Lyra was embarrassed to admit she was getting used to the toxic odor of all the illegally dumped garbage. When they reached the top of the hill and looked on the other side, she pointed to the garden below. “Isn’t it fascinating?”
Sam didn’t want to stand around discussing it. “Hurry up,” he said, “so we can get out of here.”
Then he gagged again, and she laughed. “Still hungry?”
“Lyra, get it done.”
He was turning green. “All right.”
The camera was right where she had placed it, and it took only a minute to switch out the memory card.
There weren’t any mishaps getting back down the hill.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Sam said.
He dug the keys out of his pocket, popped the trunk, and both of them leaned against the car to change their shoes. Lyra opened her backpack and took out a small metal file box, carefully slipped the newest memory card in its folder, and placed it in front of all the others.
She was zipping the backpack shut when Sam drew her attention. Staring intently at the one road that led in and out of the park, he tilted his head, listening. Suddenly he said. “Lyra, get in the car. Someone’s coming.”
Though she didn’t hear anything, she didn’t question him. She slammed the trunk shut and ran to get in the car. She had barely snapped her seat belt in place when Sam backed their car out.
A dark gray car coming into the park careened around the corner, picked up speed on the straight road, and headed directly at them.
“Hold tight,” Sam ordered.
“Maybe they’re here to …” she began, thinking they might have trash in their trunk to throw away.
A shot rang out from the passenger’s side of the gray car.
“… shoot us,” she finished.
The car nearly sideswiped theirs as it sped past in the opposite direction.
Sam was already on the phone to the FBI telling the location of the park and giving a description of the car shooting at them.
Lyra twisted in her seat to look out the back window. She knew there were at least two men in the car, the driver and the passenger who shot at them, but were there more? Tinted windows prevented her from seeing.
She waited for Sam to finish talking to the agent and said, “Sam, swing around so I can get the license plate number.”
“I’m getting you out of here.”
“You can’t pass up this opportunity. There’s only one way in and out, and if you could trap them …”
“No. I’m not risking your life.”
“At the very least, shoot their tires out. Or let me.”
“Are you out of your frickin’ mind?”
“Here they come.”
Almost out of sight as it reached the curve in the road, the gray car suddenly spun around, fishtailing as it sped toward them.
“You do remember you’re driving a tank,” Lyra said.
Sam tossed her the phone. “Okay. One pass, but that’s all. I’ll try to keep them in the park as long as possible.”
The men in the gray car fired repeatedly, but the bullets missed their target.
In another life, Sam could have been a race car driver. One second they were racing into the wind, and the next they were spinning to get behind the gray car. Lyra was ready with her cell phone and snapped a picture of the plate.
At the sound of sirens, the attackers slammed their car into reverse, all but stripping the gears as they lurched around Sam, disappearing up the hill.
He didn’t follow. He could see lights flashing on two cars coming into the park. Pulling over, he waited for the squad cars to pass, then drove toward the entrance.
“Don’t you want to wait and see—” Lyra began.
Sam didn’t let her finish. “I’m getting you out of here, and that, sweetheart, is the last time I’m going to tell you.”
TWENTY-TWO
MILO WAS HAVING YET ANOTHER WORST DAY OF HIS LIFE.
His problems started in the morning when he decided to go to the university and prowl around. He hadn’t seen Lyra in a couple of days, and he thought he might spot her on campus. In order to blend in and not draw attention to himself, he trimmed the bangs on his pageboy wig and slathered half a tube of tanning lotion on his face and arms to even out his skin tone. The color was a nice bronze. He thought it looked pretty good on his face, and it didn’t sting his raw skin much at all. He probably did go a little overboard whitening his teeth. Nevertheless, he gave it a try because he reasoned that the college students, being young, would have white teeth … and he wanted to blend in.
When he left his house, he was convinced he looked ten years younger.
Later he realized he should have read the instructions on the tanning bottle because his face and arms were getting darker, and the orange tinge was getting more noticeable. Within an hour, he had turned from a cool bronze to a freakish tangerine.
Milo wandered around campus oblivious to the stares he was getting. He went inside one building and saw students filing into an auditorium but didn’t go inside for fear someone would ask him what he was doing there. He didn’t have any identification, but if anyone asked, he was prepared with a good lie, that he was looking for his cousin.
Once outside again, he found a bench and waited, hoping Lyra would walk by. Hundreds of coeds passed in front of him, but no Lyra. The bench was uncomfortable, so he decided to try more of the buildings. He meandered up and down hallways, peeking in open doors, but still no sign of her. He was getting bored and had decided it was time to give up for the day when his attention was caught by a bulletin board outside one of the classrooms. His heart leapt when he saw her name. It said “Lyra Prescott, Parks.” And next to that, in parentheses, it said “Paraiso Park.” What did that mean?
A weird-looking student with thick glasses walked up to the board. He didn’t even glance in Milo’s direction as he studied another notice.
Milo tapped the board and asked, “What’s this list for?”
The student’s eyes widened when he turned his head toward Milo. “What?”
“What’s this list for?”
It took the student a while to peel his eyes away from Milo’s face. “Those are projects. That one,” he said, pointing to a name, “is writing about malls. The script—” He turned, but no one was there.
Milo was hurrying down the hallway. Paraiso Park. That’s where Lyra would be. She was probably walking around the park and writing down her thoughts for her school paper. Bet she goes there often, he thought.
He wondered what kind of paper she was writing. The project sounded boring. What could anyone write about a park? Now, a mall, that would be easy. She could write about all the shops and the food court. Just listing all the different kinds of food could take up two full pages. But what could be interesting about a park?
Hold on. Maybe it was the kind of park with Ferris wheels, and a merry-go-round, and a train. That’d be okay. Milo liked trains. If that’s where she was spending her time, then things were looking up.
He needed another rental car. He didn’t go to any of the major companies, but instead chose a fly-by-night outfit. He used a different fake ID and credit card but thought maybe the clerk suspected something because of the way he kept staring at him.
“I’m over twenty-five,” Milo said, knowing that most car rentals had a minimum age requirement. Maybe the man was hesitant to assist him because he looked so much younger.
The clerk nodded and finally started typing on his computer. “We’ve only got a couple of cars left, and they’re older models,” he said. “There’s a convention in town.”
MILO DROVE OUT OF the lot in a scratched-up, faded, blue piece of junk. The engine sputtered when he first started it, but then it warmed up and chugged along. Since it didn’t have a GPS, he stopped at a gas station for a city map. He finally located the obscure park and asked a couple of people at the station for directions.
Milo was shocked as h
e neared his destination. The park was in a bad part of town. Real estate agents might lure their clients to this neighborhood with the pitch that it was more of a transitional area, but they wouldn’t mention it was transitioning into a ghetto. Every corner had a deserted building with gang signs painted on the walls, and the few stores that were still in business had bars on their doors and windows. Milo was glad he hadn’t gotten a better rental car because it would probably be stripped while he was inside the park, and then how would he get home? Fortunately, no one would want to take anything from the beat-up jalopy he was driving.
Milo finally located the park entrance and drove down a long straight road for about half a mile. The road curved and curved again before it reached a huge hill. Much to his disappointment, there weren’t any Ferris wheels or trains. He drove all the way around the hill. He could smell a foul odor, but with the car windows up and the air-conditioning on, he thought it was coming from the engine.
There was no sign of Lyra, or any other human being for that matter, but Milo decided it could be worth his while to wait. She might show up. He turned around and headed back toward the park entrance, looking for a good place to hide his car. He thought about using branches as camouflage, but that would take too much time and effort. The abandoned park shelters didn’t offer enough cover. There was a pile of rubbish big enough for the car to hide behind, but he was afraid some of the sharp objects lying around the heap would cause a flat tire. He finally decided to leave his car behind a burned-out building across the street from the park entrance.
Once the car was hidden, he went back to the park to find a hiding place for himself. He wanted a good vantage point from which to watch her, and if he was close enough and she was alone, he might even try to engage her in conversation. This time he’d be prepared. He’d felt a strong connection between them when she’d smiled at him at the yard sale, and he was certain she’d felt it, too.
IT WAS A WARM MORNING, and with each step the odor grew stronger. Milo had almost reached the base of the hill, and was standing on the road mopping his brow, when he heard a car coming. Where to hide? Where to hide? He couldn’t hide on the hill unless he could get quickly to the top. He whirled in a circle. The car would soon reach the first curve and he’d be exposed. There were dead bushes to his left, and in a panic, he dove into the dried shrubbery.
The stench was horrible. His face was buried in something foul. He used his shirtsleeve to wipe it off, then pulled his shirt over his face, all the way to his brow.
Was that Lyra driving into the park? He could endure just about anything as long as he got to look at her again. The car stopped, and he heard doors opening and closing. Milo lay in a gully wrapped in garbage and covered with dead shrubs and branches. He thought he heard a man’s voice, but he couldn’t be sure, and he couldn’t take the chance of raising his head, fearing he’d get caught.
He suddenly remembered the gun he’d stowed in the glove compartment. How could he protect his love without a gun? He hadn’t been thinking. Stupid, he told himself. Stupid.
There wasn’t a sound for several minutes, then he heard a man’s voice in the distance, coming closer to the car. Someone was with him. Milo thought he heard a woman’s voice. They stood for a couple of minutes talking before they got back in the car. Milo couldn’t stand not knowing if Lyra was in the car with some man. He darted a quick look. The passenger side faced him, and there she was, staring out the windshield. His heart sang. If Lyra turned just a little, she would look straight at him.
Screeching tires signaled another car roaring in their direction. Milo started to rise up to take a look, but then heard gunshots and flattened out in the garbage again. Someone was shooting at Lyra’s car. Charlie! It had to be Charlie and his sidekick, Stack. Those stupid thugs. No class at all, those two. How did they find out about Lyra’s Paraiso Park project? Probably the same way he had, Milo thought.
The gunfire got louder and closer. A bullet smacked into a rotten banana peel close by, and he ducked. He’d kill them if they hurt her. He heard gunshots, screeching tires, and roaring engines. It all finally stopped after the sirens blared past him.
Milo raised his head. Seeing no one, he darted from the garbage heap and raced down the road to his car. As he drove away from the abandoned building, he held tight to the steering wheel to keep his hands from shaking. Lyra had barely escaped being shot by her attackers, and he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. He had put his love in terrible danger. This was all his fault. He never should have told Mr. Merriam about her.
Tears flooded his eyes. Letting her go was the only way Milo could save her.
TWENTY-THREE
THE GOOD NEWS WAS THAT THE TWO MEN TRYING TO KILL Sam and Lyra were now in handcuffs. The bad news was that they weren’t the two men who had broken into her apartment.
Sam drove her to the police station where the men were being processed. She stood in a tiny room behind a one-way mirror and waited while Sam stepped out into the hall to talk to two other agents. Ed, the man who had delivered the car, saw her and came in.
“I looked at the car, and not a single bullet touched it. The perps were either lousy shots or Agent Kincaid was too fast for them.” Shaking his head, he repeated, “Not a single bullet.”
Sam walked up behind Lyra and put his hands on her shoulders. “They’re bringing them up. Ready?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Have they said anything?”
“Yes. They want lawyers.”
Two men were led into the interrogation room. They hadn’t even taken their seats when Lyra said, “They aren’t the same men who were in my apartment.”
“You’re sure?” Sam asked. “You told me they were wearing masks.”
She looked through the glass again. “They were,” she said, “but these men are much shorter and stockier. The man I hit with the pepper spray had coal black eyes, and he was over six feet. He was almost as tall as you are,” she added. “The other one was tall, too, but thin. Those two,” she nodded at the men sitting at the table facing her, “they’re much shorter, and the color of their eyes … they’re not the same men.”
“Max is on his way here with Sidney. She was with them long enough to recognize their voices.”
“Who are they? Did they have identification?”
“Wouldn’t matter. They’re both in the system. They’re members of the Flynn gang.”
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“They’re enforcers for a local crime boss, Michael Flynn.”
“What would they want with me? What did I do to cause all this?” She folded her arms and took a step toward the window. “I’d like to go in there and ask them.”
“They want nothing from you. You’re just a job.”
She stepped back and looked at him. “A job?”
“They’re hired guns, Lyra.”
“Then thank God they’re locked up.”
He nodded. He didn’t tell her that whoever had sent these goons would only send more. He glanced at the clock and said, “Lyra, it’s almost five, and I’m starving. Let’s go.”
Lyra wanted to wait until Sidney arrived, but her stomach was grumbling, too. Neither she nor Sam had had anything to eat since breakfast. They’d been too busy getting rid of explosives, dodging bullets, and giving statements at the police station to think about food.
A woman opened the door and stuck her head in. “Agent Kincaid? There’s a call for you.”
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“I’m preparing dinner,” Lyra told him.
“You can cook?”
“Not really, but I’m going to prepare dinner.”
Lyra waited until he’d left, then pulled out her phone and called Noel’s restaurant.
“Hi, Tim, it’s Lyra. I’d like carryout, please.”
“Same credit card, love?” the voice on the other end said.
“Yes,” she answered and ordered a couple of Noel’s specialties. “I’ll be there in
thirty to pick it up.”
Sam returned. “Ready?” he said.
“I think I could be a good policewoman, except for one thing. I might get in trouble shooting too many suspects … but only the ones I knew were guilty.”
He opened the door for her. “I wouldn’t put that down on an application.”
Sam once again checked they weren’t being followed before heading back to the duplex.
“We have to make a quick detour.”
She gave him directions. “There it is, on the corner. Pull into the side lot, please.”
She made a call and said, “We’re here.”
They didn’t have to wait long. A heavyset man wearing a chef’s jacket carried out two large shopping bags.
“Pop the trunk … ooh, no, don’t,” Lyra said. “Our smelly boots are in there. Backseat will have to do.”
She got out of the car and opened the back door. Tim placed the bags inside, shut the door, and kissed Lyra on both cheeks before hurrying back inside.
“French, huh?” Sam asked.
“No.”
“Then why’d he kiss you on both cheeks?”
She smiled. “He likes me.”
“You shouldn’t let him kiss you like that,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “Tim’s my friend.”
“Half of California’s your friend,” he countered.
“Did you ever find out who Rooney worked for?” she asked suddenly, remembering the yard sale.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“A guy named Merriam,” he answered. “Rooney did some laundering for him. We’ve been watching Merriam for a while.”
“What does he do?”
“Owns a big collection agency.”
When they pulled into the garage, Sam said, “Food smells good.”
Lyra carried both bags inside while Sam put their boots by the garage wall to air out. He carried in her backpack.
“This is preparing dinner, huh?” he asked her, grinning.
“I’m warming it up,” she said, arching an eyebrow as she lifted one container out of the sack. “Thus, I’m preparing dinner.”