There was a long silence. He slipped up to look.

He couldn't see anyone. Not Ray, not Lindsey, not Ryder. Leaping to the top of the pickup, he saw a car pulling out of a parking place and another, a black Audi, pulling in hurriedly, as if the driver might be late for a flight.

Apparently the new arrival hadn't heard the shots or had thought they were backfires. As the portly, dark-suited man stepped out of the Audi, Ray appeared behind him, spun him around with a hard punch to the side of the neck. The guy went down in a heap. Ray snatched his keys, fished in the guy's pockets as if looking for a parking ticket, then jumped in the car and burned rubber as he backed out and took off. Over the stink of exhaust, Joe caught a whiff of blood.

Rearing up, he saw Lindsey rise slowly, clutching her side, pulling Ryder up with her. Ryder leaned against her as they stumbled toward Lindsey's Mercedes. Joe lost sight of them as he frantically punched in 911, for Molena Point PD. He thought he should have done that in the first place-but on the first ring, the black Audi came wheeling back, screeching into the same parking spot.

Ray leaped out, gun in hand.

At the same moment, a figure jumped out of the Mercedes and took off running, doubled over. Joe couldn't see if it was Lindsey or Ryder. Brown hair, a glimpse of jeans-both had brown hair, both were wearing jeans. The phone made three rings, then Officer Hendricks picked up.

"Get Garza on your radio," Joe told Hendricks, wanting to shout but keeping his voice low. "Ray Gibbs. At San Jose airport. He just shot either Ryder Wolf or her sister. Short-term parking."

Looking up, he saw Ray standing at the open door of Lindsey's car, looking in. Saw Gibbs fire another shot into the front seat, and then take off running after the escaping figure. As he disappeared among the cars, a police car pulled in, moving slowly, the lone officer scanning the area as he cruised behind the parked cars in the direction of the shots.

Joe could hear Hendricks talking, presumably on the radio, as he'd instructed. The cop car had turned into the lane that would put him behind Lindsey's Mercedes, which stood with its door open. The smell of blood was strong. Stepping out, gun drawn, the officer approached the driver's side, where he could see in. "Hands on top of your head. Get out slowly."

Inside, no one moved.

"Get out now!"

A dozen cars away the black Audi slid quietly out of its parking place and headed at a sedate pace for the exit. With the light glancing against its closed windows, Joe couldn't see if Ray was alone or if he had Lindsey or Ryder.

"He's in a stolen black Audi," Joe said softly. "He's leaving, he-"

He could see the cop on his radio calling for assistance-he looked up in Joe's direction, as if he'd heard the tomcat's whisper. Silently Joe laid down the phone in the bed of the pickup, pawed it behind the crates, leaped over the side of the truck bed, and hit the ground running.

32

DALLAS'S BLAZER had just passed the Soquel exit on Highway 1. From this juncture they had three choices: Stay on 1 up the coast, take 9 toward Saratoga, or take 17 toward 280 and San Jose. They hadn't seen a sign of the navy blue Honda, nor had they had any response to their "Be on the lookout." Moving into the right lane, Dallas pulled off the highway and into a gas station. He was reaching for the radio when Harper came on.

"Where are you?"

"Just pulled over at Soquel. Not a sign of him, don't know which-"

"Cut over to San Jose. His car's at the airport, short-term parking. Wait a minute," Max said. "He just pulled out in a black Audi, no plate number."

Dallas swerved out of the gas station and hit the road again. "Who do you have up there? Why didn't they get the plate? Are they on his tail?"

"No one," Max said stiffly. "No law enforcement."

"What do you mean, no one? Who called in?" Dallas stared at the microphone in his hand, then back at the road.

"Mike's with you?" Max said.

"Affirmative," Dallas said, scowling.

"Lindsey's car is there. San Jose is at the scene. There's a woman in the front seat, wounded."

Mike grabbed the radio from Dallas. Max was saying, "A second woman ran, no sign of her."

"Is it Lindsey?" Mike shouted. "How bad is she? What happened?"

"No ID yet. We don't know who, or how bad. Medics are on the way."

"Step on it," Mike yelled at Dallas.

Dallas had already switched on the red light, heading fast for the 17 turnoff that would take them inland to San Jose; as he peeled up the ramp onto the freeway, Mike shouted, "Are they sure it's Lindsey's car? Can't the informant ID her?"

"Informant didn't stay on the line," Max said. "We're talking to uniforms at the scene. Car's registered to Lindsey Wolf but no ID on the woman, no purse."

"Description?"

"Brown hair. Hazel eyes. About five seven. Wearing jeans. A Levi's jacket on the seat under her. Informant said there were two women, thought both might have been shot."

Dallas hit the siren and gave it the gas. "Watch for the Audi coming this way."

Mike leaned forward nervously, watching traffic. "There must be a million black Audis." But he did the best he could, as fast as they were moving. "Why would he come back this way? Why not head north, on the 101? If he hurt Lindsey…," he said with cold threat.

"Settle down, you don't know that's Lindsey. You can't do her any good if you're all worked up. Settle down and watch for the Audi."

IN THE FALSE twilight of the parking complex, police and sheriff's cars were crowded around an EMT van, blocking Lindsey's tan Mercedes and four parking lanes. San Jose officers stood redirecting traffic as a pair of medics slid a stretcher bearing a blanket-covered figure into the emergency vehicle, and climbed in behind it. Beyond the tangle of law enforcement, down on the concrete at the level of tires and hubcaps, Joe Grey crouched beneath an old brown Jeep. He hadn't been able to glimpse the figure in the Mercedes. Couldn't see whether it was Ryder or Lindsey. And now all he could see were cops' legs, the place was wall-to-wall cops.

But there had been only one person in the Mercedes, he knew that much. As the medics had put her on the stretcher, he'd gotten a glimpse of slim, Levi's-clad legs, dull-colored jogging shoes such as Lindsey had worn-but so had Ryder. He'd been mildly surprised that she wasn't dressed fancy when he first saw her leaving the condo. And now, with uniforms all around him, he could hardly leap atop a car and peer into the medics' van trying to see more.

Sure as hell, an unattended animal in this setting would encourage some overzealous rookie to call the pound. And later, what joking comment would these guys, talking with MPPD, make about a weird gray tomcat sitting atop a car, watching the crime scene. And wouldn't that tear it, after his anonymous phone call.

Plus, Joe thought, I talked with Hendricks on the phone, and Hendricks knows the snitch's voice. Hearing jokes about a nosy gray tomcat, would Hendricks get curious enough to put two and two together? Put the gray tomcat and the voice together, thinking outside the box? No matter how far out that scenario seemed, it might get others in the department thinking, and watching him too closely, even if, at first, only in a joking way.

The EMT van started its engine, ready to head for the hospital, and Joe still didn't know who was in there. He was moving forward beneath the parked cars, hoping to hear someone mention a name, when the van driver killed his engine. Something was happening.

Joe could see the van rocking, as if, inside, the medics were moving fast. He crept closer, his paws sweating.