Lizzie wasn’t risking him getting away again. She sprang into the lanes of idling cars, dodging around a red compact like an NBA player. The SUV was not going anywhere. She rushed to the passenger door and pounded on the window with an open hand.
The driver flinched, then turned and looked at her through the window. After a couple of seconds, a smile slowly spread across his face. He unlocked the passenger door.
Lizzie jumped into the car. She wanted to reach across and hug him. Instead, she kept her cool and simply said, “Is your offer still open?”
“It is.” The man stuck out his hand. “My name is Kyle. Welcome aboard.”
Lizzie took his hand and shook it. She felt so relieved. She couldn’t believe all of her hard work had finally paid off.
Kyle said, “Do you want to collect your stuff?”
“I’ve got everything I need with me.”
“You’ve had a tough time?”
“You have no idea.” Lizzie wasn’t going to go into the defibrillator story. He probably wouldn’t believe her anyway.
Kyle said, “Let’s get something to eat, make a couple of phone calls, then get you to my place in Pacific Heights.”
CHAPTER99
I TRIED TOget comfortable on the unforgiving metal floor of the white Ford van. It could pass as a simple delivery van. Rich Conklin was driving. He wore a brown shirt with aWWDSlogo, for Worldwide Delivery Service. From a distance, it looked just like a UPS uniform. He even wore a pair of brown, double-knit matching slacks from the clearance rack at Marshalls. He looked the part.
I felt a bump.
Conklin said in a calm voice, “We’re pulling in the driveway now. No cars around. No one near the front door.” He was saying it to me as well as broadcasting it to the other cops who were supporting us on the search warrant. He turned in the seat to speak only to me. “Pretty good idea, huh? I’ll knock on the door and should be able to tell who’s inside. I’ll give the signal and we’ll secure this place.”
“Part of me thinks you made this plan because you thought it’d be funny to see me hide on a hard metal floor.”
“That was only about 20 percent of my reasoning. The other 60 percent was for tactical advantage.”
“What about the final 20 percent?”
“What do you mean? What other 20 percent?”
I was about to point out his poor math skills when he grabbed a box wrapped in brown paper from the front passenger seat. As he slipped out of the van, he said, “Okay, I see what I left out. The other 20 percent of the plan was to try a new job to see how I liked it. So far I’m not crazy about my coworkers.”
Conklin turned on his wire so we could all hear him and his interaction with whoever came to the front door. I listened on a handheld radio. I heard his knock in real life and over the radio.
The door opened and I heard Conklin say, “I have a delivery for Kyle Anderson.”
I heard a young woman’s voice say, “He’s not here. He only comes by a few times a week.”
“Will you sign for it if I leave the package here?”
“I’m not sure I can.”
The young woman sounded like a teenager.
Conklin said, “Is there someone else in the house who can sign?”
“There’s only three of us here right now. I can text Kyle. The problem is, he doesn’t always respond.”
In a slightly louder voice, Conklin said, “Okay, I’ll leave the package here without a signature.”
That was the signal for us to enter the house. I opened the van door just as a blue Toyota Tacoma pulled into the driveway. Jackson Brady and three other SFPD officers stepped out of the car. An SUV with more officers as well as a few experts from the Crime Scene Unit pulled in behind everyone.
We all approached the door at the same time. Even though we were wearing ballistic vests withSFPDwritten in bold letters,Brady held up his badge. “Police. We have a warrant to search the house.” His voice was calm and reasonable.
