D.C. Dead (Stone Barrington 22)

“Yes, that’s it! And what was his name?”

“I don’t remember,” Holly said, “but it was a false name anyway.”

“I don’t understand.”

“And I can’t explain it to you, Josh, you know the drill. What name was Lauren Cade using?”

“Jessica Smith. You want her address?”

“Yes, please.”

Josh dictated it to her from memory. “It’s near the beach in La Jolla. I know the area.”

“Thank you very much, Josh. Now, you’ll have to excuse me, I’m late for a meeting.”

“Nice talking with you,” he said.

“Same here.”

Josh hung up and went back to work, relieved of the necessity of remembering the woman’s name, but now he had Holly’s voice in his head.

HOLLY LOOKED IN HER computer for Todd Bacon’s satphone number and rang it. The ringing was interrupted by a loud beep.

“It’s the office,” Holly said. “Stand by to write. We have a Lauren Cade sighting in San Diego. Here’s an address in La Jolla.” She recited what Josh had given her, then hung up.

Ten minutes later her phone rang. “Holly Barker.”

“It’s Bacon. How recent is this information?”

“Early this afternoon, local time. She turned up at a trauma center complaining of abdominal pain and was given an enema and discharged.”

“Thanks for that image,” Todd said.

“You’re welcome.”

“You have no way of knowing

if the address is good?” he asked.

“That’s why you’re out there, bub,” she said. “Get back to me when you know the answer to that question, and when you do, have a plan.” She hung up.

vDinne, have 13

TEDDY FAY WOKE SUDDENLY. SOMETHING—A NOISE, MAYBE—had startled him. He tried replaying whatever he had been dreaming and realized it was a gunshot that had wakened him, one that he had fired at some shadowy figure in his dream.

Teddy lay back in bed and slowed his breathing. Something was still wrong. His girlfriend, Lauren Cade, stirred beside him. “You awake?”

“Yes,” he said, “something woke me.”

“What—noise? Doorbell?”

“Something else. It’s happened before. I’ve learned not to ignore it.” Teddy had been a fugitive for years now, and he had remained free because he listened to this sixth sense. It was as if someone had unexpectedly tapped him on the shoulder and said clearly, “It’s time to go.”

Teddy got out of bed, took the Colt Government .380, which was a miniature of the .45 Model 1911, and slowly began to walk the perimeter of the little beach house in La Jolla, a San Diego suburb. He and Lauren had left Santa Fe after a CIA officer had tracked them down there. They had been safe and happy in La Jolla for more than a year, but they had to run.

He went, barefoot and silent, from room to room without turning on any lights. There was half a moon that night, and as he looked out every window in its turn, he could spot no one. He went back to the bedroom, where Lauren was sitting up in bed. “It’s time to go,” he said.

“Teddy, are you sure? Do you know something I don’t?”