The Blind (25 page)

Friday, November 6
1:02 p.m.

H
e was at my side, breathing against my neck.” Evie rested her fists on the top of Ricci's car. “All I needed to do was look up. Then one kick to the groin or a hand to the throat, and he'd be down. He'd be in our hands.”

“He will be,” Hayden assured her.

“Do you think this affects the plans for the switch?” Ricci asked.

Hayden shook his head. “If anything, it shows his level of investment in Evie. He wants her in that painting, and he's following her, ready to make a move.”

“No phone call?” Evie asked Freddy, who'd been tucked into the backseat of Ricci's unit.

“Nothing yet.”

But she'd had something. She'd had
him
. She popped her fists on the hood. She'd been so focused on finding a lifelike baby that she'd failed Cop 101: Be aware of your surroundings. He'd been there. Close enough to smell his roasted coffee breath.

She pushed off the car as a black limo pulled up to the police barricade.
No, God, please, please no.

The limo stopped and less than a minute later took off, revealing the one man she didn't want to see, didn't
need
to see. For a moment, she considered ducking into one of the winding alleys, but she couldn't hide, not from this man.

“Good afternoon, Evie.”

She clasped her hands behind her back. That way he couldn't see them shaking. “Hey there, Parker.”

Her former boss nodded to Ricci. “Excuse us, please.”

Ricci turned, and she grabbed his shirtsleeve. “No, it's okay. Everyone can stay.”

“Everyone can leave.” Parker nodded once. Every person near the barricade jumped to attention and left: Ricci, Hayden, Knox, three uniforms. Only Freddy Ortiz didn't budge.

“Everyone,” Parker repeated.

Sweat beaded on Freddy's forehead as he studied the cracks in the sidewalk. She almost laughed. From the moment she'd met him, he'd been like a sticky piece of gum she couldn't get from the bottom of her shoe.

“Give us a minute, Freddy.” Evie gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I'll be okay.”

Freddy looked from her to Parker, giving her boss a tilt of his chin—apparently permission to engage with Evie—before he walked to the end of the barricade where he parked his wide butt, his gaze pinned on them.

“You have an admirer,” Parker said.

“Business partner. We're bomb consultants. Have something that goes boom? We're in the room.” She tried to smile, but her lips spasmed.

Parker took a yellow legal notepad from the right pocket of his wheelchair. “Status?”

When Parker asked questions, people answered. Termination of employment didn't change a thing. “Vandemere is still expected to plant the IED sometime today,” Evie said. “Probably after sunset given the dark background of the portrait and possibly in an area with Christian symbols. We're waiting for him to reveal time and location for the switch. In the interim, tactical is on alert, and Ricci has doubled patrols in the downtown area.”

Parker jotted a few notes, then tapped the tip of the pen on the pad. “No attempts from the Hostage Rescue Team?”

“Hayden doesn't think Vandemere is the type to go for a talk-down, but Hatch will be on site and try to engage him when he calls Ortiz.”

“And you?”
Tap. Tap. Tap.

“As soon as we get the call, I'll head in with the doll. The goal is to catch sight of him and pick him off. I'll grab the girl and disarm the IED. Each device has had a thirty-second delay, and I'll have no issue rendering it safe.”

“I have no doubt you will.”
Tap. Tap. Tap
. “You think he's going to go for the doll.”

She scratched at a stain on her sleeve. “I pray he goes for the doll.”

After taking a few more notes, Parker tucked his pen in his pocket and looked her squarely in the eye. “I made a mistake, Evie.”

A feather of something light and warm tickled her chest.

“I should not have doubted your ability and judgment for any length of time,” Parker continued. “I should not have pulled you from the task force.”

She wanted to have a hard heart, to turn her back on this man who turned his back on her, if even for a moment, but she couldn't. “Then why did you?” The words came out with a soft waver. Yeah, it hurt like hell to admit how much this man's opinion meant to her.

“A man I know and respect and trust tells me you are in love and talking about marriage and
kids
. To say I was shocked was putting it mildly. Simply put, Jack Elliott dropped a bomb on me.”

Evie's knees finally gave, and she plunked onto the barricade so she was eye-level with Parker. “You're not the only one.”

Parker's hand settled on her shoulder. He squeezed, and she put her hand over his. “In that moment, Evie, I had a sliver of doubt about you, about your mental and emotional and physical state. In that moment, I decided to fly out and see with my own eyes what kind of state you were in, and after seeing you, it's clear you're healthy and capable. I'm sorry, Evie.”

Evie didn't play games; she didn't know how. Nor did she hang on to anger and resentment because crap like that oozed and festered and filled the void of broken, empty human beings like Douglas Woltz. “I forgive you.”

Parker spun his wheelchair and headed for Hayden. “And Evie,” he called over his shoulder.

“Yes, sir?” She took off after him.

“I am not accepting your resignation. You are still a member of my team and a sworn agent of the U.S. government. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want a case conference with status reports from every lead, including contingency plans if Vandemere fails to attempt the switch.”

“Yes, sir.” Her boots made happy sounds as she hurried back to the toy store to buy the doll.

2:09 p.m.

It was after two in the afternoon, and Carter Vandemere had not yet made contact. Evie knew damn well he could be bluffing, promising the switch but in reality setting up the canvas for his next piece of
art
while she and the Angel Bomber task force waited, which was why she and the team were not sitting around and waiting.

Evie jammed her hands into her back pockets and hurried up the steps to the Paz de Cristo community outreach program, where in three hours the staff and volunteers would be serving up fried cod and coleslaw to more than two hundred of downtown L.A.'s hungry and homeless under the shadow of a wooden cross. All major events in the downtown area had been canceled today, but the good work of feeding the hungry and homeless had to go on.

With the first three bombings, Vandemere had selected locations that closely matched the backdrops in each painting. The wooden bench or pew and rosary led her to believe he may pick some kind of religious center. There were roughly fifty churches, missions, and spiritual outreach centers in the downtown area bordered by the 101, 10, and 110 freeways, and most of them had a wooden bench or two. A holy place for unholy acts.

She found the kitchen manager and members of a church youth group shredding carrots in the kitchen. “Can I interest you in a knife, a beautiful head of cabbage, or a gallon of mayonnaise?” the manager asked.

Despite the hell on the horizon, Evie smiled. “Not today, but when I get this bomber business wrapped up, I'm yours.” Her gaze landed for a moment on the teens, caring kids spending a Friday afternoon doing good for others. “Do you have a moment?”

The woman took off her plastic gloves and led Evie into the main hall.

Evie showed her the photocopy of the woman and child. “We're pretty sure he'll place her on some kind of wooden bench, possibly in a church or building with Christian symbols. It's likely she'll be wearing a red dress, possibly with a blue scarf and white shawl. The baby has blond curls. The minute you see them, call us and evacuate the building.”

The manager took the photo and raised her gaze heavenward. “I'll show it to the servers tonight, and we'll be on the lookout.” As she escorted Evie to the door, she added, “I'm going to hold you to your promise to help, and you're welcome to bring the hunky guy in the suit.”

Jack. Who'd peeled potatoes for a soup kitchen. Who'd stolen her heart. Who'd convinced Parker Lord to doubt her ability. She should hate him, but she couldn't. Hate was reserved for killers and those who mocked justice. For men with empty cups and broken, irreparable hearts. And Jack had a heart. She rubbed at the sides of her head. Two of them. His and hers. Unfortunately, he also had a little issue with control.

That, she could deal with. Later. A clock was ticking.

Evie hitched her bag on her shoulder and headed for the next church on her list, a mission near Skid Row. She turned into an alley, when footsteps sounded behind her. They grew faster and louder, and she ducked behind a Dumpster.

A man ran by her, his chest heaving.

“Holy shit, North!” Evie tucked her Glock back in her holster. “Do you want to go and meet your maker?”

Brother Gabriel North dropped his hands to his knees and took a series of deep breaths before turning his head and gazing up at her. “That wouldn't be a bad thing in my world, but I don't think it's my time to go yet. There is still much work in this world to be done.”

“Why are you stalking me?”

“I called out to you, but you didn't hear.” With one more deep breath, he stood. “I saw on the news that you're looking for Douglas Woltz.”

“You know him?”

“Never met him, but his mother has been a member of our community for almost a decade. She joined after she lost her husband. She's always struck me as a kind but lonely woman and dedicated to her son. She was always bragging on him.”

Another dot. Another step closer to disarming a madman. “Did she mention something about the bombings?”

“No, but something she said after services a few weeks ago makes me wonder. She told me her son was now going to be a famous filmmaker.”

“Why would she say that?”

“Apparently Douglas had just purchased a fancy new camera and lighting equipment.”

“And?”

“That's it, Agent Jimenez. It stood out because all of these years she's talked about him being a famous artist, and all of a sudden he's into making movies. It seemed odd.”

2:56 p.m.

“That makes no sense,” Ricci said when Evie told the task force members gathered in the LAPD war room about her visit from Brother North. “Why would Woltz's mother say her son is now into filmmaking? Think Brother North is lying?”

Evie pictured the words behind North's desk.
Thou shall not bear false witness against thy neighbor
. And she heard his voice.
We're both in the business of saving souls
. “He's being straight with me. He wants this guy stopped.”

“Bombers are plotters and planners,” Hayden said. “The film equipment is part of his overall plan.”

Evie pressed her hands between her knees, bone pressing against bone as she waited for her colleagues to connect the dots.

“He could be filming the event to share with a larger audience,” Ricci said.

“Hell, he could be live-streaming,” Knox added.

Exactly what she'd been thinking. “So we're not looking for a public place, but a very private place.” Which just turned their search plan on its ass.

4:27 p.m.

“It's really creepy that you know how to braid,” Evie said as she sat in her office chair, Freddy tugging at her hair.

“I told you, I got eight nieces,” Freddy said around the comb in his mouth. “I also know how to paint toenails and use a flat iron in case you want to do a sleepover.”

“And you're wasting your talents photographing overpaid and over-made Hollywood actors? Maybe you should get out of the paparazzi biz and open a beauty salon.”

Freddy yanked on the sections of her hair, folding and tucking. At last he held out his hand, and she slipped the ponytail holder from her wrist and set it on his palm. He secured the braid. “Got a mirror so I can show you my handiwork?”

“No.” She hopped up from the chair. “I'm sure it's fine.”

Freddy didn't let go of her braid. He tugged her closer. “You just make sure you stay fine.”

“Stop worrying.” She tugged her hair from his hand. “You sound just like Jack.”

Freddy tucked the comb in his back pocket. “Where is The Suit? Kind of strange not to see him glued to your side.”

“He's in his office.” Evie grabbed her bag. Most likely grieving. Her gaze roamed over the photos of Vandemere's victims: seven Los Angelenos from the Angel Bombings, the Venice art gallery owner, motel night manager Mrs. Francis, and now Abby Elliott, who had slipped out of Jack's hands not once, but twice. She walked to the wall and ran her hand along Abby's golden hair. “I'm going to catch him, Abby. He's going to pay.” She checked her watch. All-hands meeting in two minutes. “Time to catch a killer.”

Freddy grabbed his man purse and headed for the door, adding over his shoulder, “Don't forget, you owe me one phone call. An exclusive shot at this guy.”

“Yes. One phone call. After we catch him. Now promise me you and your camera will stay in a safe place until I call.”

“No worries there, Lady Feeb. I kind of like most of my body parts.” He patted his wide gut. “I'm not too keen on going to a place where a bomb may go off.” He paused in the doorway. “I'm serious, Evie. Be careful. We got all these weddings between our nieces and nephews coming up, and I don't want you to miss them.”

“The best marksmen in the world will have my back.” She pictured her teammate, Brooks. “I'll be fine.”