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Outside.
Oh Jesus.
She scrambled to her feet and snagged the rifle from the mantel, felt in the pocket of her vest for the shells. The image faded as the fire shifted, the shadows no longer shaped into the image of a face at the window, and she realized no one had been standing outside peering in. All she’d seen was the twisted bole of a fir tree and her own face reflected in the pane, her own wild imagination creating the image of the monster she hadn’t seen in a quarter of a century.
Ray Watkins wasn’t up here on the frigid slopes near Mount Hood.
The danger that existed was her own loose grasp of reality.
For God’s sake, Lucy! Pull yourself together.
Los Angeles, California
Now
The last person Ian expected to see at Tina Champagne’s hundred-year-old North Hollywood home was Clark Rivera, Lucy’s half brother, but here he was, standing in the arched doorway and towering over Ian by a good two inches. Like his father, Clark was swarthy-skinned with black hair cut in a short military cut. His eyes were light brown, his nose hawkish, his attitude suspicious. “Well, whaddaya know,” he said in the supercilious tone Ian had always found irritating. “My ex-brother-in-law. In the damned flesh.” Clark seemed as surprised and disappointed as Ian was.
“Hey, Clark.”
“You here to see Mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Does she know it?”
“I called. Left a message with her assistant.”
“Oh. Angie, right?” Clark was nodding, agreeing with himself. “Okay, then. She’s out back, near the pool,” and before Ian could comment, held up both hands, palms out. “Don’t even ask, okay? It’s her thing, part of her daily ritual, rain or shine, summer or winter. I learned a long time ago to just run with it.”
“Fair enough. I’m here looking for Lucy,” Ian explained.
“She’s not here.” Clark shook his head. “Barking up the wrong tree, Ian.”
“I was hoping your mother could tell me where she is. Or maybe you.”
“Oh, whoa.” He held up a hand, palm out. “Leave me out of it.”
“She’s missing.”
“And it’s not the first time my kid sister went MIA. I thought you two were divorced.”
Ian’s jaw tightened.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” Clark said with a knowing look.
“Do you know where she is?”
“I haven’t talked to Lucy since . . . well, since you two were married.” His eyes narrowed. “Why the fuck do you care where she is?”
“She’s my—she was my—wife. And Renee’s mother.”
“So file a Missing Persons report. You were a cop once if I remember correctly. And then an Assistant DA, right? So you know how the drill goes. Look, I’ve gotta run. I’m picking up some script for Mom at her agent’s and, again, don’t ask me why it’s not being emailed, for the love of God, but . . .” He pulled a pair of Ray-Bans from his pocket and slid them over the bridge of his nose. “I’m just the errand boy today.”
“You work for Tina?”
“Just a part-time gig until I get a job. Got an interview with a high-tech security firm tomorrow, as a matter of fact. Flying up to San Jose tonight. Interview in the morning, but for now, for at least one more day, I’m Tina Champagne’s fuckin’ errand boy. Story of my life.”
And he was off, half-jogging to the Jeep Wrangler parked in the circular drive, its soft top off, its roll bar exposed. Clark climbed in, started the engine, and, with a chirp of tires, roared through the open gates.
