Текст книги "Blood Drive"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter Thirty-Four

I lock the door before calling Ryan out of the bedroom.

“Who were those guys?” he asks. “And why were they saying those things about Mr. Frey?”

He looks confused and a little frightened. “They’re federal agents. They think Mr. Frey has something to do with what’s happened to Trish’s mother and to Barbara.”

He frowns. “Why would they think that?”

“It’s a long story, Ryan. And not important because you and I know he isn’t involved in any of it. The trick is going to be proving it.”

There’s another trick, too. Getting Ryan home without those two following us. “I’d better get you home. We’ll have to take the stairs. They’ll be watching the elevator and the front door, I’m sure.”

“But your car is parked out front.”

I smile at him. “I have another car. One I use for work, mostly. It’s in the garage downstairs. I think we can scrunch you down in the back seat and get out without them knowing.”

He slips the laptop into his backpack and slings it over his shoulder while I grab a denim jacket from the coat closet and slip it on over my’t-shirt.

“I wish I could talk to Trish,” he says softly.

I pick up my purse and fish car keys out of its depths. “You will, Ryan. Soon. I promise. Now I’m going to take you home and call my friend on the police force. He’ll tell us what we need to do to find out who owns that computer. He may need you to bring it in. Will you be okay with that?”

Ryan’s mouth draws into a firm resolute line. “If it will get Trish back, yes. But I won’t let him keep it. I won’t let anybody keep it. When we get these guys, I’m going to destroy it so no one will ever again see what they made Trish do.”

His naiveté touches me. I don’t have the heart to remind him that the videos are already out there. The best we can hope for is that they will get lost in the sea of porno available on the Net and eventually fade away.

The hallway is empty when we leave the apartment. I lead Ryan to the stairway at the end of the hall. We make it to the garage without incident.

My “other” car is a Ford Crown Vic. It’s the same model most cops use. Ryan climbs into the back and I throw an old blanket over him. I keep a few tricks of the trade in the trunk, a long brown wig, a pair of oversized glasses with tinted frames, a straw sun hat. I put them all on. Instant disguise.

When we exit the garage, the Blues Brothers are parked right across from the Jag in that same old Fair lane. I should have asked them what kind of budget their department has to make them drive an old car like that. Or maybe driving something so unorthodox is their clever idea of concealment. It certainly isn’t your typical cop car.

I’ll have to ask them the next time we run into each other. This time, however, the car is the only clever thing they have going. They don’t give me more than a passing glance when I cruise by.

When we’re safely away from the apartment, I ask Ryan for his address. He doesn’t live very far from the cottage. In fact, he lives on the bay side of Mission, maybe two miles away. I drop him off about a block from home, in front of the Mission Cafe.

When he scuttles out from under the blanket, he does a double take at the way I look. Then he grins. “Pretty good disguise. You must have to sneak away from guys a lot.”

Since I’m not sure what he means, and I’m very sure I don’t want to, I let it pass.

“Remember to be careful, Ryan,” I tell him as he gets out of the car. “Keep those dogs of yours close.”

The grin vanishes. “Don’t worry. I’ll be home all night. With the dogs. Be sure to call after you talk with your friend.”

I nod that I will and watch until he’s turned the corner. Then I reach for my phone.

When I try to contact Williams at his office, I’m told he’s already left for the day. Probably tired of being hounded by reporters after Mrs. Bernard’s press conference. There’s no answer at Frey’s, either.

I’m debating whether I should check in with my mother when the phone rings. I glance at the caller ID.

“Good timing, Mom. I was just about to call you.”

“I’ve been trying to call you all afternoon. Your phone has been off. The police were here, Anna.”

Her tone is accusatory and her speech clipped, as if she’s biting off each word to control her anger.

I try to diffuse the hostility with curiosity. “About Barbara?”

“And about Carolyn. Why didn’t you tell me Trish’s mother was killed?”

I close my eyes in exasperation. “I should have, Mom. I’m sorry.”

“The police think you are involved. You and Daniel Frey. And a teacher told me he saw you and Frey leave school together this afternoon. Was he right?”

There’s something about my mother’s disapproving tone that makes it impossible for me to lie to her-at least to lie to her about this. “Yes, I was with Frey this afternoon.”

She sucks in a breath. “Does he know where Trish is? Do you?”

God, now what? If I tell her the truth, she’ll make me go to the police. If I don’t, she’ll detect it with her mother’s intuition and I’ll be in worse shit with her than I am now.

“Mom, I can’t answer that. Not yet. You have to give me a little time to work this out.”

“Work what out?”

“Please. Just trust me. You know I would never put a child’s life at risk. I’ve talked to the police. They don’t believe I’m involved anymore.” A half-truth. The Feds think I’m involved big time. Which makes me add, “You may hear from a couple of Federal Agents.”

Another quick intake of breath. “You mean the two from the FBI?” She says it more like a statement than a question.

I grit my teeth. “They’ve already been in touch with you?”

“Oh yes. Agents Donovan and Bradley visited me at school. They have the impression that you and Frey are lovers. Want to clarify that for me?”

I rub a hand over my face. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“I’m sorry, too, Anna. I’m beginning to regret letting you get involved in this at all.”

The disappointment in her voice makes me cringe. There’s a long moment of silence before she speaks again.

“I’m giving you twenty-four hours. Get Trish back by then, Anna. I don’t care how you do it. But I want to see that child safe and in our home where she belongs. Do I make myself clear?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. She doesn’t have to. She breaks the connection and leaves me scalded by the heat of her command.

Chapter Thirty-Five

My life has been reduced to a string of deadlines, the latest imposed by my own mother. The fact that she didn’t ask about whether or not I started the DNA testing attests to how angry she is with me.

It’s a little after six, and foot traffic is picking up on Mission. From my parking space, I watch people drift into the Mission Café, mostly couples holding hands and smiling at each other in quiet contentment. Loneliness settles around me like the shadows from the dying sun. I’ve never had a typical boy-girl relationship. When I was younger, I never wanted one. And being around David and Gloria and seeing how crazy they make each other confirms that I certainly don’t need that kind of aggravation now. My motto has always been when you have the itch, find a guy and scratch it. Max fills the bill. He drops in, we fuck like bunnies for a day or two, and he’s gone.

Perfect for both of us.

Or so I thought.

When did Max start wanting more? What did I miss?

The blare of a horn snaps me back. I glance over my shoulder and a guy in a FedEx van holds up two hands in a “what gives?” pantomime. I’d forgotten that I’d pulled into a loading zone.

Good timing, I say to myself, steering away from the curb. These are not thoughts I need to be having.

Time to weigh my options. I could go back to the apartment and call it a night. God knows I’m weary enough. Or I could go to a bar for a beer. But that would mean getting hit on, or worse, notgetting hit on. I couldn’t handle it either way.

That leaves only one other choice. I hang a U and head for the office. I’ll check telephone messages and mail and pretend I still have a day job. If I’m lucky, there’ll be beer in the fridge and I can sit on the little deck outside our office and watch the sunset. If I try hard, I might be able to remember how it was when all I had to contend with were human concerns.

David’s Hummer is not parked in his designated space. I didn’t expect that it would be at six thirty, and yet I feel a pinprick of disappointment. I can’t believe it’s only been a couple of days since I’ve seen him. It feels much longer than that.

I lock the Ford and pocket the keys, slinging my purse over my shoulder. At the horizon, low clouds hover just over the water. There are a lot of people on the boardwalk, normal, human, strolling south toward SeaportVillage, the lilt of music and the rich smell of grilling fish and barbecue drawing them as powerfully as the promise of a spectacular sunset.

For an instant, I’m tempted to join them, to lose myself in the crowd and pretend I’m one of them. But only for an instant. I’m not one of them and it’s no use to pretend. I heave a sigh and head for the door.

I have the key out and ready. Since our office is located on the water side, I make my way around to the back, steps muffled by rubber soles on the wooden deck. As I round the corner, an electric jolt of warning brings me to an abrupt stop. The door to our office yawns open.

The hackles at the back of my neck stand straight up and I’m instantly alert. The vampire swallows up the human side of my nature in one gulp. With a low growl, I give the door a gentle push and let it swing open.

There are no lights on inside. In the half twilight, I see a solitary figure standing at the slider on the far side of the office. His back to me, he seems lost in the play of light on water. The glare from the sun on the window blurs his image. Soundlessly, I approach, mind probing gently to determine who or what he is. I get no response.

Human? The vampire side of my nature draws back a little. I can easily overpower a human without resorting to fangs. I cast no reflection in the window so I’m at his side before his quiet voice breaks the silence.

“Hello, Anna. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Frey?” I grit my teeth and scowl at him. “Are you crazy? I almost-”

“What? Bit me? Been there, done that.”

He turns to look at me and starts to laugh. “You look like Malibu Barbie.”

I snatch off the glasses and hat with one hand and peel off the wig with the other. “What are you doing here?”

He has a can of beer in his right hand and he waves it at the window. “Enjoying the view. You must do very well to be able to afford an office here.”

“We get a break on the rent.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Boyfriend?”

“No. Father. Any other questions?”

He takes a last swig from the can and tosses it into the wastebasket beside the desk. “No.”

I let my shoulders slump and try to ease the knots out of the muscles in my neck. Adrenaline pumps with unrelenting force through my veins. “Why didn’t you say something? You must have known I was here. You know, with this-” I lay a finger along side my nose.

He smiles. “It was more fun to see what you’d do.”

“How did you get in?”

“Your partner. He was just leaving when I arrived.”

“And he said you could wait? Alone in our office?” It didn’t sound like David.

Frey shrugs. “I told him you were meeting me. That you were supposed to have left him a message. He seemed irritated but not surprised that you hadn’t. Mumbled something like, it figures, and left.”

Great.Something else to explain to my partner. If I have one. I drop into the chair on my side of the desk. “How is Trish? I thought you’d be staying close to her tonight.”

He lowers himself into David’s chair. “She’s got Sorrel to look after her.”

“So, you haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”

Frey leans back and tents his fingers. “Where else would I go? The Feds are watching my place. Probably yours, too. I took a chance they wouldn’t be watching the office. At least not tonight.”

I nod that I, too, suspect he’s right. “I hope you’ve arranged a substitute for school tomorrow. Mom is up in arms about everything that’s happened. She’s already had a visit from the Feds.”

“No surprise there. Those jackals leave no stone unturned.”

He has a peculiar inflection in his voice. In the gathering dusk, his eyes glow. He turns those eyes on me and a shiver runs up my spine.

“What’s going on, Frey? You look– weird.”

He holds a hand up and turns the palm back to front. “I thought you might want company. Did you know that there is a full moon tonight?”

I give my head a shake. “No. Am I supposed to?”

“I suppose not. The moon doesn’t affect you.”

“I thought it didn’t affect you, either.”

He pushes himself out of the chair and begins pacing in front of the sliding glass door. He seems restless, agitated.

“Frey?”

He stops abruptly and whirls to face me. “Did you find out anything today?”

“Nothing we can use.” A video image flashes in my head and I pass a hand over my face to erase it.

“Nothing?” He starts pacing again. “Where did you go after you left the park?”

I’d forgotten that he doesn’t know about Ryan and the computer. “Has Trish told you anything about her friend?”

But he doesn’t seem to be listening. He’s pulling at the neck of his’t-shirt, as if the collar is too tight. Sweat glistens on his face.

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask.

He grimaces. “I didn’t tell you the entire truth about the moon. The moon, the tides, and the alignment of certain planets, all have an effect on me. I can change anytime I want. But there are certain nights when I don’t have a choice. Under normal circumstances, I’d lock myself inside my condo and ride it out. But these aren’t normal circumstances, are they?”

He says it as though it’s taking every bit of effort to keep some terrible primal urge in check. Maybe it is. I’m glad I’m no longer privy to his thoughts.

“You’re creeping me out,” I say. “Should I leave you alone? I could lock you in.”

He jabs a thumb toward the slider. “Except for that.”

“Yeah, but that leads to a deck over the water. Panthers can’t swim, can they?”

“ I canswim,” he says.

Good point.

“Is there anything I can do?”

His answer is to resume pacing. The shadow of night has swallowed up any remaining daylight, and the office is plunged into darkness. Though I can see as well in the dark as I can in the light, the idea of being alone with him like this is unsettling. I reach to turn on a desk lamp.

I’m stopped by a low growl.

“Don’t.”

The voice doesn’t sound like Frey’s. I pull my hand back and peer at him. He’s standing upright, but his face is changing. The features blunt, the nose flattens, and the ears elongate and shift to the top of his head. His eyes become sullen yellow orbs, the pupils split into onyx diamonds that flash silver with the movement of his head.

Those eyes watch me now with an intensity that sends fear skittering along my spine.

When he opens his mouth to speak again, it’s with a guttural hiss. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Why didn’t you stay at that place in the park?”

“I couldn’t trust myself. There are humans who work there who have never seen a transformation. I didn’t want to scare them. And Trish is there. She’s been insulated from the true nature of that place, but if she should see me like this-”

Frey is moving his head in little circles, as if working kinks out of his neck and shoulders. He rips at his’t-shirt with hands that are morphing into claws. The fabric shreds and drops away.

“I won’t be able to talk much longer,” he says. The tips of needle sharp teeth protrude from blackened gums. He’s crouching now, clumsily pulling at his slacks until he’s worked them off. His legs are covered with a fine mat of dark hair.

I watch, transfixed at a sight the best Hollywood special effects man couldn’t duplicate. The panther is emerging from the shell of Frey’s human form, a perfect cat face, silky fur about two or three inches long and black as the night outside our window. Only it’s not quite a complete transformation. Frey is standing upright, and his eyes retain a spark of intelligence beyond that of an animal. The only sounds he’s making are rumbling growls that seem to come from the center of his chest. And he’s watching me. I feel like a rat in a cobra cage. One sudden move and he’ll pounce.

He’s moving around the desk, upright, but with a fluid grace. A quick and disturbing thought sends my pulse into race mode. I don’t know what shapeshifters do when they take on their animal characteristics. Do I look like dinner to Frey?

I push back from the desk but remain seated, ready to defend myself. Great. A fight to the death with a panther. The perfect end to the perfect day. Frey comes closer, his gums curling back as he continues to emit those deep, rasping snarls. I’m prepared to jump to my feet, to fight him with every ounce of strength and cunning I have at my disposable. One animal against another. I know I’m strong enough to beat him. I just have to stay out of reach of those claws. Get behind him and-

Frey has dropped to all fours. His head is even with mine as we continue to watch each other. I plant my feet, draw strength, and center my thoughts.

“Come on kitty,” I whisper. “Make your move.”

There’s a flicker of recognition in those almond eyes. And I swear, he’s smiling. He lowers his head and pushes it against my chest. The sounds from his throat are louder now, but the timbre is different.

He pushes again against my chest and gently nuzzles my hand.

I stare at him in disbelief.

The purr is almost deafening.

I lay a hand on his head. “Jesus, Frey,” I mumble. “Am I ever going to get used to this crap?”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Thursday

It’s about midnight when I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. I fall asleep, my head on the desk, Frey’s furry head on my lap. I’m jerked awake by the blare of a cruise ship horn as it pulls out of the harbor. I sit straight up, heart pounding, eyes blinded by the glare of sun on water. The desk clock reads 6:15.

Frey is gone.

I let my head fall back on the desktop and groan. I just spent the night baby-sitting an overgrown pussycat. I don’t know how he got himself to wherever he went. Hopefully, he waited until he had transformed back to human form, but at this moment, I don’t much care.

It’s time to get Williams and Ryan together and find out who that computer belongs to. With another groan, I hoist my sad butt out of the chair and look around for the wig and glasses. I wonder if Bradley and Donovan have realized yet that I gave them the slip. If they have and they’re any kind of detectives at all, they will have checked DMV to see how many cars I have registered in my name. And while the Ford is registered under the name of our company, I’m assuming that, by this time, they’ll know that, too.

I reach for the desk phone and call a taxi. I tell them to pick me up in the parking lot in front of SeaportVillage on

Pacific Coast Highway

. I put the wig back on and the glasses and swap my denim jacket for a ratty leather trench coat I leave in the office for just such emergencies. I put the hat in a desk drawer and jot a note to David telling him I’ll call him tonight. I optimistically add that I’ll have Trish back home by then and will report to work tomorrow morning.

The power of positive thinking.

Now to get out of here without anyone seeing me-just in case anyone is looking. I peer out and around the door. At this time of morning, there’s not much traffic on the boardwalk. A few joggers and dog walkers from the condos nearby. But I can’t see into the parking lot and I can’t exit that way without taking the chance of getting caught. A low wooden railing separates the decks along the waterside offices. I could easily climb over the railings and work my way to the front. The only problem will be if a startled tenant getting an early start on the day mistakes me for a prowler and calls the police.

A chance I’ll have to take.

For once, luck is on my side. I get to the end office without incident. I’m just about to venture out onto the boardwalk when a familiar voice brings me up short.

It’s Special Agent Bradley and from the proximity of his voice, I take it that he’s standing out of sight just around the corner. He must be talking into a cell phone because I only hear one side of the conversation.

“Yes. I know. We just got here. Her car is in the parking lot.” Pause. “I don’t know if Frey is with her or not.” Pause. “If he isn’t, we have people at his house, at school.” Pause. “Yes, I realize he gave us the slip the same way she did. But we tracked her down, and we’ll catch up to him, too. And it’s the computer we want, right? Frey is just the excuse we-” Pause. “Yeah. I get it. No, Donovan doesn’t suspect. I have to go. He’s gone for coffee, but he’ll be back. I’ll be in touch when I know anything.”

I remain hidden until I hear Bradley move back toward the parking lot. He said Donovan had gone for coffee. The only coffee shop open at this time of morning is the one in the Holiday Inn across

Pacific Highway

. I figure he’ll either be looking in that direction or watching for me to come out of the office and head to my car. In any case, it’s either make a break for it now or be trapped here until the occupant of this office shows up and starts yelling.

Not much of a choice.

I put my head down and venture around the corner. The Fair lane is parked in front of the Ferry Landing, maybe half a block away. Bradley is leaning against the trunk, looking out at the water. I turn my back and stagger stoop-shouldered toward the bushes that line the pedestrian walkway. If by chance he does glance this way, he’ll see an osteoporotic woman, clad in a filthy, torn and patched leather coat, stumbling with intoxicated resolve toward the bushes. A homeless woman. And that will render me invisible to anyone not wanting to risk being touched or asked for a handout.

I’ve seen it a hundred times.

I make it to the bushes and beyond to the parking lot where my cab sits waiting. The driver, a dark haired, olive hued Hispanic eyes me when he watches me approach. But I pull my purse out from under my coat and flash a couple of twenties at him. The uncertainty vanishes.

“Where to?” he asks in perfect English.

I almost do a double take and ask him to repeat. But I pull myself together and tell him to take me to SDPD Headquarters.

That brings a smile. “Ah. You’re undercover.”

I snicker. “Something like that.”

I relax back onto the seat. I’m rehearsing what I’m going to tell Williams and how I’m going to spin the fact that I’ve had the computer all this time.

Bradley’s phone conversation.

It brings me straight up in the seat.

He mentioned the computer.

How could he know about that?

The question barely crosses my mind before others follow it. What did he mean when he said Frey was just the excuse? And what doesn’t Donovan suspect?

The implications make my head swim. By the time we pull up in front of police headquarters, I’m so anxious to run this by Williams that I forget to remove the coat and wig. The sergeant behind the desk actually holds up a warning hand to stop me when I approach.

“Whoa, there, ma’am,” he says. “What can I do for you?”

I look at the nametag on his shirt pocket. “Sergeant Harvey, I’m here to see Chief Williams.”

He’s a good-looking black guy with short clipped hair and wide shoulders, but he’s looking at me like he’s not sure whether to try to placate me or haul my ass out of the building. “Chief Williams is not here yet, ma’am,” he says.

“I know he’s here,” I snap back. “He comes in every morning at six. Call him. Tell him it’s Anna Strong. He’ll see me.”

Sergeant Harvey hesitates. He’s probably thinking he should frisk me before turning away for the brief moment it would take to make a call. I try to make the decision easier for him. I remove the sunglasses and shrug out of the coat. As I do, his hand travels to the gun on his hip, but his eyes never leave my face. He watches carefully as I let the coat drop to the floor. I’m wearing the same outfit from yesterday, jeans and a short-cropped cotton sweater that falls to just below my waist. The sweater is not form fitting, but it’s tight enough that if I were carrying a gun, it would certainly show. I raise the cuffs on my jeans. No ankle holsters.

“To go any further,” I tell him, “I require a red light and music.”

That almost brings a smile. His shoulders relax and he reaches for the phone. But he’s watching me, and I have no doubt he’d have his gun out in a heartbeat if I made any quick moves.

I don’t.

He speaks quietly into the receiver. I can hear him, though, and it appears Williams has answered the phone himself. Sergeant Harvey starts to give a brief description and I remember the wig. I pull it off and run a finger through my hair. He amends the description. That seems to do it. He replaces the receiver and gives me a code for the elevator.

“The Chief is waiting for you.”

I gather up my things, head up, and put a lock on my thoughts. I want to be careful what I reveal. At least at first.

Williams is waiting when the elevator door opens. He’s looking at the coat. “You need a better tailor,” he says. “That coat almost got you arrested for vagrancy.”

He turns and heads for his office. The enticing smell of fresh brewed coffee greets us at the door. He doesn’t seem to be probing my head, nor is his manner anything other than mildly curious.

I eye the pot enthusiastically. “Any chance I can have a cup of that?”

He looks at me, a quizzical half-smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and makes a go-ahead motion with his hand. “What did you do?” he asks as I pour a mug. “Spend the night on the streets?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“You have the same outfit on as yesterday.”

I take a deep, satisfying pull of the coffee before replying. “You sound like a detective. But no, I didn’t spend the night on the streets. Actually, I spent the night in my office. With Frey. You ever see him make the change?”

He shakes his head. “But I’ve seen similar. Don’t see any claw or bite marks, though, so I assume he behaved himself.” He settles himself into the chair behind his desk and waits for me to sit, too. “So why did you spend the night at the office? Why not your apartment?”

“Bradley and Donovan. They paid me a visit yesterday afternoon to convince me that Frey was a menace to society. They pulled out all the stops, including threatening to charge me as an accessory. Then they set up surveillance outside my building. Figured I’d run straight to Frey, I suppose, and warn him.”

Only maybe that wasn’t the reason, at least not for Bradley. I flash back on his phone conversation. He’s looking for the computer, not Frey. And he knows I can lead him to it.

How does he know that?

In the second I let those thoughts filter through, Williams is in my head.

What computer?

I tell him. All of it. Then ready myself for what will come because I’ve withheld important evidence.

Like in the park, though, Williams surprises me. His demeanor is more thoughtful than angry. He inclines his head and says, Predators use computers to lure children into meeting them. They keep their records on them. Getting our hands on it is a good first step.

I nod. Max explained that. The trail left on a hard drive.

Now a flash of aggravation. Max knows about this?

I shake my head. Not specifically. I just asked him some general questions. But what about Bradley saying Frey is just an excuse and that Donovan doesn’t suspect? Suspect what, I wonder?

We’ll have to ask him the next time we see him. But what we need to do now is get that computer and start a trace. Call Ryan. The sooner we do it the better it is for Trish.

He swivels the phone on his desk toward me and I dial Ryan’s number. He picks up, and I ask if he can meet me before school. He agrees.

Williams’s voice interposes itself in my head, telling me that he’ll send me in a squad car to pick up Ryan. I pass the information on to Ryan and ask, “Will your parents be home?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “They don’t leave for work until eight or so.”

“Good. It will give me a chance to meet them and tell them what’s going on. It’s time they know.”

There’s a brief pause, then he says, “Okay. But they’re probably going to be pissed.”

I can’t help smiling. “Probably. I’ll try to smooth things over.”

There’s a pause, then Ryan adds softly, “They don’t know what’s on the computer. I just told them it has to do with Trish’s running away. I couldn’t let them see-”

“I understand, Ryan. You’ve been a good friend to Trish. I’ll make sure they know that.”

We hang up and Williams again reaches for the phone. He dials a two-digit number and tells dispatch to send a squad car around to the back. He’s specific as to which squad car he wants. He’s just replaced the receiver when the phone rings. He listens, throws me a half-smile, and says into the phone, “Thanks, Sergeant Harvey. Give me five minutes and send them up.”

“Better take the stairs out of here,” he says. “Our favorite special agents are on their way up. Probably to complain about you.” He glances at his watch. “I’ll meet you and Ryan at the Mission Café in a half hour.”