Nine

46

Malibu, California

Thursday, May 22, 4:50 P.M.

Gabriel Taggert drank a cup of good, strong coffee while he watched the news at low volume. His sister slept in her room upstairs. Although the drive to Blue Jay and back had been tiring, she was exhausted, he thought, more by worry than anything. She worried about Spooky, this kid Kit was raising. She worried about Moriarty. She worried about Kit.

But Gabe also knew she worried most about her ne’er-do-well brother.

Guilt had come with his sobriety. He hated to think of all the concern he had caused her over the years. Being around her, seeing that concern on her face, had only heightened his shame.

He stood and walked over to a shelf that had a picture of Spooky on it. She was cute, Gabe thought, but he wondered why she dressed as a boy and cut her hair so short. And what was up with that name?

He was distracted from these thoughts when he realized that on the television, the newscasters were talking about the surrender of Wesley Macon Sloan.

Perhaps he should turn himself in, just as Kit had been urging him to do. If it could be managed, it would certainly defeat Everett.

Then he saw Sloan, standing one moment, looking up at the sky, the next minute collapsing as a series of shots rang out.

Over his own sickening fear came the sound of the reporter’s screams. The camera moved unsteadily, capturing oddly angled images of brick walls and pavement for a few seconds as the camera operator tried to move to safety. The reporter was saying, “Oh my God! Oh my God!” over and over.

Gabriel heard a rattling sound and looked down at the cup and saucer in his hands. Trembling, he had sloshed coffee over the rim of the cup. He set the cup and saucer on a nearby table and pressed his palms to his eyes. He felt as though he could not get air into his lungs. He turned off the television and went outside, by the pool.

As he calmed a little, he began to wonder if he should leave the house and find a new hiding place.

But what was the use of hiding? Everett would be sure to come directly after Meghan then. And what would become of Kit and the kid?

He thought about the files Kit had left for him. Law enforcement couldn’t help him, he decided. They were always one step behind Everett.

Someone in the FBI must have tipped off Everett about Sloan. The problem, he decided, was that Everett was forcing everyone to play his game, his way. He had been the same way in high school. Kit had been the one to change all that.

Gabe decided that if he surrendered, what happened to Sloan would undoubtedly happen to him. The detective Kit wanted to approach would have to let the FBI know Gabe was giving himself up, and Everett’s buddy in the FBI would immediately be telling Cameron where to set up for a clear shot at Gabe’s head.

He needed a way to draw Everett out into the open without endangering Meghan or Kit. He needed to be somewhere that would cause Everett to play the game Gabe’s way. He needed surprise on his side.

He looked down into the canyon and glimpsed a tall gray structure.

The bell tower at Sedgewick.

He began to make a plan. Did he have the courage, he wondered, to carry it out?

He wrote a long note to Meghan, just in case things didn’t work out as he hoped they would, and then crept into her room. He looked down at her as she slept and resisted a sudden, strong temptation to wake her and tell her how afraid he was.

He left the note propped up on the dresser and tiptoed out.

One of Moriarty’s staff stopped him once. The guard politely apologized, and said that Mr. Logan had asked him to keep Gabe safe, and that meant keeping him here. Gabe said he understood perfectly and went back inside. After a few minutes, he went into the wing of the house occupied by the guards and borrowed some clothing. A little big, but the camouflage fabric would be helpful.

He was still afraid but found it felt surprisingly good to be doing something, to be acting on his own behalf.

If Moriarty had not been gone, if the guard had not been reduced by men looking for the child, he might not have made it outside the grounds. Even then, anyone else might have had difficulty slipping past the guard that remained. But as a teenager Gabe had spent more time here than he did at home.

Twenty minutes after taking the clothing, he was on his way down the winding canyon, wondering, as he recalled many a morning when he had overslept during high school, if he would still be able to find the shortcut into the grounds of Sedgewick.