breathing in the stench of rotting garbage. He stopped near where he was sure the man was hiding. “Come on out. Face me like a man,” he called.
A figure stepped from the shadows. It was the man from the airport, the one who’d tried to grab Stephanie’s laptop, the one who had driven the pool van onto Bittman’s property. Hisgraying crew cut glistened with sweat.
Tate looked him over. “Who are you?”
The older man raised an eyebrow. “Who are you?”
“All right. I’ll play. I’m Tate Fuego. What do you want with Stephanie Gage? I know you tried to take her laptop at the airport, and now you’re following me. Why?”
He opened his mouth, eyes wide with surprise before they narrowed into slits. “I don’t knowwhat you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. You were working as the pool guy at Joshua Bittman’s estate, and now here you are. How do you explain that?”
He smiled, showing yellow teeth. “Coincidence.”
“I don’t think so. Since you were hanging around Bittman’s, you might have seen my sister, Maria. I’m looking for her.” Tate saw no flicker of recognition cross the man’s face. “Do youknow where she is?”
“I don’t know any Maria.”
“What about Bittman? You’re his pool guy, but something tells me you weren’t just there to fix the chlorine.”
“You’re mistaken.”
The lie ignited a slow burn in Tate’s chest. “Know what I think?” He held his hands loose at his sides, ready. Considering the older man’s crooked nose and battle-hardened face, he figured the guy wouldread the signs. He was right.
The man eased himself into position, ready for a fight. “What’s that, boy?”
“I think you’re a liar. I think you’re going to tell me why you’re here, what you want with Stephanie Gage and what you know about my sister.”
The man’s hands balled into fists, instead of reaching behind him to his waistband. Tate felt relief. Fists he could handle—but a gun?Not so easily.
“Could be you’re wrong about that,” the man said.
Tate shifted his weight forward. “Maybe, but you’re not leaving this alley until I find out why you’re here.”
The man dived at him, moving with surprising quickness. Tate managed to step to the side, but it didn’t throw off the attack for long. The punches came in rapid succession, and took all Tate’s powers of concentrationto block them.
He ducked an incoming blow, which infuriated the attacker, who staggered as his punch fell short, glancing off Tate’s shoulder. Tate used the moment to deal the man a violent shove to the side, sending him sprawling into a pile of plastic trash bags disgorged from the overflowing Dumpster.
Fighter that he was, the guy was on his feet again in seconds.
“How about youtell me your name?” Tate said, fists up and ready. “Since we’re getting along so well and all.”
A hint of a smile twisted his mouth. “Name is Ricardo, boy.”
“I didn’t catch your last name.”
Again the smile. “Feel free to make one up.”
“Are you here on Bittman’s dime? Keeping tabs on us, maybe?” The eyes sparked, but Tate could not read an answer in the grim expression. A scentof cigarettes clung to the man.
A shout from the end of the alley drew both their attention. Before he realized what was happening, Ricardo dived behind the Dumpster and scrambled up a worn ladder that Tate hadn’t even noticed bolted to the side of the building.
Tate followed, kicking aside bags of trash until he grabbed hold of the iron rungs. “I’ve seen this in movies,” he called up.“It’s no good climbing to the roof unless you’ve got a helicopter waiting for you.”
Climbing was agony on his leg, but he forced himself upward, burning with shame that a man twenty years his senior could climb twice as fast. Teeth gritted, he continued, sparing only a quick look at the alley below.
Figures darted in and out of the shadows. One could have been Stephanie. He was gladhe’d encountered
A figure stepped from the shadows. It was the man from the airport, the one who’d tried to grab Stephanie’s laptop, the one who had driven the pool van onto Bittman’s property. Hisgraying crew cut glistened with sweat.
Tate looked him over. “Who are you?”
The older man raised an eyebrow. “Who are you?”
“All right. I’ll play. I’m Tate Fuego. What do you want with Stephanie Gage? I know you tried to take her laptop at the airport, and now you’re following me. Why?”
He opened his mouth, eyes wide with surprise before they narrowed into slits. “I don’t knowwhat you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. You were working as the pool guy at Joshua Bittman’s estate, and now here you are. How do you explain that?”
He smiled, showing yellow teeth. “Coincidence.”
“I don’t think so. Since you were hanging around Bittman’s, you might have seen my sister, Maria. I’m looking for her.” Tate saw no flicker of recognition cross the man’s face. “Do youknow where she is?”
“I don’t know any Maria.”
“What about Bittman? You’re his pool guy, but something tells me you weren’t just there to fix the chlorine.”
“You’re mistaken.”
The lie ignited a slow burn in Tate’s chest. “Know what I think?” He held his hands loose at his sides, ready. Considering the older man’s crooked nose and battle-hardened face, he figured the guy wouldread the signs. He was right.
The man eased himself into position, ready for a fight. “What’s that, boy?”
“I think you’re a liar. I think you’re going to tell me why you’re here, what you want with Stephanie Gage and what you know about my sister.”
The man’s hands balled into fists, instead of reaching behind him to his waistband. Tate felt relief. Fists he could handle—but a gun?Not so easily.
“Could be you’re wrong about that,” the man said.
Tate shifted his weight forward. “Maybe, but you’re not leaving this alley until I find out why you’re here.”
The man dived at him, moving with surprising quickness. Tate managed to step to the side, but it didn’t throw off the attack for long. The punches came in rapid succession, and took all Tate’s powers of concentrationto block them.
He ducked an incoming blow, which infuriated the attacker, who staggered as his punch fell short, glancing off Tate’s shoulder. Tate used the moment to deal the man a violent shove to the side, sending him sprawling into a pile of plastic trash bags disgorged from the overflowing Dumpster.
Fighter that he was, the guy was on his feet again in seconds.
“How about youtell me your name?” Tate said, fists up and ready. “Since we’re getting along so well and all.”
A hint of a smile twisted his mouth. “Name is Ricardo, boy.”
“I didn’t catch your last name.”
Again the smile. “Feel free to make one up.”
“Are you here on Bittman’s dime? Keeping tabs on us, maybe?” The eyes sparked, but Tate could not read an answer in the grim expression. A scentof cigarettes clung to the man.
A shout from the end of the alley drew both their attention. Before he realized what was happening, Ricardo dived behind the Dumpster and scrambled up a worn ladder that Tate hadn’t even noticed bolted to the side of the building.
Tate followed, kicking aside bags of trash until he grabbed hold of the iron rungs. “I’ve seen this in movies,” he called up.“It’s no good climbing to the roof unless you’ve got a helicopter waiting for you.”
Climbing was agony on his leg, but he forced himself upward, burning with shame that a man twenty years his senior could climb twice as fast. Teeth gritted, he continued, sparing only a quick look at the alley below.
Figures darted in and out of the shadows. One could have been Stephanie. He was gladhe’d encountered
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