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  "How could you possibly have lost her?"

  "She drove straight for the train. I thought she was going to try and beat it so I shot out her tires. Thought I could stop her right on the tracks. Do the job for us real neat. I saw the train hit the Jag, or at least I though I did. When the train passed and I got to the other side of the tracks, the Jag was smashed up real bad but Clarissa was gone."

  "You searched?"

  "The whole area. I called Alex again. He sent Lee Yuen and the two of us went over the whole industrial park with a fine tooth comb. There was no blood so we don't think she was hurt. All we found was part of her purse strap in the car. There was no sign of her. She just vanished."

  "She didn't vanish," said Wolfe hotly. "She's out there somewhere. She saw you pull the trigger, Marco. You had better find her."

  Marco barely held Morgan's stiff glare. In the eight years he had been with Wolfe, he had prided himself on perfection. There was never even the slightest crack in Marco's cool and calm veneer. He was never careless, never made mistakes. Not until tonight. The crack was almost imperceptible, but it made Marco's muscles tense and his stomach tighten. If Clarissa was not found, they were all in jeopardy and the blame would be on Marco's shoulders. Silently, he cursed himself for not checking the all the doors to the house a second time before the meeting with Byron Roth. He had left that task to Alex but security was his direct responsibility.

  He could find her, of that he was certain. Marco was a born tracker, once long ago, a freelance bounty hunter. He knew the human animal was a creature of habit. He also knew that it took knowledge of his prey, setting the right traps, and patience while he tightened the noose and watched his prey begin to make mistakes. That was the part of the hunt he enjoyed the most, the fear and mounting terror of his victims.

  "It's gonna take some time."

  "You got seventy-two hours."

  "Mister Wolfe, I may need more time."

  "In seventy-two hours that bitch could break wide open this organization," Wolfe hissed. "I want her dead. If you have to call in outside help, do it. Check on every place that she could possibly go. Friends, acquaintances, her modeling contacts, everything you can think of. She's got no family except a brother in the oil fields in the Middle East. Cut off that route immediately. Call our contacts in Dubai and Saudi Arabia. Round up the brother and hold him. Check with Virginia again. She might have heard from her."

  "Dalton and Santos are covering Virginia's condo. Bateman is watching the Palisades place and Alex is trying to track her cell phone. So far its offline. No signal. I'll send Yuen to the hair salon in Beverly Hills."

  “Her friend Hugo is in La Jolla, Cover that too.” Marco nodded painfully. "Don't fail a second time, Marco," Morgan said. "I doubt your face could take it."

  Marco stiffened slightly but made no reply. He wanted only to get his hands on Clarissa, now more than ever. Gone were the fantasies of sadistic pleasure. Marco wanted to torture her, hear her screams. She would die a slow, agonizing death. He would make her suffer as retribution for the brutal beating he had endured by five of Morgan's guards. He had deserved the pain and humiliation. He had screwed up. Security was his responsibility and he had failed Morgan Wolfe. He would not do so again. But the blond bitch would know just how seriously Marco Camponello took his job.

  "Put somebody on the hairdresser's beach house in Manhattan Beach" Morgan was saying. “He might still have that apartment in New York. A long shot she could make it there, but cover both of those as well."

  "She tried to call his house earlier tonight," Marco replied, shifting his sore ribs and guts uneasily in the chair. "We've had the phones at Hugo's tapped per the usual procedure for any new associate. She called from her cell. Roommate told her Hugo had already left for La Jolla."

  "Then no other calls from her cell?"

  "Rogers said it went off line after that. She probably was smart enough to destroy it.”

  “No, that bitch is not that smart. We’ll probably find it in the wreck.”

  “Had is towed and we have people going over it now.”

  Wolfe nodded as he watched Marco disappear through the french doors before he permitted himself a satisfied smile.

  Clarissa hugged the corner of the elevator as they made the slow descent to the subterranean parking garage. The gray-haired woman in the lavender cocktail dress and a rhinestone collared Chihuahua under each arm, gave her a disgusted glance and Clarissa stepped closer to Virginia.

  "Don't these people know they're to use the service elevator?" the woman whispered to Virginia, who merely shrugged and returned to watch the digital display of the floor indicator. One of the dogs dropped a tiny stool onto the floor. Clarissa cleared her throat. When the woman started to give her a cold sneer, Clarissa indicated the dog dropping.

  "You dropped something," said Clarissa. "You're not going to leave it there, are you?"

  The woman gave her a look as if she expected Clarissa to do the dirty work. Clarissa smiled, for the first time in hours.

  "I don't do shit," she told the woman.

  "Ma'am, the rules of the building say you can't let your dogs do their business in the building," Virginia said and handed the woman a tissue from her jeans pocket.

  The woman's eyes blazed with indignation.

  "You don't expect...?"

  "It's the rules, ma'am," said Virginia. "Please pick it up.

  "The elevator stopped on the ground floor. The doors started to open. Virginia reached over to the control panel and held the door closed. Her eyes blazing with anger, the woman thrust the two overgrown rat dogs at Clarissa and snatched the tissue from Virginia. In a huff she bend over and picked up the dropping. Virginia let the elevator door open. As the woman retrieved her dogs and the door was about to close, Clarissa let out a cry.

  Two of Morgan's security guards had just gotten out of a dark sedan and were coming up the walk toward the glass front door. Dalton opened the door with a security key while the other, Santos, disappeared around the side of the building. Virginia punched the button to close the elevator door.

  "Keep your face hidden," she said sharply. "I don't think they saw us."

  "What are they doing here?"

  "I don't know," Virginia replied as the elevator continued its descent to the garage. "Morgan isn't taking any chances. He's covering all the bases. You've got him going, girl. For the first time in his life, you've got Morgan Wolfe scared."

  "He's not the only one. Gin..."

  "Just stay calm. He couldn't have known you're here. He would have sent Marco if he suspected. He's just laying out the net, hoping you'll fall into it sooner or later."

  "Dalton had a key."

  "They all have keys. Morgan owns the penthouse and three other condos that he leases out in my name and various other names. He owns the property management company that manages the place and Alex Rogers is the president of the *homeowners association."

  "Then how are we going to get out of here?"

  "Very carefully. You do whatever I say, when I say. Don't question. Just move when I tell you."

  The elevator door slid open with a whoosh that made Clarissa jump. She half expected to see a grinning Santos standing there, his gun pointed at her gut. The tension in her body was to the point of physical pain. Her neck and shoulder muscles ached with it like a blinding migraine. There was no relief even when they stepped off the elevator into an empty and quiet garage.

  "The dark blue Mercedes," Virginia indicated the car parked mid-way down an aisle of expensive American and imported cars. "Get into the trunk."

  Clarissa started to protest but the elevator door closed behind them and the car began the assent and stopped on the first floor. Then it began to descend. When it came down again, Clarissa knew that the elevator would hold death.

  Virginia unlocked the trunk and retrieved a tan eel-skin briefcase before Clarissa climbed in among some black plastic trash bags.

  "Just some more old clothes I'm giving to
the Goodwill," Virginia explained. "Hurry, get in."

  "Please, don't shut it all the way," Clarissa pleaded.

  Virginia lowered the trunk lid enough so that it looked like it was closed but the lock not engaged. She turned toward the elevator when the door opened and Dalton emerged.

  "Thought I'd find you down here, Miss Essex," Dalton grinned widely. "Scanner showed your care was here, but you weren't upstairs."

  "What are you doing here, Dalton?" Virginia's voice was hard edged with forced anger that hid the sudden fear.

  "You see Miss Hayden tonight?"

  "Miss Hayden is at a party at Sylvia Cheswick's," Virginia explained. "Would you like to see a copy of her schedule?"

  "She didn't make the party. She might have tried to come here. As least that what's Morgan said. Wanted Santos and I to check it out. Maybe you have seen her."

  "I haven't. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

  Dalton blocked her path to the elevator and Virginia managed to hang onto her cool despite the panic that was growing steadily.

  "I don't mean to detain you, Miss Essex, but I want to have a look inside your car."

  "What for?" she snapped. "I was just over there. There's no one inside."

  "I'd like to have a look anyway. Sorry to have to inconvenience you like this, but it won't take but a moment."

  Before she could protest, Dalton grabbed her upper arm and moved her toward the Mercedes. Virginia's eyes were riveted on the trunk lid. Dalton took her keys from her and opened the driver's side door, then tossed the keys back to her. He took a flashlight from the pocket of his black quilted jacket and searched the entire interior of the car. Virginia's knuckled were white on the handle of the briefcase as she huffed with mock impatience.

  "Won't be more than a minute more, Miss Essex," Dalton said.

  "Dalton!" Santos called from farther down the aisle of cars. He was back-lit by the outside lights shining in through the security gate, but Virginia could see that he was carrying an assault weapon over his shoulder. As he approached the Mercedes he held out something to Dalton.

  "What's this?" Dalton asked, taking the small object and holding it up to the flashlight's beam.

  Virginia silently cursed. It did little to stem the tide of panic that weakened her knees. Her heart pounded in her chest and she fought back tears of pure hatred and anger. Dalton handed her the small red object.

  "Look familiar?" he asked her.

  "No," she said flatly.

  Dalton grabbed her hand and shined the flashlight on her perfectly manicured, but colorless nails.

  "Didn't think you wore these," he said matter-of-factly. "I notice those thinks about a woman. Now, Miss Hayden, she has some guy come out to do her hair and sometimes he brings a girl that does her nails. Glues these on, I think is how it's done. Then they put on red polish. Like this color. Miss Hayden, she don't use no ordinary color. Girl mixes the color special. I know, because I asked once. Though my girlfriend would kind of like to have a bottle of it."

  "So, there are a lot of wealthy women in this building that wear acrylic nails," Virginia spat.

  "Where'd you find this, Santos?

  "In the hallway right under Miss Essex's door bell," Santos said, smiling evilly at Virginia, who glared back at him.

  "Santos, do a thorough search of Miss Essex's condo," Dalton said. "Would you mind opening the trunk of your car, Miss Essex?" Dalton grinned again but there was malice in his eyes. "Would you like me to do it for you?"

  Dalton motioned Santos to stand behind the trunk. The Latino guard aimed the silenced weapon at the trunk as Dalton grabbed the keys once again from Virginia. She did not protest but stood motionless as Dalton popped the lock on the Mercedes. Virginia managed a slight, smug smile. She had not left the lid tightly closed. The smile lasted but a second. As Dalton raised the trunk lid, Santos opened fire with his silenced gun into the black trash bags.

  Clarissa huddled into a tight ball, shivering. She could hear the muted voices of Virginia and Dalton. The late night had turned cold and damp. A stiff breeze rustled the trees beyond the security gate that lead to the alley behind the condominium, and swept dry autumn leaves under the nearest cars. The night smelled of rain, a storm coming in off the coast. It added to the slow peeling away of Clarissa's spirit. Her stomach cramped with the constant tension and terror. She drew tighter into herself. She couldn't stop shaking.

  Then she heard the trunk opening and the muted pop of gunfire. Her heart stopped, sticking like a rock in her throat. They had meant to murder her as soon as they saw her. There would be no trip back to the Wolfe mansion, no facing Morgan once last time to plead for her life. He wanted her dead, now. The thought made her stomach heave. She clamped both hands over her mouth and squeezed. One small sound would give her hiding place under the black pick-up truck away. Tears dotted the oil and grease-stained cement under the truck. She could not control them and let them fall. It was the hardest she had ever cried without making a sound. To do so was instant death.

  Clarissa laid under the pick-up until she heard the Mercedes trunk lid slam down, Virginia's angry curses, and her voice trail away toward the elevator. She let out a breath when the elevator motor whirred on its climb back to the seventh floor. Then Dalton's heavy black work boots passed the truck toward the security gate, slowed, and stopped. Clarissa's heart stopped with them. A flashlight beam flicked on. The yellow light swept the ground slowly, searching, probing the concealing darkness. The edge of the light passed agonizingly slow inches from Clarissa's nose. She lay motionless, her legs and back wedged against the cold concrete wall under the truck's engine. She closed her eyes and prayed, certain that he would hear her breathing. The beam moved on, then swung back again, hesitated, and chased the shadows under the car next to the truck. Dalton's methodical scrutiny moved him slowly toward the gate.

  She heard the side gate open and close and then there was blessed silence. Her mind relaxed enough to consider her situation and come up with some solution.

  Where was Santos? Clarissa's ears strained to hear any sound of him. There was only the breeze and the swishing of the dry, brittle leaves, like hissing snakes in the darkness.

  She lay there for a few minutes longer, screwing up the courage to venture out into the night. Before she could move she had to come up with a destination. Somewhere there had to be a safe haven. Hugo was so far away, and now she had no money to get to La Jolla, almost a hundred miles to the south. With Dalton and Santos here with Virginia, even her potential refuge had been cut off. Sylvia Cheswick was the only answer Clarissa could come up with. She didn't know the famous cosmetician all that well, but Sylvia had hired Clarissa as the spokes-model for the Cheswick make-up line a few years ago. The woman had a beach house in the Malibu Colony. It was a meager hope at best, but all Clarissa could come up with. At least the woman would have a phone to call Andrew.

  The fortitude was long in coming. Clarissa felt a weakness, a tiredness that had silently seeped into every muscle and bone, saturating even her soul. She was stiff with pain, and exhausted to the point of total collapse. When she was certain that the parking garage was empty she crawled out from under the truck. The deep shadows concealed her movements from the truck to the security gate.

  A fine drizzly mist had begun to fall. Clarissa stepped out of the wrought iron side gate and let is snap shut behind her, locking her out of the condo complex with a dead finality. The back alley was empty except for an occasional metal trash container. There was no sign of Dalton. Clarissa started down the alley to the street to the west of Virginia's building. The ocean lay to the west, in a direct route down Wilshire Boulevard to the beach at Santa Monica. Malibu was north of that. Clarissa mapped the route out in her mind and before she reached the end of the alley, her heart sank. A quick search of the pockets in the baggy jeans and the work shirt revealed a loose button, a dirty tissue, and lint. She could never make it all that way on foot. She needed a phone, a ride, or change for a b
us.

  Where she would get any of that at this time of night pulled her down deeper into despair. A place to sleep, to hold up for the night, was her next best solution. A shelter. The thought made her shudder. None in this part of town. She would have to go east toward downtown, and that was gang territory and too frightening to even consider. A church. It had been almost fifteen years since she had stepped foot in one. But they were supposed to help those in need any time of time of night. A Catholic or Anglican rectory was always on the church property and since the priests lived there, someone would be there to help her. And they would have a phone.

  Westwood Boulevard was an easy eight block walk. There were movie theaters, restaurants, and gas stations that would have a public phone with a directory. Did they have those anymore? She wasn’t sure. Everybody had one at their fingertips in their cell phones. Who would need a payphone? Clarissa’s hope sank further.

  She knew the area fairly well and could find the nearest church. Then she remembered that her cell phone was history and so were public phones. She started walking anyway. Westwood would be full of the university kids in the theaters and bars and surely one of them would lend her a phone.

  "Hey you!"

  "Please, God, no," Clarissa whispered. It was Dalton's voice. She heard the hollow slam of the security gate down the alley behind her. She wanted to bolt and run but her mind was frozen in a blind panic. Slowly she reached up and pulled the black scarf further forward, covering as much of her face as possible. Every one of Dalton's gritty footsteps ground into her nerves as he drew closer.

  Her movements were more instinctive than conscious thought as she stepped to the nearest trash bin and began to rummage through the stinking debris. Head and shoulders thrust deep among the plastic garbage bags, cardboard boxes, and rotting food scraps, Clarissa willed herself to stop shaking. She focused her mind on the garbage.