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Chapter 22

Five hours and fifty-seven minutes later, the doorbell rang.

The family lay nestled on the master bed, slats of morning light linking their bodies. Mike and Annabel hadn’t fallen asleep until some time around 5:00 A.M., when the adrenaline had finally ebbed, leaving behind mounting dread and stripped-bare exhaustion. He’d drowsed off fully clothed, revolver in one hand, fistful of bullets in the other.

Mike’s eyes fluttered, and he lifted his head, which seemed to have taken on weight during the night. The alarm clock read 7:47 A.M. – late for school and work, not that any of that mattered today. Revolver at his side, he trudged down the hall. Since there was no peephole, he opened the front door the length of the looped security chain and drew back his head, surprised.

Reno was more than five hundred miles away – what should have been an eight-hour drive. After Mike called, Shep must’ve put the phone down, walked straight out to his car, and pushed the needle to ninety the whole way.

For the first time in recent memory, Mike felt relief. He set the.357 beside the empty vase on the accent table, unfastened the security catch, and pulled the door wide. Shep blocked out the rising sun. Behind him a ’67 Shelby Mustang sat steaming in the driveway like a horse in lather, the air above the hood wavering from the heat. Midnight blue, two white racing stripes laid lengthwise across the top and right down the hood.

Shep shifted, and the sun came across his right shoulder, striking the side of his face. He had a new scar, a twist of hard tissue beneath his ear – shattered bottle, maybe, though Mike knew that it was something they’d never talk about. Shep still kept his hair short, a little longer than a buzz, the right length to avoid foster-home head lice. He wore a V-necked undershirt, the St. Jerome pendant, rubbed faceless like an old coin, swaying on its thin silver chain. The muscles ridging the top of Shep’s chest were as distinct as those that used to frame the bottom of Mike’s a decade ago. Though Mike was still in good shape for his age, the contrast made it clear: He had softened.

That slight overlap of Shep’s front teeth – the familiarity – was comforting. It felt like home. But there were differences, too, beyond the purpled seam of scar tissue. The muscle of Shep’s neck had hardened, grown sinewy with age, and his features looked more pronounced; they had a lean, hungry intensity that was almost wolfish. Regarding him across the threshold, Mike was all too aware of the missed years.

Shep said, ‘Well?’

Mike said, ‘You got any stuff?’ ‘Nope.’

Kat’s footsteps pattered on the tile behind Mike. Shep brushed past him and crouched, bringing his head level with hers. ‘The eyes,’ he said.

‘You’re big,’ Kat said. And then, to Mike, ‘He’s big.’

‘Kat, this is Shep.’

Her hand looked tiny shaking his. Annabel came around the corner, smoothing her shirt. Her posture firmed when she saw Shep.

‘Thanks for coming,’ she said. ‘The way Mike and I have been going, I need someone new to fight with.’

Shep looked at her blankly.

‘That was a joke,’ she said. ‘Except for the thanks part.’

They moved into the kitchen. With a yawn Annabel tugged the omelet pan from the rack. She looked at it wearily, set it aside on the counter, then poured coffee for the adults and cereal for Kat. ‘Eat fast, monkey. We gotta get you to school.’

‘I don’t know that I want her going today,’ Mike said.

‘You think those guys are coming after me?’ Kat’s cheeks looked hollowed out, dark fingerprints beneath her eyes. They’d filled her in on what had happened, keeping the details as vague as they could get away with. She needed to know that dangerous men were focused on them; she didn’t need to know that they’d crawled into her bedroom while she was sleeping.

‘No, honey,’ Mike said. ‘They want to mess with me. But you can’t be too safe.’

Annabel said, ‘The teachers are on alert, the playgrounds are fenced, they have three supervisors out there at all times, and frankly, it seems they’re finding it easier to break into our h-’ She caught herself and shot Kat a quick look, but Kat was busy staring at Shep. It occurred to Mike, with some regret, that Kat had never met anyone like him. ‘Plus,’ Annabel continued, ‘even sitters and relatives on the pickup list have to sign out the kids with ID. She’s probably safer at school than she is here.’

‘So it’s not safe here?’ Kat asked.

Shep sipped his coffee and stared straight ahead, playing up his deafness. He could retreat like that when strategic or convenient. Mike would bring him up to speed when the time was right, and until then all this was none of his concern.

‘You are safe,’ Mike said. ‘We will keep you safe. Your mom’s right. School’s safe, too.’

Annabel took Kat by the shoulders, steering her toward the hall. On her way out, Annabel caught sight of her textbook – Experience & Education – on the phone table and groaned. ‘I was supposed to write up a mock lesson plan for today. Dr Skolnick’s gonna be annoyed with me.’

‘We’ll get things back on track,’ Mike said.

Annabel eyed Shep, still gazing blankly forward, taking his coffee one deliberate sip at a time. ‘Promise?’ she said.

The telephone rang, and Mike crossed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and picked up.

A woman’s voice said, ‘Michael Wingate?’

‘Yes.’

‘My name is Dana Riverton,’ she said. ‘I knew your parents.’

Riverton hadn’t given any more information or revealed why she wanted to meet. She’d said only that she’d rather handle their business in person. Mike had picked a café nearby, and they’d agreed to meet at noon. Shep would watch from the shadows and follow the woman home to get an address.

Mike had asked Sheila to clear his schedule for the day, a directive that was met with passive-aggressive cheer. He’d called Hank, eager to find out who the hell had put the alert out on him and which law-enforcement agencies didn’t have him flagged. Hank was still grinding away, hitting walls everywhere he looked, the whole thing feeling more ominous by the hour. Waiting on several return calls, he swore up and down he’d phone back the minute something broke. Before hanging up, Mike had told him to also see what he could find out about a Dana Riverton.

The few hours since then, Mike had spent filling in Shep, who’d listened intently, interrupting here and there to ask highly specific questions that Mike couldn’t always answer – ‘These guys have any jailhouse ink?’ ‘Did Dodge square up on you like a boxer or a streetfighter?’ ‘Who’s the senior detective, Markovic or Elzey?’ Then he and Shep had walked the property, spending extra time at Kat’s window – ‘You need a sturdy check rail with the sash lock or you can slide in a flexible form hook and pop the latch. See the scratch marks here? They ain’t from a chicken.’

Now they sat in the family room, Shep ready at last to weigh in on the big picture. ‘Your locks suck,’ he said. ‘That Schlage in the laundry room, you could get through with a wet noodle. We’ll change the ones that need changing after we handle this Riverton broad. The side gates need padlocks. I have a friend who trains attack rottweilers in Fort Lauderdale, I can have one out in two days.’

‘An attack rottweiler? What about Kat?’

‘I’m thinking of Kat.That’s why we need an attack rottweiler. You can keep him out back.’

‘How will we-’

‘I’ll handle him.’ Shep pulled two sleek black cell phones from his pocket and set one on the coffee table in front of Mike. ‘These are only for us. Don’t use it for anything else. Let me repeat that: Don’t use it for anything else. Each is programmed with the other’s number.’

‘Can I give Annabel your number? In case…?’

‘Her and no one else. Keep this phone with you at all times. Text me if possible. I don’t like talking.’

Mike knew that the issue for Shep wasn’t talking but hearing. On the facing sofa, Mike leaned back, picked at his shoe. It was ten forty-five, his apprehension growing the closer he got to that meeting with Dana Riverton. First Dodge and William, then all of a sudden she shows up? Pretty big coincidence. Her claim that she’d known his parents had to be a manipulation; he despised himself for wondering – hoping – that maybe it was something else.

Refocusing, he plucked the Batphone from the coffee table and slid it into a pocket. Shep leaned forward, the pendant dangling, and laced his rough hands together.

The first lull since he’d arrived.

Another awkward minute crept by, and Mike asked, ‘What have you been doing?’

Shep shrugged. ‘Cracking jobs mostly, still. A lot of cash floating around Reno, ’cuz, you know, the gambling. I did a bank once, but no guns. Went through a back wall at night, covered the sound with a fake street crew jackhammering the curb out front.’ He shook his head. ‘But that was a onetime thing.’

‘I bet you’re something to watch now,’ Mike said. ‘Going at a safe.’

‘You wouldn’t believe your eyes.’ Shep leaned back, stretched his arms across the top of the couch.

Mike thought of the others. Charlie Dubronski, serving a life sentence for armed robbery. Tony Moreno, overdosed on black tar in a truck-stop bathroom. All those wrong turns, all those dead ends. And here was Mike Wingate of the Ford F-450 and the land-development deal, with his pure-of-heart wife and bright daughter. He’d been lucky as hell. Until now.

Mike said, ‘What next?’

‘Go get me your cell phone. Your real one, I mean.’

When Mike retrieved his phone, Shep clicked around, then held up the screen. The highlighted entry read A’S CELL. ‘This the one they have?’

‘Yeah, that’s hers.’

Shep hit speaker and dialed. Straight to voice mail. ‘Hi, it’s Annabel. I’m probably digging around for my phone in that tiny-’

Shep hung up. Heat crept into Mike’s face. The notion that they had even her recorded voice in their possession made him angry. He pictured her cell phone in William’s sweaty hand, in Dodge’s oversize pocket, riding on the dash of that dingy white van.

‘Tell her not to report her phone missing,’ Shep said. ‘We want to keep it active.’

‘Why?’ Mike asked.

He was punching buttons, so Mike crossed and looked over his shoulder. He’d typed a text message: WHAT DO U WANT?

He looked at Mike. Mike nodded. Shep clicked ‘send’, pulled out a pad, and jotted down the time. He set the cell on the glass surface of the table.

‘They’re only turning on her phone at intervals,’ he said. ‘Harder to track.’

‘Impossible?’ Mike asked.

‘Harder.’

They sat. Shep, never one for small talk on a job, stared straight ahead. Mike did his best not to fiddle with his hands. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. Pretty soon they’d have to start thinking about heading out to that café. Mike checked his watch, cleared his throat, about to suggest they get moving.

The clatter of the cell phone against the glass made his breath catch in his chest. It was loud enough for him to feel in his teeth, but Shep barely blinked.

Mike leaned over and picked it up, his hands shaking slightly as he read the new text.

U REALLY GOT NO IDEA, DO U?

A chill did a slow crawl up Mike’s back. He started to say something, but Shep ticked his finger once to silence him. Shep checked his watch, jotted down the time, then pointed at the phone.

Mike keyed in, NO.

He set the phone back on the table and leaned back. Both men stared at it for what seemed a very long time, Mike bracing for the ring this time. The anticipation only made him start worse when it finally did sound.

He pried open the cell. His hands were trembling even more, but he no longer cared what Shep might think. The message stilled them instantly – it seemed his whole body, his heart, was frozen in a moment of suspended alarm.

JUST WAIT.