glanced up at Daniel, then went back to their conversation. Damn. The place was perfect, other than these two.
So get rid of them. He walked over, said, “What, you guys don’t have jobs to do?”
A guilty look flashed across one of their faces, but the other said, “We’re on break. Who are you?”
“Excuse me?’ Daniel raised an eyebrow. “You think this place manages itself?”
“You’re not my boss—”
“Believe me, I am. This is a working market, boys. You’re on break, fine. But don’t be cluttering up my hallways.”
For a moment he thought the man might push him, but then the old power dynamic took over. White man with attitude trumps Hispanic in an apron. A shitty fact of life, maybe, but he’d worry about moral righteousness later. The guilty one said, “Sure, sure, no problem.” They began down the hall, one of them muttering in Spanish, “¿Quien se cree? Mamón presumido.”
“Y cuidate lo que dices, pendejo,” Daniel replied over his shoulder, then did a double-take. Huh. I know Spanish. Cool.
Focus. There wasn’t much time. Before heading into the hallway, he’d walked a couple of circuits of the market, wanting to make sure that the killer was able to follow him. It had been incredibly hard not to look back, knowing that his wife’s murderer was behind. Soon enough, you’ll get a look at the fucker. A look and more.
He raced to the end of the hall, tried the left-hand door. A janitor’s closet, mops and pails and brooms. The door on the other side opened into a small employee bathroom, the tile dingy, a roll of paper towels sitting on the sink.
Make a stand here, or go back out and see what’s around the corner?
Daniel opened the janitor’s closet again. A dark, private place. So long as he didn’t dawdle, he could do anything he wanted here. All he had to do was lure the man in.
He smiled and set to work.
5
Belinda lost Daniel, then, as she rounded the end of the row, saw him vanishing down an employee’s hallway. She took a moment, scanned the crowd. Hundreds of people, the static noise of overlapping conversations, of forks grinding plates and chairs scraping concrete. But no sign of Bennett. Maybe he hadn’t seen Daniel head down this way.
It doesn’t matter. You’re Belinda Nichols. You’re a dangerous woman with a loaded gun. And the man you’ve been looking for just went into an empty hallway.
She took a breath, started forward. A couple of Hispanic guys walked out of the hallway, one of them pissed about something, the other trying to make a joke. Belinda let them pass, then started down the hall.
The floor was tile, the lighting bright. About thirty yards away, the hall turned another corner, maybe out to the trash? Perhaps this whole thing had been a game. Maybe Daniel had known he was being followed, wanted to lose them in the crowd. He could be doubling back right now, heading for his car.
She hurried down the hallway, her sneakers squeaking on the floor. When she was almost to the end, she noticed that the door on the left wall was open a crack. She slowed, glanced behind her, nerves popping like firecrackers. The light inside the door was out, and she couldn’t see much but shadows and shapes . . . and a green and blue pattern. One a lot like the shirt Daniel had worn.
He’s hiding in the closet.
Belinda hurried forward, reached for the handle, and yanked the door open.
5
Daniel had never known his heart could beat so loud. He half worried the killer would hear it. He squeezed his eyes closed, took a deep breath. You get one shot at this.
The mop handle felt right in his hands, the wood smooth, the finish worn off by a thousand nights of cleaning. He listened, knowing the man was coming, wanting him to, but scared too, the fear a taste in his mouth.
Footsteps, and a squeak like tennis shoes.
He held his breath, choked up on the stick. Come on, come on.
The footsteps paused. Then suddenly they were hurrying, and he heard the sound of the door opening.
Now.