“Thank you,” Jules said, hanging up and pocketing his phone as Sam continued his attempt to calm the distressed young woman.
“Just take a breath, Denise,” Sam said. “Nice and slow, in and out. It’s really gonna be okay.”
The tears that had been brimming in her eyes overflowed as she nodded her head. But she wiped them away as she turned back to the road where the traffic was crawling past the accident that blocked the right lane.
Jules, too, looked down the street, searching for the black SUV that hadsurelypulled over...
“I’m pretty sure I hit them before I hit you,” Denise said, “but they just drove off like nothing happened. I swear to God, Los Angeles drivers are the worst.”
She was right.
The driver who’d caused the accident was gone. The vehicle had vanished.
“I gotta call work,” Denise said. “Let ’em know I’m gonna be late.”
As she moved off a bit to use her phone, Jules asked Sam, “You get a plate? Of the SUV that stopped short? I didn’t get a plate.”
“Hell, I didn’t get a make or model,” Sam said. “I think it might’ve been... big and black?”
“Black Ford Expedition,” Jules said, “with tinted windows.”
“That’s way more than I saw,” Sam admitted.
“You were busy,” Jules said. “And I’d marked it earlier. Either the driver was circling the block, or...”
As they both looked out at the traffic, two large black SUVs with tinted windows drove past—in both directions, eastandwest.
“Black SUV’s a pretty standard celebrity transport,” Sam pointed out. “I don’t think we need to worry. This was LA being LA. It was just some asshole in a hurry.”
“You think?”
“Gotta be. I mean, come on.”
As they stood there looking at the wreckage, Jules found himself thinking again about Gavin LaCrosse’s untimely—or perfectly timed—death. Plus there was something about both the security cameras and the garden at Devonshire Place that made his brain itch.
Although Sam was right: Come on. Itwasridiculous—the idea that the SUV that had caused Denise to nearly kill Sam had been secretly driven by...who? Ernest Harper? Or Clayton Spencer, whom they’d yet to meet? Or jeez, maybe it was Emily Johnson herself behind the wheel with Milt the Junior riding shotgun.
Jules tried to make himself laugh at his overactive imagination.
Except...
He looked at Sam, who turned back to look at him.
They both reached for their cellphones at the same time.
“I’m just gonna check in with Robin,” Jules said as Sam said, “Just wanna give Lys a quick call.”
The smile they shared was one of mutual understanding. They were both spooked—and there was no shame in that. This day could’ve ended very differently, and the need to immediately hear the voices of their significant others burned bright.
“Thanks again for the heads up,” Sam said, phone to his ear.
Jules, too, was now listening to Robin’s phone ring. “Thankyoufor being able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.”
Sam laughed. “Small car, Squidward, not a tall building. I’ve seen you do similar moves, plenty of times.”
“Oh, I absolutely would’ve gotten over the car,” Jules agreed. “But my technique would’ve been more of a panicked scramble than a move from an Olympic gold-winning gymnastics floor routine.”
“I’m six five,” Sam pointed out.
