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Hansen told him the last place he’d seen Kordo’s car.
“He can’t have gone far,” Teddy said. “Go back to the freeway and make sure he doesn’t get on it again. I’ll look around.”
???
After hiding in a quiet neighborhood for several minutes, Kordo used his phone’s GPS to find the quickest way back to the freeway.
As he headed toward the main road, he spotted a very distinctive car pass through the upcoming intersection.
It couldn’t be, could it?
He raced to the corner and turned left. The other car was already a block ahead, but there was no mistaking its shape. It was a classic 1958 Porsche 356 Speedster. The same type of car Billy Barnett drove.
Kordo grabbed his binoculars and checked the Porsche’s license plate.
He laughed.
The man he’d been looking for was right in front of him. Kordo didn’t believe for a second that Barnett’s presence in Carpinteria was coincidence. The person who’d been following him must have called the producer and Barnett had come running.
It was as if the universe had delivered Barnett to Kordo on a silver platter. There was no way he was going to refuse the gift.
Kordo closed the gap between them to a half block, then took the next left fast enough so that his tires squealed on the road, sure that the sound would draw Barnett’s attention. He then kept going straight, an eye on his mirror.
He was almost to the next intersection when the Porsche rounded the corner behind him.
With a smile, he reached under his jacket and released the safety strap holding his gun in his shoulder holster.
Now, all he needed was someplace quiet. He brought up the GPS again and searched for the perfect spot. It didn’t take long to find one.
The only potential problem was the guy who had followed him from Santa Barbara. It was possible he was watching the freeway, hoping to block Kordo’s escape. That’s what Kordo would have done.
To avoid him, Kordo chose a route that went under the freeway a half mile to the north of the 101 entrance.
As he drove, he glanced at his mirror every few seconds to confirm Barnett was still behind him. The Porsche was always there, always maintaining a consistent block-long gap between them.
When Kordo reached the hills east of town, he turned left onto a two-lane road that wound up the side of a mountain.
He kept an eye out for someplace he could flip the table on Barnett. A road that turned off into a canyon would do. Even a turnout where he could stop and let Barnett either race by or pull in behind him would be enough.
At the moment, however, the road was pinned in on the left by the upward slope of the mountain, and on the right by a steep drop-off.
As he cornered the next bend, he caught a glimpseahead of the road going around another ridge. He’d only been able to see it for a second or two, but he was sure he spotted a turnout that would work.
He glanced at the mirror again and watched the Porsche come around the turn behind him.
With a grin, he looked back at the road, then gasped. The next turn loomed directly in front of him, much closer than he’d expected.
He hit the brakes and yanked the steering wheel to the right. The tires fought to maintain contact with the road, and his sedan swerved into the oncoming lane. If there’d been a car coming the other way, they’d both have been splattered all over the side of the mountain.
His car swung back into the uphill lane, but Kordo’s troubles weren’t over yet. Less than a hundred feet ahead, the road curved in the other direction.
He fought the wheel again and swore at his sedan to stay on the asphalt.
The tires screamed as they skidded sideways toward the narrow shoulder.
“Hold on,” he growled.
There was athunkas the tires on the passenger side slipped off the road and onto the dirt, sending a cloud of dust billowing into the air.
