The Two Deaths of Daniel Hayes (27 page)

“I . . .”
Your picture has been in the news. It was only a matter of time before someone recognized you. And all she has to do is yell and the whole world will come crashing down, and your neat shiny plan with it.
“Umm.”

The woman glanced around quickly, then pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, tugged one out with uneasy fingers. “I’m supposed to ask you for the package.”

“What?”
“He said to ask you for the package.” She struck at a match, then again, cupping her hands around it. “Hope you don’t mind if I smoke. I’m nervous.”
What does she mean? What pack—
Oh, shit.
Daniel’s mouth fell open. He had been so focused on making sure he was safe, picking a location that Bennett couldn’t attack him. And instead, the man had outflanked them.
Daniel rose up on his toes, looked up and down the beach. No sign of Bennett. The photographer he’d paid was busily clicking away, taking pictures that would be no use at all.
She had the cigarette going now, took a deep hard drag. He could see her relax as the smoke hit her lungs. “So? Do you have it?”
“Where is he?”
“He said not to chitchat, just to get the—”
He stepped forward, grabbed her wrist. “Where is he!”
She tried to pull away, but he gripped harder. “Ow! Let me go!”
The father of the happy tourist family caught her tone, looked Daniel’s way. He grit his teeth, opened his fingers, and she snatched her arm back, massaged it with her other hand. “Asshole.”
“Listen,” he said, wanting to grab her tiny body and dangle her over the railing until she gave him what he needed. “I don’t know what Bennett told you. But he’s coming after my family. My wife. He’s trying to kill us.”
The woman’s eyes darted. “I don’t know anything about that. He just— I owed him, and he told me to come get this bag. He said you were trying to play him, and he was going to take care of something while I talked to you.”
What does that mean?
“I’m sorry about before. I am. But please, I’m begging you. Tell me where he is.”
Take care of something while she talked to me . . .
“Look, I told you, he just—”
. . . while she kept me busy.
Oh,
fuck
!
Daniel turned on his heel and sprinted down the pier, left the woman yelling after him. His sneakers pounded on the dry wood, a childhood sound. He threw himself forward, arms flying, breath coming fast. Visions of horror splashing across the back of his retina. Of finding their borrowed car empty. Worse. Finding her in it. Really dead this time, eyes empty and staring.
“Move!” Daniel shoved through a row of giggling high school girls, knocked an ice cream cone flying. Behind him curses rose in two languages. He dodged around a bicycle, then ran for the edge of the pier. Grabbed the railing and vaulted it, dropping the ten feet to sandy beach. Hit with a ring of distant pain in his ankles and the front of his shins, but he didn’t fall, just leaned into his run, pushing for the parking lot where they’d agreed to meet. The parking lot where Laney had been left alone, where Bennett could have come at her from any direction. Jesus, how had he been so stupid, how had he let this guy outthink and outplan him, and then his feet hit concrete, and he pushed for the far end, where he saw Robert’s silver PT Cruiser parked, the sunlight off the windshield hiding anything—
The driver’s side door opened, and Laney stepped out. She squinted into the sun, held one hand over her eyes.
Daniel covered the distance between them in seconds, threw his arms around her, crushed her to his chest, feeling the sun-warmed heat of her body, her hair against his nose, the bird lattice of her rib cage.
“Are you okay?” she asked into his chest.
“It was someone else. Bastard sent someone else.”
“I know, I heard. Then it was all static, and I saw you running . . .”
Daniel laughed a syllable’s worth at himself. “The phone. I didn’t even think of it. I was so scared, I just had to get here.” He pulled it from his pocket, hung up the call. “I screwed it all up, baby.”
“It’s not your fault. He’s very good.”
Her tone irked him. “Is there a fan club?”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
Before he could reply, Daniel’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the display and picked up. “Sophie, now isn’t a—”
“You know why television is so predictable?”
The voice wasn’t Sophie’s. The world slipped and spun, palm trees going sideways as his knees went weak.
“Television is predictable because it’s written by guys like you.”
“I swear to god,” Daniel blurted, “if you—”
“ ‘—hurt her, I’ll kill you.’ See what I mean? I don’t even need you for this conversation. I may as well be talking to myself. In fact, I think I will. ‘Gosh, self. Do you think it’s a wise idea to fuck around?’ ‘You know what, self? I don’t think that’s smart at all. I think I should just pay the man. Otherwise, who knows
what
he’ll do.’ ”
“Bennett—”
“Seems you still don’t get the point. So let me underscore it. Denslow and Levering.”
“What? I don’t—”
“Be talking at you.”
“No, wait, Bennett, please, I’m sorry, we’ll—”
The line went dead. Daniel stood in the parking lot under the darkening sky, his mouth open, a silent phone to his ear. From the pier he could hear the sound of laughter. The air smelled like corn dogs and exhaust.
“Honey?” Laney looked across the Cruiser at him, her eyes wide. She rocked back and forth like a wobbling doll. “What happened?”
Daniel lowered the phone. Made himself swallow. His throat like sandpaper. A snatch of music came from somewhere. “Sophie,” he said. “He found Sophie.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did— Did you talk to her? Is she . . .” Laney trailed off.
He shook his head. His mind whizzed and whirled in conflicting directions. He had to help Sophie. He had to call the police. It was a trap. It didn’t matter. She was dead. She might need help. “Denslow and Levering. He said Denslow and Levering. I don’t know where that is. Do you?”
Laney paled. “By UCLA. It’s where Charles lives.”
“Who?”
“Charles. The man Sophie’s seeing. He’s a law professor. We went over there for dinner a month ago.”
Of course. It made sense. Where would Sophie go on a moment’s notice? Somewhere that seemed safe. Not her office, not a hotel. Her boyfriend’s house.
And somehow Bennett had found out where he lived. “We have to go.”
“Wait. What if Bennett is—”
“I don’t care.” He circled the car, held out his hand. “I’ll drive.”
“This could be a trap.”
“You think I don’t know that?” His face felt rubbery, his hands wooden. “We can’t just leave her.”
For a moment, he thought Laney was going to argue. Then she dropped the keys in his hand. “Let’s go.”

The two-mile drive took forever. He avoided the highway, kept to back streets, Laney throwing out directions when he wasn’t certain. Rush hour, and the streets were snarled with L.A.’s famous traffic. A sea of brake lights in every direction. The ride was a nightmare of stop and go. He cut through parking lots, sped around cars, ran yellows and soft reds. Horns shrieked and lights flashed and he didn’t give a damn.

This is your fault.
He’d underestimated Bennett. Even after everything Laney had told him, Daniel had forgotten that the man stayed in the shadows, that he preferred end runs to charges down the middle. That he would never just walk into a situation someone else controlled. He would redirect it. Find leverage.
Blood on your hands, Daniel. Blood on your soul.
It was twilight by the time they made it. On the surface, the neighborhood seemed idyllic. Beautiful homes, beautiful trees, beautiful people walking beautiful dogs. They made it to Levering first, followed the winding curves up to the intersection.
“That one.” Laney gestured to a Spanish-style house set back from the corner. She looked around. “It doesn’t look like anything’s happened.”
“Maybe he was bluffing.”
She bit her lip, didn’t respond.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “I’m thinking it too. But if she’s in there, and she needs help . . .”
“What do you want to do?”
He looked over. “Your gun.”
“Your gun.” She pulled it out. “Here.”
It had been three thousand miles and another life since the Glock he’d found in the glove box. But it felt just as good, just as right, to take the Sig Sauer in his hand. He ejected the round from the chamber, popped the magazine, reinserted the round, racked the slide, switched the safety off.
Look at you. But then, you probably learned for your writing. Probably fired off hundreds of rounds—at paper targets.
“Okay. Wait here.”
“What?”
“If there’s any problem, call the police.”
She shook her head. “No way. This is not a woolly mammoth situation.”
“Laney—”
She pushed open the passenger door and started down the sidewalk. Grimacing, he followed. The thrum of traffic sounded from the 405 to the west. Somewhere, someone started a leaf blower. His heart banged two beats for every footstep.
Laney started up the front path. He thought of arguing, couldn’t see a better way. If Bennett was here, there would be no safe or secret way in. And no time to waste.
Daniel reached for the front, twisted the handle. Unlocked. Holding his gun low and out, he pushed open the door.
The hallway was dark. He didn’t wait for his eyes to adjust, just went in before Laney could, the gun held in front of him. Trying to remember every maneuver he’d ever seen on a cop show.
Stay calm. Don’t shoot just because something moves.
His breath sounded loud. Laney stepped in behind him, shut the door. The click of the latch made him jump. He took a step, and then another. The place seemed familiar, though he couldn’t remember how.
A clatter came from down the hall.
Daniel was running before he realized it, charging past the staircase, through the living room, gun up and sweeping, vision blurring. Light fell through an archway. The room beyond had a tile floor, and he saw a baker’s rack with an array of pans. There was another sound, something he couldn’t place, and he spun around the corner, staying low, praying for he didn’t know what, that she would be okay, that Bennett would appear in his sights, that—
The first thing he saw was the cat. It was tubby and mottled orange and sitting on the counter. A container of cooking tools had been knocked over beside it, and the cat was swatting at a spatula.
The second thing he saw was Sophie. On her back on the kitchen table. Her arms hung on either side. Her empty eyes were open.
“No.” His hands started to shake. With the quiet, mechanical processing of shock, he saw the neat round hole in her forehead, and the gore spattered on the table. “No.”
Laney came up behind him. She gasped, hands flying to her face.
A man sat at the head of the table. His hair was gray, his face weathered. Duct tape lashed him to the chair. Deep cuts on his arms split the skin in red tears. Muscle and fat bulged through like fabric from an overstuffed cushion.
Laney whimpered. “Oh god.”
Daniel stared. The writer in him put the scene together. Bennett making Sophie watch as he tortured her lover. Asking questions. Telling her that it would all end if she told him what he wanted to know. If she told him where a half-million-dollar necklace was hidden.
Asking questions she didn’t know the answer to.
Laney came up behind him, buried her face in his back. He could feel her warmth, and the hectic beat of her heart. The vibrating ring of his cell phone hit like electric shock. He scrabbled back, slapping at his pocket with one hand, pulled the cell phone free. “Motherfucker. You evil motherfucker.”
“This is on you, Daniel.”
Bile spilled up his throat. “I swear to god—”
“Oh, stop. All you had to do was pay me.”
“I will never fucking give you—”
“Then I’ll visit someone else. Maybe Laney’s buddy. Robert Cameron. After all, he was nice enough to loan you his car.”
Daniel straightened, pushed away from Laney. How did Bennett know—
“A PT Cruiser, interesting choice for an actor. Distinctive, I guess, but a little pedestrian.”
Adrenaline dumped into his bloodstream. He shoved Laney back from the archway, sprinted to the living room, phone in one hand, gun in the other. Easing around the edge of the window, Daniel peered out. The porch was empty. So was the lawn and the front walk.
There was a silver Jaguar across the street. As his eyes fell on it, the dome light snapped on. The interior of the car glowed against the purple light of evening. Bennett lounged behind the wheel. He raised one hand. His lips moved, and a fraction of a second later, Daniel heard his voice through the phone. “Hi.”
Daniel narrowed his eyes. Took a step back, raised the pistol.
“Tricky one,” Bennett said. “Thirty yards with a sidearm through two panes of glass. And you’re firing one-handed. Plus . . .” The dome light snapped off, and darkness washed the interior of the Jaguar. “Now you can’t even see your target. What do you say, Daniel? Want to try for a lucky shot?”
He stared down the barrel, aimed square at the place Bennett’s head had been. He could do this. He knew he could. His hands were steady, his aim sure.
Do it. Now!
His finger wouldn’t move.
“On the other hand, I’ve got my pistol propped on the seat and aimed with both hands. What do you think, Sundance? Want to bet which of us hits? Want to guess what happens to your lovely bride afterwards?”
A shiver curled inside him as a vision of Laney in Sophie’s place flashed into his imagination. The car swam between the sights. Daniel lowered the gun, stepped away from the window. “We don’t have the necklace with us. If you kill us, you get nothing.”
“I know that. Why do you think I’m not inside?”
A terrible revelation seized him. “You killed her as a lesson.”
“That’s right. And you’ve got other friends. This isn’t a boxing match. We’re not going to fight fair. You try to screw me again and maybe it will be Robert Cameron tied to a chair and whimpering like a Girl Scout. You go to the police, and while they’re working on you, I’ll be working on Laney. No one can protect you. There is no safe place to hide. Do you understand?”
Daniel closed his eyes. The broken body of his friend stared at him from the darkness behind his lids. “Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I understand.”
“Now, I believe that you don’t have the necklace with you. You hid it somewhere. Go get it. Or tomorrow I visit another of your friends.” The line went dead. A moment later, an engine revved. Daniel stepped back in front of the window, watched the Jag pull away. He squinted, caught the license plate, 5BBM299.
Of course, it’s not his any more than the one on the BMW is yours.