Unlucky 13

Chapter 75

Cindy backtracked on Arguello, still looking for Morales, knowing that for tonight at least, there was no fucking way.

She slowed as she neared Infantry Terrace. She turned into the entrance between tall stone gates, backed around so that she was facing traffic, and braked her car.

Her hands were shaking, but don’t tell that to her boss.

Shit. She hadn’t eaten anything in eleven hours.

Cindy shut off the engine and the headlights. She felt around on the floor, picked up her handbag and located her phone under the seat. She checked her missed calls and was relieved that her last call hadn’t been from Morales.

Seriously, she wanted to talk to that bitch, but she wanted to talk to her from a position of strength. And she wasn’t there yet.

Her last caller had been Lindsay, returning her calls.

“Sorry, Cindy. I couldn’t call until now. Call me back.”

Cindy stabbed redial and listened to the ringtone.

Lindsay’s voice came through her earpiece and Cindy said, “Linds—” before realizing that once again she’d gotten Lindsay’s voice mail.

She pounded the wheel with her palm, and at the beep, she said, “Linds. This is urgent. Mackie is in town. She coasted past your apartment about an hour ago. She could be looking for you. Understand. She could be looking—”

The beep cut her off.

She pressed redial, and after Lindsay’s tiresome outgoing message finished, Cindy said, “Linds. She wrote to me, so believe me, I’m not hallucinating. I ID’d her. I followed her and then I lost her somewhere in the Presidio. She’s driving a stolen green Subaru Outback, so watch—”

She had about one bar left of battery life on her phone and figured she’d better save it. In case Mackie was waiting in front of her apartment house for her. She opened her purse and took out her gun. She considered it. It was one thing to shoot at targets, but could she actually shoot a person?

She put it back in her bag, picked up her phone again, and hit speed dial number 5.

The phone rang three times and then Claire’s voice came through: “You’ve reached Dr. Claire Washburn. My office hours are from eight a.m.—”

Cindy clicked off, dropped her phone into her bag, and started up her car. Totally disgusted, she headed toward her dark and empty home.