Damn him.Damn him.She wanted to kick something. How could he just give up? How could he leave her hanging like this, danger dangling over her like a sword?
She choked back a sob and leaned her head against the stall door. How was she going to exonerate herself now?
Scott could read lips passably, but neither Valerie nor Suresh was facing his way, so he was stuck reading body language.
And there was plenty of it.
Suresh was pissed. Valerie went from happy to surprised to angry, and then nearly broke down right there. Whatever Suresh had said, it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Apparently there was no honor among cyber thieves either.
Boo-fucking-hoo.
He’d texted Hollowell to let him know Suresh was here. Scott was supposed to keep an eye on them both until the FBI stepped in. Easier said than done, considering they didn’t look likely to leave here together.
When Valerie bailed to the bathroom, he followed Suresh. Scott could track her down later, and her former partner in crime was on his way out the door. Apparently football was no longer on the man’s agenda for the evening.
Scott waited a few beats and then trailed his quarry.
Pretending to be engrossed in something on his phone, he pushed through the door into the dark parking lot. The air had cooled and the scent of green onions and eucalyptus drifted on the ocean breeze. Traffic on the nearby 101 whooshed in the background, providing a steady stream of white noise that ebbed, but never quite died out.
Suresh was nowhere in sight, but he couldn’t have gotten away that quickly. Scott pocketed his phone and strode through the shadows toward the end of the building. He spotted Suresh hurrying toward a white Chevy in the side lot under one of the few working streetlamps.
“Jay?”
Suresh stopped and turned to a man who stood in the shadow of a gray truck.
Light flashed, followed by a quietpop. Suresh crumpled.
Oh, shit. “Hey!” Scott yelled, breaking into a run.
The gunman followed suit, jumping onto a motorcycle parked face-out two spaces away. He fired up the crotch-rocket’s engine with its throaty growl and peeled out. The man glanced over his shoulder, giving Scott a glimpse of his face.
Hurley. One of the FBI agents who’d been following Valerie.
“What the fuck?” Dread filled Scott’s gut, heavy like wet cement. He jogged to the break between cars and stopped cold.
Jay Suresh lay sprawled on the macadam, blood shimmering on his face like black oil. His eyes were open and staring at the sky, sightless.
Either Hurley wasn’t FBI at all, or he was rotten.
Rubbing a hand down his face, Scott dialed 911. “A man was just shot in the parking lot of Good Old Days on Harbor Drive. When I approached, the shooter took off on a red motorcycle, probably a Honda, California license plate beginning with 11K92.”
“Sir, may I have your name?” the operator asked.
Scott gave her a brief description of Hurley and hung up. He wasn’t going to stick around for the police. Until he figured out what was going on with Hollowell and the FBI, he didn’t trust anyone. He wiped his disposable phone and dumped it in the trash can before returning tothe restaurant.
He needed to find Valerie before someone else did.
Noise and light hit him like a blast as the door shut behind him with a softthunk. He stopped and searched the tables and the bar for her.
“Hello.” The hostess gave him an inviting smile. “Back for more already?”
“Just looking for someone.” He walked past her, ignoring her disappointed frown, and headed for the corridor to the restrooms. It wouldn’t take long for the cops to arrive, and he wanted to be out of here—with Valerie—before that happened.
At the door to the ladies’ restroom, he paused to listen. No talking, no water running, no noise. Pushing open the swinging door, he peeked inside. His target sat on an upholstered bench in a small anteroom where women could check their makeup or change a baby diaper. She didn’t look up at first, just stared at the tile, kneading her long, thin fingers.
He stepped inside. “Valerie.”
Her head snapped up and her eyes widened as she pressed her back to the wall.
