The Sentry Part 8

"Did you go back?"

"For a while, but I had no one to go back to. I didn't have a boyfriend, and my family was scattered. I didn't own anything, so I left again-stayed with my mom for a while, then my sister. Then Wilson came here, and he liked it, so I thought I'd give it a try. I like it here. I'd like to stay."

Pike enjoyed the play of thought on her face as she spoke.

The robot men called it quits. The smaller man gathered their earnings, closed the briefcase, then lined up behind the larger, both taking the same exaggerated pose. They marched away in lock-jointed unison. No one watched them go except maybe for Dru. Pike couldn't tell if she was watching the robot men or something behind them-maybe the lowering sun.

She said, "It's beautiful here."

She stretched, and spread her hands to the sky, as she smiled again.

"I love the breeze we get. Everyone makes fun of the smog, but most of the time it's clear. Don't you love it? Don't you love that fabulous ocean breeze?"

Pike said, "Yes."

That's when Pike saw a man outside the surf shop a few doors down from the restaurant. A life-sized statue of a surfer with a shark's head stood outside the shop. The man was behind the statue. He moved when Pike turned. A small move like a buoy rocking on a wave, just enough to disappear behind the shark's surfboard.

The man was lean, dark, and probably Latin, though Pike couldn't see him well enough with the bad angle to tell. With the quick glimpse, Pike made the man for his early forties, with a shaved scalp and furry arms.

Dru smiled lazily.

"This is nice, being here like this."

Pike said, "Yes."

She couldn't see Pike's eyes behind the dark gla.s.ses, and didn't know he was watching the man.

The man sauntered out from behind the statue and fell in with a group of pa.s.sing tourists. He wore an unb.u.t.toned pale orange short-sleeved s.h.i.+rt over a white T-s.h.i.+rt, dark jeans, and sungla.s.ses. The s.h.i.+rt and the bald head keyed a memory, and Pike realized the man had pa.s.sed them before. Pike had not seen him double back, which made Pike suspicious because Pike had outstanding situational awareness, which meant he noticed everything in his environment. In Pike's world, the things you didn't notice could and would hurt you.

As the man drew closer, Pike saw a tattoo on the side of his neck. The ink suggested a gang affiliation, but Pike couldn't see it clearly enough to tell. He wondered if Azzara had lied, and now Mendoza's friends were upping their game, or maybe Azzara had not had time to call off the dogs.

The man left the crowd to take a position behind a street vendor selling hats and T-s.h.i.+rts. Now he was on a cell phone, and Pike wondered whether he was talking or only pretending.

Pike said, "We'd better go."

Dru's face drooped in exaggerated disappointment.

"Wow. This is a short date."

"Is this a date?"

"It could be."

Dru made an effort to pay, but Pike put down cash and told her they didn't need to wait for change. When he glanced over again, the man in the orange s.h.i.+rt was gone.

Pike was trying to spot the man when Dru noticed, and turned to see.

"What are you looking at?"

Pike stepped in front of her, hoping the man hadn't seen.

"Don't look."

She stepped to the side, trying to see- "Is it one of those guys?"

Pike slid in front of her again.

"It's nothing to worry about."

She was frightened, and now Pike felt irritated with himself. He took her hand. It was soft, but firm beneath the softness.

"We're fine. Come on. I'll walk you home."

Pike squeezed her hand once, then let go, but he could feel her tension as they walked back to the shop.

On the way, he touched her back to stop her twice, pretending to window shop so he could check for shadows, but the man in the orange s.h.i.+rt was gone and no one else was following.

When they reached the corner, Pike paused again. He checked the cars lining the curbs, the rooflines, the nearby shops, and the gas station across the street. Wilson's sandwich shop was quiet and undisturbed, but now Dru walked as if she were brittle. Her confidence and ease were gone, and Pike felt a sense of failure. He had lost control of the moment, and Pike did not like losing control.

She said, "Are we okay?"

"We're fine. I overreacted."

She shook her head.

"You don't look like the overreacting type."

He followed her to her car, the silver Tercel parked directly behind the sandwich shop.

"Want me to come in with you?"

"I've done all I can with this place, believe me. I have to see about Wilson."

Pike nodded, the two of them facing each other, neither of them moving to leave.

"Listen. Thanks. I mean it. I know I keep saying it, but thanks."

"Can I see you again?"

Her smile returned.

He said, "A date."

She smiled wider, but the smile vanished in what Pike read as a wave of uncertainty.

He said, "What?"

She pulled a slim billfold from her pocket, flipped through a card carrier, and showed him a picture of a little girl. The girl wore a fluffy dress and stood beside a green couch.

"This is Amy. My sister's taking care of her until we know whether or not I can make it out here."

Pike said, "Pretty."

"Love of my life. She's three now."

Dru stared at the picture a moment, then slipped the billfold back into her pocket. She looked at Pike, then glanced away with a shrug.

"I dunno-I guess I just wanted you to know."

Pike nodded, sensing she was afraid he would not want to get involved with a woman who had a child. He asked her again.

"Are you going out with me or not?"

Her white smile flashed again. She dug out her cell phone and asked for his number. Pike told her, and watched as she sent him a text.

"This is my number. Call me. I'd love to go out with you. On a real date."

She put her cell phone away, then went up on her toes, and kissed his cheek. Pike cupped the small of her back as her body pressed into his. Pike was moved. She had given him a secret piece of herself when she told him about the child, and now, when she stepped back, he felt compelled to do the same.

"What b.u.t.ton said-b.u.t.ton doesn't know anything about me."

Pike fell silent, thinking how best to explain about the way he had lived his life and the choices he had made. Rescuing a businessman's family from Nicaraguan narco-terrorists. Stopping the bandits who looted farms and villages in Central Africa. Pike had chosen his jobs as a military contractor carefully, and speaking about them now seemed pretentious and self-serving. He finally gave up.

"I tried to help people. I'm good at it."

Pike couldn't think of anything else to say. He let it go at that, and felt embarra.s.sed for bringing it up.

Then Dru laid her palm on his chest, and it felt like she touched his heart.

"I'll bet you are."

She climbed into her car, then looked up at him.

"Do you ever take off those sungla.s.ses?"

Pike took off his sungla.s.ses. The light made him squint, but he fought it to let her see.

She studied his eyes for a moment.

"Good. Very good."

She started her car and gave him a parting smile.

"If you're going to be dangerous, you might as well be dangerous for me."

Pike watched her drive away, then scanned the length of the alley. Nothing.

He put on the sungla.s.ses, then walked around the end of the building and returned to his Jeep. Reaching the door, he saw what looked like a flyer wedged under the winds.h.i.+eld wiper. Closer, he saw it was not a flyer, but a folded piece of paper. Pike clocked the surroundings again, and now his inner radar pinged with the weight of eyes.

He lifted out the paper and unfolded it.

GREEN MALIBU.

FOUR SPOTS AHEAD.

Pike saw the green Malibu parked four spots ahead just as the man in the orange s.h.i.+rt stepped from the secondhand clothing store. The man pointed a thumb at the Malibu. Jerry b.u.t.ton pushed out of the pa.s.senger door. A second man got out of the driver's door. He was all hard angles and edges, like a mirror that had been broken and taped back together. He looked impatient, and studied Pike with thoughtful eyes as they walked over.

b.u.t.ton said, "This is Joe Pike. Pike, this is Jack Straw. He's with the FBI."

Straw said, "You're s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g me up, brother. That has to stop."

8.

The man in the orange s.h.i.+rt walked away when b.u.t.ton and Straw got out of the car. He did not look at them or Pike again.

b.u.t.ton said, "Let's take a ride. Better if we're not seen."

The Malibu was a brand-new rental, but smelled of cigarettes. Pike sat in back, with Straw behind the wheel and b.u.t.ton in the shotgun seat. b.u.t.ton twisted to see Pike as they pulled from the curb. He looked as if he had hoped never to see Pike again, but here they were, and now he was irritated.

"That business between you and me, we have to forget that now, okay? Special Agent Straw is out of the Houston Field Office. Turns out he has an investigation running, and we've stepped into the middle of it, thanks to you."

Pike looked into the mirror and found Straw watching him.

"The man in the orange s.h.i.+rt."

"I'm going to tell you some things I'd rather not, but I can't divulge where I have people placed. You understand why?"

"We'll see."

"Okay. Hang on, and let me get pulled over. Easier to talk."

Straw drove three short blocks inland and parked behind a row of upscale beachwear shops. The moment they stopped, he rolled down his window and lit a Marlboro. Pike and b.u.t.ton rolled down their windows, too.

Straw turned to face Pike, and showed his credentials. Special Agent R. Jack Straw. Federal Bureau of Investigation.