Orphan X: A Novel (29 page)

“It’ll be over when Evan is dead.”

Slatcher released her, and Katrin’s muscles went slack. She melted to the floor, her cheek pressed to the thin carpeting. Grease spotted the fast-food bag by her face, the smell turning her stomach.

As Slatcher came off his haunches, he seemed to keep rising and rising.

He exited.

Candy remained behind, leaning back on the desk and examining her nails, her pert pretty face wearing a look of mild boredom.

Katrin sucked in one shallow breath after another but couldn’t seem to find any air.

“Shitty Russian hit men,” Candy said, “focus on destroying dentals. Then they chop off their victims’ fingertips and put them in a glass of beer to erase the prints. But me? I’m not a shitty Russian hit man. I don’t go for that penny-ante crap.” With a fluid motion, she pulled herself off the desk, her body seeming to roll forward onto her feet. Her boots planted themselves delicately in front of Katrin’s face, and then she leaned down, bringing a waft of girly perfume. “I prefer to erase the entire person. We may not have done that to Sam yet.” She nestled her lips against Katrin’s ear. “But I’m
dying
to.”

She stood over Katrin, those shapely legs sturdy and spread, Colossus of Rhodes with a bleach job. “So please,” she said, “
don’t
cooperate.”

Even after she walked out, Katrin couldn’t catch her breath.

39

A Noise that Kept Not Coming

Lying on the floating slab in the inky darkness of his bedroom, staring at the void of his ceiling, Evan concentrated, replaying his and Slatcher’s conversation word for word.

You never know who we know
.
Maybe we’ve got someone in place in your building right now.

Slatcher was trying to psych Evan out, put him on the run where he’d be more visible.

Here he had sundry alarms and weapons, base-jumping parachutes and tactical rappelling rope, reinforced walls and windows. He was safe enough right now.

But Katrin was not.

He pictured how they’d lain together on the futon, his finger tracing the slope of her hip. Those three asymmetrical stars tattooed behind her ear. The kanji strokes on her left shoulder blade. Those spots of blood on the floor of the loft. The promise he’d made:
I will find you.

Two feet from his ear, the RoamZone charged on the nightstand. He’d been waiting for the sonar ping to announce Katrin’s location, bracing himself for a noise that kept not coming.

The night suddenly felt colder than it was.

Promise me.
Crimson filming his fingertips.
Where are you, Evan?
The shattered burner phone. The sob tangled in Katrin’s throat.
Where are you, Evan?

Where are you?

He threw back the sheets, dressed, and made his way to the Turkish rug. He sat cross-legged, veiled his eyes, and tried to meditate.

For the first time in his life, he could not.

40

Blind Spots

By first light of morning, Evan had already run a full check of his security systems, fine-tuning the motion detectors’ sensitivities, testing the alarms, assessing the surveillance camera angles, and searching out blind spots.

Right now he could not afford any blind spots.

Still no GPS ping from Katrin’s microchips. Had they already broken down and passed from her body? Was she not being fed? Had she sweated off the hidden patch behind her ear? Perhaps she was being held underground, the signal muffled by concrete walls.

He kept moving. He extracted the SIM card from his RoamZone and dropped it down the garbage disposal, letting the blades whir until he heard only bits tumbling. He pulled them out and trashed them, then jumped online, moving his phone service from the outfit in Bangalore to one in Marrakech. No longer could he rely on domestic-violence-inclined Joey Delarosa. After Joey had called 911 last night, the cops had arrived and removed the excavated mobile phone from between the studs, puzzling over it as if it were an artifact from outer space.

After slotting a fresh SIM card into his phone, Evan grabbed a Pelican case from a cabinet beside his weapons locker and took it up onto the roof. He selected a hidden spot behind the metal shed protecting the generator. Despite the Southern California blaze overhead, a December wind numbed his fingers as he worked.

From the top of the case, he telescoped out a yagi directional antenna, then plugged in a coaxial cable with an omni stubby antenna mounted on a tripod. He pointed the yagi at the horizon and—
voilà
. His very own rogue GSM site. The little base station dodged all authentication between itself and the nearest cell tower, making it untraceable—literally off the grid. Next Evan enabled the Wi-Fi hot spot on his RoamZone, forming a gateway to the LTE network. Ordinarily he would power up the base station only when making a call, turning it off immediately afterward, but he’d have to leave it running until he received Slatcher’s call.

“Evan? Is that you?”

He rose quickly in time to see Hugh Walters approach.

“What are you doing up here?”

“Oh,” Evan said. “It’s a hobby of mine. Trying to track comets. I always hoped to discover one, have it named after me.”

Hugh brightened with an inner light that Evan hadn’t thought him capable of. “I was in the shortwave-radio club at my prep school,” he said.

“Were you, now?” Evan said.

“I was indeed.”

“Look, I know it’s outside of regs for me to—”

Hugh waved him off. “Hey, let’s call it a secret between amateur scientists.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Evan said. “It’s a bit embarrassing.”

Hugh offered a hand, and they shook on it.

Evan asked, “What are
you
doing here?”

“Checking the roof. I need to be mindful of any and all repairs before going into an HOA meeting. Today’s is right about…” A gold Rolex shot out from beneath Hugh’s cuff. “…
now.
I assume you’ll be in attendance this time?”

“Today’s not the best for me,” Evan said.

Hugh punished him with a well-directed frown. “Why? You’re off for the holidays, aren’t you? What’s so pressing that you can’t attend?”

“Just some personal issues.”

Hugh nodded soberly. “Well, I can tell you
one
person who’ll be disappointed you won’t be there.”

“Who’s that?”

“Mia Hall.” Hugh mistook Evan’s expression of surprise. “That’s right, fella. I know there seems to be some interest between you two. But this morning she seemed…”

“What?” Evan said.

“I don’t know. She just wasn’t her usual self. She seemed really upset about something.”

“I’d imagine being a single parent isn’t a breeze.”

“It’s not that,” Hugh said. “She seemed
scared
.”

Evan felt the breeze cut right through him.

Hugh wet his lips. “Maybe you could drop by the HOA meeting and check on her?”

Evan’s mind assembled snippets of his conversations with Mia over the past couple of weeks.
As a DA I sometimes get threats. I have a work emergency. This is a real crisis. As in life or death
.

He pushed the thoughts away. He didn’t have time for this. This wasn’t the mission. It wasn’t his concern. There was Katrin to consider and the Seventh Commandment and a whole lot more.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t.”

*   *   *

Evan took a seat halfway down the length of the imposing conference table, perpendicular to Mia so he could watch her without being obvious. She’d offered him a cursory nod as he’d entered, averting her eyes. Odd. Peter was nowhere to be seen.

Piped-in “Jingle Bells” played softly through hidden speakers, Hugh’s pleased grin leaving little doubt that the cheery Muzak stylings were his handiwork.

Most of the usual suspects were in attendance, except for Johnny with his martial-arts warm-ups. Johnny’s father, with the strained pride of a parent accustomed to inflating his child’s achievements, explained that he was belt-testing today. For the
next
black stripe.

Several measures had been robustly voted on already—enhancing the porte cochere with outdoor carpeting, new boxwood hedges for the north wall of the building, amending the morning beverage initiative in light of the kombucha disappointment. Selecting the new cushion colors for the lobby had pitted Mrs. Rosenbaum and Lorilee Smithson against each other in a vicious battle. Throughout the proceedings Evan kept his attention on Mia, who held her gaze tensely downward, her mouth set.

Ida Rosenbaum was yet again irritated. “—with what we pay in fees, the manager can’t fix the frame to my front door? It’s falling to
pieces.
”

“Again with the doorframe,” Botox-riddled Lorilee said. “I thought your son was handling that for you.”

Mrs. Rosenbaum’s cheeks quavered—a flash of emotion she tried to cover. “He can’t make it this year. He’s very busy, very important. He wanted to be here for the holidays, said he’s coming
first thing
in the New Year.”

Lorilee chewed her gum triumphantly. “We’ve heard that before, haven’t we, Ida?”

Mrs. Rosenbaum seemed to deflate in her chair. Her lips parted, but no response was forthcoming. The remark had cut the legs right out from under her.

Even Hugh took pity on her. “I will speak to the manager for you, Ida,” he said. “As soon as things settle down in the New Year, we will get your door fixed.”

Clearly devastated, she managed only a quick jerk of a nod.

Evan peered across at Mia to see if she noticed the exchange, but she was uncharacteristically oblivious, lost in the haze of her thoughts.

“Moving on,” Hugh said, directing a stare at the twenty or so weary souls in attendance, impressing upon them the gravity of the upcoming matter. “As I’ve intimated for some time, everyone will need to be assessed three thousand dollars for the new earthquake policy.”

A chorus of complaints erupted. Pat Johnson clutched his chest as if to contain a bout of angina.

Hugh rapped his empty coffee mug on the fine-grained tabletop a few times to restore order. “I know,” he said. “Hear me out. Hear me out, people.…”

Evan watched Mia, the only one not responding. Her gaze was low, aimed beneath the lip of the table, presumably fixed on the iPhone in her lap. She chewed her lip anxiously.

The muscles of Mia’s face tensed, and then, faintly over the commotion, Evan heard the theme from
Jaws.
Mia held the phone to her face silently, her expression implacable, then slipped it secretively back into her purse, pushed away from the table, and rose to leave.

Evan stood as well, following her out.

He caught her at the elevator, waiting for the car, drumming her hands impatiently on her thighs.

“You okay?” he asked. “Rushing out of there?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

He watched her eyes and knew her to be lying. “Where you headed?”

“My brother’s,” she said. “He just called. I have to pick up Peter.”

Her brother’s ringtone was
Peanuts,
not
Jaws.

She pulled a tangle of curls off her forehead, exposing that birthmark on her temple. Her faint freckles were barely visible across her nose.

“You know,” he said, “if something’s wrong or you need help…”

Her gaze darted back to the illuminated floor numbers. “Thanks, Evan. But this isn’t the kind of problem you can solve.”

He thumbed the
UP
button and waited silently at her side.

The down car arrived first, and he let the doors close behind her.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Katrin. The mission. Upstairs.

He thought of Peter’s husky voice, that sloppy Gonzo Band-Aid on his forehead.
Thanks for covering for me
.

Goddamn it, kid.

Evan jogged for the service elevator. It arrived promptly, and he rode it down to the parking level.

It let out near the trash bins, and he stepped unseen onto the dim floor. He heard Mia’s footsteps before he saw her. A clipped, fast walk to her car, the iPhone out again and at her cheek.

Moving toward his truck, he cut behind the trunks of various German sedans, holding parallel to her across the parking level. She climbed into her Acura, pulling out fast enough that the tires chirped on the slick concrete. He emerged from cover, reaching for his driver’s door, when he heard heavy breathing behind him.

Slowly, he half turned, Johnny Middleton coming visible in the shadows to his side. Brass knuckles laced one of his fists; the other held a T-handled fighting knife. He stepped toward Evan, his face flushed, his stocky form wrapped in that martial-arts sweat suit.

“I’m sorry, Evan,” he said.

41

Emotional Centers

Evan squared up in the narrow space between vehicles as Johnny shuffled forward. His eyes were bloodshot; one lid throbbed spasmodically. Evan’s own eyes stayed on the fighting knife, waiting for it to rise, but Johnny held it low at his belly. Only secondarily did it strike Evan that he’d brought nothing but fists to a knife fight.

He gauged the angle to collapse Johnny’s throat with a finger-thrust strike, but then Johnny’s arms went loose at his sides. Unexpectedly, he started to cry. “I don’t know what to do,” he said. “I don’t know what to do.”

Johnny’s parking space was two slots over, the trunk of his BMW open. He hadn’t been lying in wait, Evan realized, but he’d been interrupted from something.

“What happened?” Evan asked.

“It was in the combat-training room last week,” he said. “I broke a guy’s nose. It might have been after the whistle. He’s got older brothers. They’re serious fighters. Grew up with it, I mean. It’s a bad fucking scene. I thought we were cool, but I showed up today for belt testing and they were waiting. All three of them. I took off, but they followed me back here. I don’t want my dad to know. Jesus—if he found out…”

Evan exhaled, frustration seeping in. First he’d made a quick exception to help Mia, and now here Johnny was, whining like a slapped bully. Maybe that’s what real life was, one problem bleeding into the next. How had Mia put it?
Life would be boring if we didn’t have other people around complicating everything.
He had Mia to worry about now in addition to Katrin. The last thing he could do was add Johnny to the mix.