“What happened?” Jacob asked when they paused in the middle of the path. “Why did they give up?”
“Public attention,” Simon said flatly. He put a hand in the small of Jacob’s back to get him moving again. A quick look at Nora took in the grim set of her mouth and the way she stumbled again. He tucked his arm around her waist, ignored her twitch of reaction at the contact, and held her hand up as they walked. “Right now that’s the last thing Shaw wants.”
“Hejusttried to kill us in a public park,” Jacob pointed out.
“No, he tried to kill Nora,” Simon corrected. “Killing her before she could talk to us was worth the risk, if they could do it quickly and cleanly. A public slaughter? Bit too much heat for his purposes. Not when he still has other options.”
They briskly cut across the grass. Jacob continued to try Simon’s phone and waited for a connection to click back on. As they got closer to the gates, there were more people to move through. Two women carried infants in their arms. Other children hung on to their skirts with grass-stained hands. Still more loitered near a bench, craning their necks.
“I think someone got shot,” one said and bent down to scoot a little boy out of Jacob’s way. “Probably gangs or something.”
She gave Nora a curious look and her eyes twitched with suspicion. Except Nora, in her designer—if slightly soggy—suit didn’t look right for the unfolding story. Jacob thought of a couple of lies that would have cemented that doubt. He didn’t see the point of telling them.
That was new. He must be sick.
A couple of kids with smartphones raised them and, with cameras streaming, headed into the park. One of them walked backward and talked into the camera as they went. Before they got too far, the park officials who’d finally turned up shooed them back to safety.
Jacob turned around and walked sideways. One of the park people had a walkie instead of a phone and talked intently into it as she gestured and wiped her face on her sleeve. There was a stain on her tan shirt that could have been blood or mud.
“The cops will be here soon,” he said. “It kinda goes against the grain, but should we wait for them?”
Simon glanced around to clock the same woman that Jacob had. He thought about it for a second and then shook his head.
“I’d rather be in control of that particular conversation,” he said. “Nora’s in no condition to make a statement right now, and if we get separated…. Shaw’s a professional. It wouldn’t be too hard for him to get to someone in a hospital. Or a jail. You’re still a person of interest, remember?”
Jacob shoved his hand through his hair. His fingers caught in the sweated-in mats, and he flashed a smirk over at Simon. It might have been a bit shaky around the edges, but he thought it was a pretty good effort under the circumstances.
“Yeah. Well, I’m used to that,” he said. “People are always interested in me.”
“That’s because you lie,” Simon pointed out. They squeezed through the log jam at the gates and stepped out onto the pavement. “How much of what you told me about yourself was even true?”
Jacob hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said. “A… reasonable percentage? Over half at least.”
Simon snorted. “Keep walking.”
THE PARKINGgarage was dimly lit and full of the heavy smell of old oil and exhaust fumes. It was hot too, and the air was sticky under the low concrete canopies. Jacob fidgeted nervously in place as Simon propped Nora against the hood of a silver Porsche.
The elevator wasn’t working—yellow tape and an apology had been strung over the doors. A one-ramp walk wiped Nora out. Simon too. He’d keep on until his leg fell off, but he’d gone tight over the temples, and his limp had gotten worse.
Nora braced her hands against the sleek slope of metal and tried to push herself up. Her hand left bloody prints on the paintwork, and they smeared like gory finger paints when she slipped.
“That’s going to give somebody nightmares,” Jacob muttered. He wiped his hands on his thighs, scrubbed the sweat off his palms into the denim, and held one out. “Give me the keys. I’ll get the car.”
Simon looked at him. “You can’t drive.”
“I lied.” Jacob shrugged. He wriggled his fingers. “I can drive. Give me the keys.”
Disappointment settled in the lines of Simon’s face. He snorted, twisted his mouth, and said, “Of course you did.” He pulled the fob—no keys required, of course—out of his pocket and tossed them to Jacob. “Black Lexus. Syntech plates. Fourth level.”
Jacob caught it. The plastic felt like a lump of ice in his hand. He could drive. It didn’t mean he wanted to. The last time he’d been behind the wheel of a car, he’d been sixteen and taking his test under the influence of half of one of his sister’s Valium. Still, he closed his fingers around the fob. It wasn’t as though the basic process of moving the car would have to change. He didn’t even have to take it on the road, just roll it down a couple flights.
There was no reason to sweat like a pig at a barbecue.
“Won’t be long,” he said.
He jogged up the ramp. The soles of his sneakers scraped on the rough concrete, and he grabbed the wall to swing around the corner at the top. Next floor the lights fluttered on as the motion sensor caught his movement and bathed the dim structure in weak yellow light. There were around twenty cars scattered through the space, most of them suburban-nice and a few dusty and battered.
He walked halfway down the lane and then hit the fob. Headlights flashed a few spaces down, and the car clicked as the locks disengaged. The Lexus was parked between two Jeeps, both close enough that it was going to be tight to get into the door.
