As they walked toward the Tahoe, June’s phone rang. She stepped away to answer. When she returned, she said, “That was Carlotta. We’re having dinner at their place tonight.”
Peter felt something ease inside him. He’d get to see Ellie. He’d see the Martinez girls.
When the world seemed ugly and cruel, a houseful of kids was often the best antidote.
—
Because of rush-hour traffic, it had been dark for an hour by the time they arrived at the pocket neighborhood north of Ballard. With their small lots on winding, tree-lined streets, the houses tended to be modest, single-story homes with one-car garages. Most had at least one vehicle parked along the road.
Manny and Carlotta lived in a sixties ranch at the top of a hill. Their back yard opened onto a heavily wooded drainage called Carkeek Park. The summer Carlotta was pregnant with the twins, Peter had spent a month working with Manny and the guys to get an addition framed and finished in the rear of the property. June had been there with Carlotta’s sister when the babies were born.
Peter found the turn, then crept down the street, trying to find thehouse in the dark. When he spotted the Semper Fi pickup and turned into the driveway, the Tahoe’s headlights swept across the windows. Before he managed to put the vehicle in park, the front door opened and Manny’s square, solid form peered out into the night, a pistol in his hand.
Peter smiled. A true Marine Corps welcome.
—
Three houses down on the other side, between a short-bed pickup and a Korean subcompact, a sleek blue car was tucked under the low branches of a sprawling cedar.
Hollis Longro sat in darkness, watching. It had been easy enough to find the address where the truck was registered. His time with the Movement had given him valuable contacts.
It was a shame the Hardcore Originals wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow.
They could have rolled up the tall man and his friends all in one go.
But Hollis wasn’t concerned. There would be other opportunities.
Now that he knew where the tall man had stashed the girl.
27
Dinner with the Martinez family was chaotic but wonderful. Peter was glad to see that Ellie seemed to be doing all right, spending most of her time interacting with the two-year-old twins. Luna, eight years old in a bright pink fleece and pigtails, peppered the guests with questions. Marta, eleven, sat with her legs curled up beneath her, reading a Garth Nix book at the table, although every once in a while she’d pipe up with a sharp observation that showed she’d been paying close attention to the grown-up talk.
It was after eight by the time the dishes were done. As they were saying their goodbyes, Ellie pulled Peter aside for a fierce hug. “You were right,” she whispered, face pressed into his chest. “They’re good people.”
“What, better than me?” he asked softly.
She pushed him away with an epic eye roll. “Omigod, meatball.Totallybetter. Like, not a contest.”
“How are you doing without your phone?”
She shrugged. “It’s fine.”
It was nearly nine by the time they reached Stella’s little house and dropped June at the back door with the old paper maps from Reed’s apartment, the foil-wrapped phones, the cassette tape, and the player. She wanted to get back on her computer, crack the burner, and start digging into this Messenger thing. She would also reach out to the three guys who had reacted strangely to KT’s questions.
After she locked the door behind her, Peter left with Lewis to see a man about some guns.
—
They took I-5 south to the 405, traffic light and fast at that hour. Peter pushed the Tahoe hard through the rain.
They hit Highway 169 and turned southeast, away from the city lights. Peter said, “This thing with Ellie and KT is turning into a real mess. You know you can sit this one out, if you want.”
Lewis had been shot four times the winter before. The recovery had been long and difficult.
“Naw,” he said. “I’m good, brother.” Putting some street into it.
“I’m serious,” Peter said. “I know it messed with you, getting hurt like that. It would mess with anyone.”
