toward the Suburban.
By the time Grace and Faroe reached the top of the gangway, a uniformed officer had the man spread like a blue moth on the hood of the patrol car. A backup unit wheeled into position.
“Remember, we’re just a couple of consenting adults walking up to the parking lot after a quickie on the boat,” Faroe said softly, tugging gently at her short hair. “Act natural. Look a little at the cops and at the man hugging the hood of the car and trying to explain himself. While you’re at it, check out the license plates on the Suburban.”
Grace turned and looked at all the action. The license plates were from Frontera Baja California but they had an unusual color pattern.
She tipped back her head and said softly to Faroe, “I saw the same colors on the cars at the second roadblock Saturday, the one in front of the school.”
“They’re Mexican government tags,” he said, nibbling along her cheekbone. “They’ll probably come back to the Baja state judicial police. Butwith any luck those Oceanside cops will run the VIN numbers on the truck. Five will get you ten it was stolen up here.”
“Oh, God,” Grace whispered. “Policemen driving stolen vehicles and running surveillance for drug traffickers.”
“Welcome to my world, tastefully decorated in all the lovely shades of gray. The entrance to that world is down at the south end of Interstate 5. I’ll drive.”
“I’m a big girl. I can drive myself.”
“Can you ditch that dude’s partner?” Faroe asked.
“Partner? Where? And stop nibbling. You’re distracting me.”
“I’ll know about the partner as soon as I leave the parking lot.”
Unhappily Grace surrendered her ignition key. She was used to being in control. She needed it. Ted had accepted that about her and given her the independence she wanted. At first she believed he’d done it as a salute to her competence. Later she’d realized that once he figured out that she wasn’t going to follow his orders, he didn’t care enough about her to worry.
From Joe’s take-care-of-the-little-woman machismo to Ted’s let-the-bitch-do-what-she-wants indifference . Grace let out a frustrated breath. Isn’t there an in-between on the Y gene?
Faroe tucked her into the passenger seat of her Mercedes and climbed in behind the wheel. He started the engine, listened to the healthy hum, and tapped the accelerator enough to lift the revs above 5,000. There was a lot left before the needle hit the red line.
“Sweet,” he said, smiling. “When did you acquire a taste for macho horsepower? Or did Ted pick this out?”
“Ted?” Grace laughed. “He’s the kind of guy who’d drive halfway to San Francisco before he realized he was locked down in second gear. I picked out this handsome beast all by myself.”
“Ted missed a lot about you.”
Grace shrugged. “Maybe I was missing something about him, too.”
Faroe doubted it, but all he said was, “Where is Ted’s office?”
“He has two. One in La Jolla, on Pacific Coast Highway, and the other in Malibu. But right now he’s not at either office and they don’t know when he will be.”
The tone of her voice told Faroe that she was parroting various receptionists.
“On the way to the border, I’ll do a drive-by on the La Jolla office,” Faroe said.
“What do you expect to find?”
“Nothing special.” I hope . “How do I get there?”
Grace bit back what she wanted to say and gave directions instead.
L A J OLLA
S UNDAY, 11:05 A.M.
15
L IKE EVERYTHING ELSE IN Grace’s life, La Jolla had changed in sixteen years. Once it had been little more than a snotty California beach resort. Now it was a high-end retail and financial center that rivaled Tijuana’s Zona Río.
Faroe drove slowly down a side street that dead-ended in the parking lot of Edge City Investments. There was a guard shack at the entrance to the parking lot. Faroe turned the corner and pulled over to the curb, inspecting the five-story stainless
By the time Grace and Faroe reached the top of the gangway, a uniformed officer had the man spread like a blue moth on the hood of the patrol car. A backup unit wheeled into position.
“Remember, we’re just a couple of consenting adults walking up to the parking lot after a quickie on the boat,” Faroe said softly, tugging gently at her short hair. “Act natural. Look a little at the cops and at the man hugging the hood of the car and trying to explain himself. While you’re at it, check out the license plates on the Suburban.”
Grace turned and looked at all the action. The license plates were from Frontera Baja California but they had an unusual color pattern.
She tipped back her head and said softly to Faroe, “I saw the same colors on the cars at the second roadblock Saturday, the one in front of the school.”
“They’re Mexican government tags,” he said, nibbling along her cheekbone. “They’ll probably come back to the Baja state judicial police. Butwith any luck those Oceanside cops will run the VIN numbers on the truck. Five will get you ten it was stolen up here.”
“Oh, God,” Grace whispered. “Policemen driving stolen vehicles and running surveillance for drug traffickers.”
“Welcome to my world, tastefully decorated in all the lovely shades of gray. The entrance to that world is down at the south end of Interstate 5. I’ll drive.”
“I’m a big girl. I can drive myself.”
“Can you ditch that dude’s partner?” Faroe asked.
“Partner? Where? And stop nibbling. You’re distracting me.”
“I’ll know about the partner as soon as I leave the parking lot.”
Unhappily Grace surrendered her ignition key. She was used to being in control. She needed it. Ted had accepted that about her and given her the independence she wanted. At first she believed he’d done it as a salute to her competence. Later she’d realized that once he figured out that she wasn’t going to follow his orders, he didn’t care enough about her to worry.
From Joe’s take-care-of-the-little-woman machismo to Ted’s let-the-bitch-do-what-she-wants indifference . Grace let out a frustrated breath. Isn’t there an in-between on the Y gene?
Faroe tucked her into the passenger seat of her Mercedes and climbed in behind the wheel. He started the engine, listened to the healthy hum, and tapped the accelerator enough to lift the revs above 5,000. There was a lot left before the needle hit the red line.
“Sweet,” he said, smiling. “When did you acquire a taste for macho horsepower? Or did Ted pick this out?”
“Ted?” Grace laughed. “He’s the kind of guy who’d drive halfway to San Francisco before he realized he was locked down in second gear. I picked out this handsome beast all by myself.”
“Ted missed a lot about you.”
Grace shrugged. “Maybe I was missing something about him, too.”
Faroe doubted it, but all he said was, “Where is Ted’s office?”
“He has two. One in La Jolla, on Pacific Coast Highway, and the other in Malibu. But right now he’s not at either office and they don’t know when he will be.”
The tone of her voice told Faroe that she was parroting various receptionists.
“On the way to the border, I’ll do a drive-by on the La Jolla office,” Faroe said.
“What do you expect to find?”
“Nothing special.” I hope . “How do I get there?”
Grace bit back what she wanted to say and gave directions instead.
L A J OLLA
S UNDAY, 11:05 A.M.
15
L IKE EVERYTHING ELSE IN Grace’s life, La Jolla had changed in sixteen years. Once it had been little more than a snotty California beach resort. Now it was a high-end retail and financial center that rivaled Tijuana’s Zona Río.
Faroe drove slowly down a side street that dead-ended in the parking lot of Edge City Investments. There was a guard shack at the entrance to the parking lot. Faroe turned the corner and pulled over to the curb, inspecting the five-story stainless
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