Jericho Point by Meg Gardiner

can’t stop P.J. from wrecking himself, any more than you could coach me to high jump.’’
    ‘‘Damn, I . . . you can’t . . .’’
    ‘‘That stutter’s getting worse. Bang your head against the door frame, see if you can get rid of it.’’
    I forced myself to slow down. We curved along the road through a landscaped business park.
    ‘‘If—’’
    ‘‘There is no if . There’s only the way it is.’’
    I stopped at a red light. Ahead, Isla Vista’s crammed apartment blocks formed a beige rampart. Cars lined the curbs. Students zigzagged along the street on clunker bicycles.
    ‘‘You should come with a warning label,’’ I said.
    ‘‘Danger, in sight.’’ He put his hand across the back of my neck. ‘‘I love you. But you need to get your head completely clear. You have too much at stake here to mess around trying to rescue my brother.’’
    A horn honked. In the next lane a woman was waving at us. Correction—at Jesse. She smiled and blew a kiss. The light changed and she turned the corner.
    I crossed the intersection. ‘‘Somebody you know?’’
    ‘‘No clue.’’
    He peered after the car. I eyed him with mock suspicion.
    ‘‘Seriously,’’ he said.
    I slowed, turned down P.J.’s street, and pulled up in front of the Don Quixote Arms. ‘‘Fine, Blackburn. No rescues. So what are we here for?’’
    ‘‘A reckoning.’’ He unbuckled his seat belt. ‘‘Let’s do it.’’
    I hopped out, and his cell phone rang. I heard him say, ‘‘Right here.’’ His tone of voice told me it was work.
    ‘‘I know she did.’’ A glance at me. ‘‘Lavonne, I asked her to. My brother was working over at the Jimsons’ house.’’
    I winced. She was irked that I’d gone over there. Jesse indicated for me to go ahead.
    ‘‘Impolitic?’’ he said. ‘‘That wasn’t my foremost concern.’’
    The Don Quixote Arms was quiet. A soccer ball lay on a patch of grass in front of the building, but nobody was out. Word about Brittany Gaines had spread. P.J.’s roommate answered my knock, still wearing the If I gave a shit T-shirt and the zombified look. It was apparently his natural state.
    He scratched his cheek. ‘‘He went to the library.’’
    And I had hatched full-grown from the forehead of Zeus. ‘‘I’ll wait.’’
    I walked in before he could think about why P.J. wouldn’t want me to do that. I strolled through the living room, checked the kitchen, and walked back toward the bedrooms. The apartment smelled like pepperoni and bong water. A draft was blowing from under a bedroom door.
    I opened it. P.J. froze like a chipmunk in the high beams.
    ‘‘Forget your library card?’’ I said.
    ‘‘This isn’t what it looks like.’’
    ‘‘Get down.’’
    He was standing on his bed with one leg out the window. His Suzuki was parked in the alley behind the building. When I walked in he gripped the windowsill.
    ‘‘I’m going back to Mom and Dad’s,’’ he said.
    ‘‘And a force field prevents you from using the door.’’
    ‘‘Brittany’s father is next door.’’ He lowered his voice, glancing in the direction of her apartment. ‘‘I can’t deal with him.’’
    ‘‘You mean you’re avoiding the sheriffs.’’
    ‘‘He’s a gorilla. And he’s looking for somebody’s head to rip off.’’
    ‘‘Yours? She must have made you out to be a prince.’’
    He hiked himself farther onto the windowsill.
    ‘‘Hey.’’ I knelt on the bed and grabbed his arm. ‘‘Okay, two-minute warning. You’re coming close.’’
    ‘‘To what?’’
    ‘‘Seeing me get mad.’’
    His blue eyes were pleading. ‘‘You don’t understand. She was hanging onto me, way overboard. Like, obsessing.’’
    ‘‘Obsessing about what? Your credit card scam?’’
    ‘‘No, following me. Popping up everywhere. Like I’d open the door and she’d be right outside. Or at the Laundromat I turn around and, boo, she’s behind me. Wanting to talk . It was freaking me