The Competition - [92]

Shane was silent for a few moments. “Man, if you’re right, he’s out of his friggin’ mind.”

No argument there. I got on the phone and coordinated with Luis. We’d stop in Sylmar so he and his crew could follow us. I told him the meeting place was in Joshua Tree and that it might be hard to find cover.

“We know what we’re doin’,” Luis said. “You jes’ worry ’bout you.”

His certainty was comforting. Sort of.

I had just ended the call when Bailey’s cell rang. “Want me to get it for you?” I asked.

“Check who it is first.”

It was Harrellson.

“Take it.”

“Hey, Skipper.”

“I told you never to call me that,” he said.

“I forgot.”

His parents named him Skipper Don Harrellson. He tried to keep it a secret, but cops are always on the lookout for needling material, and this one was low-hanging fruit.

“They just found a body out in Box Canyon,” he said. Box Canyon was west of Chatsworth in a remote corner of the San Fernando Valley. Charles Manson once freeloaded off a religious cult there. “Young white male, approximately sixteen years of age.”

A lead weight dropped to the pit of my stomach. “Evan?”

“That’s what they thought, but…I’ll get back to you when I know more. I’m on my way out there. You’ll let Bailey know.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, Knight. I’ll be in touch as soon as I know more.”

60

I whispered the news to Bailey. She gripped the steering wheel but said nothing for several moments. When she spoke, her voice was tight. “Do we know what happened?”

“No. Harrellson wasn’t about to say anything on the phone. But it might’ve just been an accident. He could’ve fallen, been hit by a car.”

“Be a hell of a coincidence, though, wouldn’t it?” I didn’t need to answer. Neither of us believed in them. “How do you think Logan found him?”

“No clue,” I said. “But we know Evan hasn’t been using his cell phone-”

“Probably bought a burner. But I just don’t see him reaching out to Logan.”

I didn’t either. And I didn’t know how else Logan would find him. In a city as vast as Los Angeles-hell, even in the Valley-it’s pretty hard to run into someone who’s trying to run away. I couldn’t figure this one out with what little information we had. And for all we knew, it might not be Evan at all. I held on to that hope and turned back to the matter at hand.

The traffic got heavy when we hit Thousand Oaks, and we didn’t reach our meeting place in Sylmar until almost nine at night. Subtlety wasn’t Luis’s style when it came to cars, so I scanned the street for glitter and shiny chrome. Nothing like that was parked on either side of the block. I called Luis. “Hey, we’re here. What street are you on?”

Luis chuckled. “You jes’ rolled right by us. Turn around.” I did, and saw a dark blue, nondescript sedan flash its headlights.

What was I thinking? Of course he was smart enough to know when he needed to keep a low profile. It’s how he stayed out of prison. I put my hand out the window to give a thumbs-up.

Luis gave an exasperated sigh. “Don’ do that no more.”

When we got back on the freeway, the traffic had eased up considerably. We had smooth sailing all the way down to Riverside and pulled into Joshua Tree National Park by midnight. The abrupt shift from all the lights, noise, and motion to pitch-black desert was stunning.

The air felt hushed. Huge rock formations stood out against the black night, and the sky was thick with stars usually hidden by the lights of civilization. Barren, blanketed with the cacti that gave the park its name, Joshua Tree Park stretched out for miles before us. It had an austere beauty, but it conveyed a sense of isolation that made it feel as if we were the last survivors of a nuclear holocaust.

Bailey pulled over to the side of the road just outside the entrance and turned toward the backseat. “Where exactly is your meeting place?”

“It’s about two miles in, over there.” He gestured with his chin-since he was still handcuffed-to the right side of the park.

The area was bordered by rocky hills that had a sparse covering of withered-looking trees. Plenty of hiding space for Luis and company. So far, so good. I called Luis and told him where we were headed.

“Good,” he said. “Now don’ call me no more. And don’ worry. I got this.”

I was about to meet with a gunrunner/drug dealer who was probably an errant cartel member, and my backup was a car full of gangbangers who probably had a bigger arsenal than he did. What on earth could I be worried about?

“Probably best if we uncuff this guy and let him ride up front now,” Bailey said.

This was where we knew everything could go south on us. We had to let Shane out, find a place to hide, then hope he’d do his part. The only thing that gave me confidence was the fact that Shane was more afraid of Luis than of us. Todd didn’t love the plan, but he hadn’t been able to come up with anything better. He reluctantly uncuffed Shane, and I got out to trade places with him.

Shane rubbed his wrists. “Man those things hurt.” Todd pulled him out of the car, and he swung his arms and stretched before Todd pushed him toward the front seat. “Hey,” Shane said. “Gimme a sec, here. I gotta loosen up for the big play.”