R is for Ricochet (Kinsey Millhone 18)

We turned left onto Cabana Boulevard and proceeded at an easy pace for less than a minute before we slowed to a stop. I was guessing this was the light at the intersection of State and Cabana. The driver turned on the radio and music filled the car, a male vocalist singing, " I want your sex. …"

My new best friend said, "Turn that shit off."

The driver said, "I like George Michael." But the radio did go off.

"Roll your window down and see what Beck wants."

I could picture Beck's car in the lane next to ours, him making that rolling gesture, leaning across the front seat of his car to converse. Annoyed, our driver said, "Okay, okay. Got it. I'm doing that!" And to the fellow in the backseat, "He has the key card, so we're supposed to follow. How many times he tell us that?"

Faintly, in the distance, I heard sirens approaching. The wailing grew louder, the sound splitting in two. Two cop cars, oh please.

I tried turning my head, hoping for a glimpse of something out the window, but all that netted me was a searing jerk to my arm. The sirens were almost on top of us. I caught the strobe of lights from two patrol cars that passed in rapid succession. The sirens trailed down Cabana Boulevard, volume diminishing until it faded altogether. So much for help being on the way.

We turned right on what I was guessing was Castle. When we slowed to a second stop, I imagined the light at Montebello Street. We started up again, proceeding at maybe ten miles an hour. I caught the hollow sound of the road as it went under the freeway. We came up the incline on the other side, which would put us on Granizo. Left on Chapel. We had to be going to Beck's office, which was only a couple of blocks away. I knew the stores along the mall would be closed and the office buildings locked. The "card" the driver had referred to probably triggered the mechanical barrier to the underground garage. Sure enough, I felt us slow and then turn right, easing down a ramp. At this hour, the garage would be empty. We drove the length of the cavernous space and pulled into a spot. Beck must have parked just ahead of us because I heard his car door slam before our driver had a chance to shut his engine down.

I was hauled unceremoniously from the backseat and set on my feet. I'd hoped to catch Beck's eye, establish a connection, thinking I had a better chance of charming him than the goons on each side of me. He avoided my eyes, his face set. We waited while he opened his trunk and extracted the rolling bag. The sides were scraped gray, embedded with the beach sand accumulated from its being dragged across the pavement. The handle had snapped. Beck flipped the suitcase and knelt beside it. He unzipped the compartment and pulled open the flap.

Empty.

I stared as though trying to catch the mechanics of a magic trick. Reba had showed me the computer. It had been in there less than an hour ago, but where had it gone? The only time we'd been separated was when I'd left her in the alley while I went to fetch my car. She must have taken advantage of my absence to remove the computer and lock it in the trunk of her car. Which meant she'd anticipated Beck's betrayal and she'd beat him to the punch. By the same token, he must have known she was going to pull a fast one, or why snatch me?

Beck stood up and pushed the bag with his toe, his expression thoughtful. I was expecting fury, but he seemed bemused instead. Maybe he liked Reba's taking the conflict to such extremes, imagining his ultimate victory the sweeter for it. He turned and walked toward the elevators.

The three of us followed, our footsteps clattering like a herd of beasts in the vast empty space. The guy with the injured eye kept a steady pressure on the arm he'd wrenched up behind me. There was no way I could move without ripping my arm out like a cooked chicken wing. The elevator doors opened and the four of us trooped in. Beck pressed the button. The doors closed and the elevator began its ascent.

"Why here?" I asked.

"So Reba will know how to reach me. In case you haven't noticed, we're engaged in a little battle of wits."

"That'd be hard to miss."

Beck sent me a fleeting smile.

The doors opened at shop level. We emerged inside the Beckwith Building and trooped across the marble lobby to the public elevators that would take us to the fourth floor. I turned to look at Willard, who was sitting at his desk. He watched us pass without comment, his face the same handsome blank. I sent him what I hoped was a pleading look, but I got nothing in return. How could such a good-looking guy have so little life in his eyes? Couldn't he see what was going on? Beck was his boss. Maybe he was paid the big bucks to look the other way.

We went up to the fourth floor. The elevator doors opened to reveal offices filled with artificial light, the colors as dazzling as a Disney cartoon. Long sweeps of green carpeting, bright abstract paintings in a line down the hall. Healthy plants, modern furniture. I expected to be marched off to Beck's office, but he steered me around the corner to the freight elevator. He pressed the call button and the doors opened. He moved to the back wall of the elevator and pushed aside the gray quilted padding. He punched the code into the keyboard mounted on the elevator wall. The door to his counting room slid open. Beck pressed the Stop Run button and stepped aside, turning to look at me. He had his hands in his raincoat pockets.