“Wait a minute,” Dan said. “How could you not know you were related?”

“I’m adopted,” Lani said. “There’s a lot about my birth family that I don’t know. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

For the first time he noticed the bedraggled stuffed toy Lani held clutched in her other hand.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Lani took a deep breath. “It’s the only thing Angie Enos has left in this world,” she said. “Some time this morning while you were here at the hospital, Delphina Enos’s parents went to her house and emptied the place. They stripped it of everything-and I do mean everything. This worthless stuffed toy is the only thing they left behind. Angie Enos has nothing left,” she added bitterly. “Nothing but this poor damned lion and me.”

Sells, Tohono O’odham Nation, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 1:45 p.m.

91º Fahrenheit

Lani’s eyes filled with hot tears. The injustice of it was more than she could bear. It was bad enough that the Escalantes had turned away from their grandchild, but to take everything she owned and leave her with nothing…

Dan Pardee’s hand went to his pocket. Initially Lani thought he was reaching for a hanky to offer her. Instead, he pulled out a wallet. Opening it, he shuffled through what he carried there. Then, unfolding a frayed envelope, he removed a single photo, which he handed over to Lani.

“Not quite nothing,” he said. “She still has this. I found it at the crime scene last night. I probably shouldn’t have taken it, but I did.”

“Who is this?” Lani asked. “Angie and her mother?”

Dan Pardee nodded. “So you see there? Angie does have something after all-a lion, a photo, a pink-and-yellow pinwheel, a surprise cousin, a dog named Bozo, and me, the ohb. What else could a poor little kid like that possibly need?”

Lani looked up at him in amazement. Ever since hearing about Andrew Carlisle’s appearance, Lani had been filled with dread that something bad was about to happen, that something Apache-like was about to enter her life. What she hadn’t expected was to find herself faced with the real thing. She had also expected this Apache-like entity to be something evil.

“You really are Apache?” she asked.

Dan Pardee nodded. “I’m afraid so,” he said.

Still holding the photo, Lani found herself smiling up at him through her tears. “You may be ohb, ” she said, “but right this minute, I believe, next to my dad, you’re probably the nicest man I’ve ever met.”

Thirteen

Tucson, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 10:00 a.m.

76º Fahrenheit

Jonathan Southard slept in that Sunday morning. When he finally awakened, he felt rested, relaxed, and absolutely triumphant. Unbeatable. Part of that was due to having had a good night’s sleep for the first time in days. The antibiotics seemed to be doing their work. The hand was still lame-the urgent-care doc had said something about a severed tendon-but at least the throbbing was gone and the infection seemed to be lessening.

But Jonathan was glorying in more than physical well-being. He also felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. Not guilt. Accomplishment. He supposed he should have felt like a monster, but he didn’t. Timmy and Suzy had been collateral damage; the Indians, too. But everyone else deserved it.

There was only one thing he regretted, and that was the fact that one name was missing from Jonathan’s deadly roster. Kathleen Bates had been Jonathan’s old boss. She was also the one who had given him his “outplacement counseling session.” Of course, the job she had should have been his. Had that been the case, she would have been the one getting the boot. And he knew that she had reveled in kicking him down the stairs.

For a moment he went so far as to consider going back to California and taking care of her before he left the States for good. He wasn’t really worried about the cops. They’d never figure out what had happened. In Jonathan’s experience, most police officers were too stupid to live, much less work in a bank. Besides, Jonathan’s IQ clocked in at something north of 156. Not even his mother had ever so much as hinted that he wasn’t smart.

Unfortunately, his sense of self-satisfaction lasted for only five minutes or so, until he picked up the remote control and turned on his television set. The hazy news broadcasters on his snowy, non-high-def set were busy reporting on the quadruple homicide that had occurred overnight out on the reservation. They didn’t call it a reservation. They called it the Tohono O’odham Nation, but that was beside the point.

What mattered was the disturbing realization that the bodies had been found far sooner than Jonathan had expected. He had thought he’d have all morning to make his leisurely way to the airport and then catch his plane for south of the border. But the reporter on the screen was saying that police had yet to identify the victims, pending notification of next of kin.

Hearing those fateful words propelled Jonathan straight up in bed.

Once the authorities identified Jack and Abby Tennant-with their car right there at the crime scene, even a stupid street cop could probably manage that much-then someone was even now heading for Abby’s son’s home in Thousand Oaks, for Jonathan’s home, to give him the bad news about his mother’s death. When that happened-maybe it already had happened-the jig would be up. Once Esther and the kids were found dead, Jonathan, the missing husband, would move to the very top of the suspect list. Cops in two states would be looking for him-seriously looking.

Jonathan had made arrangements to meet up with new identification once he crossed into Mexico, but he had planned on crossing the border using his own ID. Now he spent some time second-guessing that decision, but since there was no alternative, he decided he would try going to the airport early. Maybe he’d be able to get his ticket and make it through security before anyone raised the alarm.

He called for a cab to come take him to the airport. Ignoring Los Amigos’s paltry version of a breakfast buffet, he dragged his roll-aboard luggage out through the lobby. His minivan was parked in the far corner of the lot. Jonathan didn’t dare glance in that direction for fear someone might notice and wonder why he was taking his luggage and leaving without taking his vehicle with him.

The cab arrived with amazing alacrity. On the ride to the airport, Jonathan couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder once or twice, but when they drove up to the departure gates, Jonathan was appalled to see a collection of cop cars gathered there. Not city cops-county cops.

Jonathan understood at once why they were there-they were looking for him. They had to be. He also understood that if he stepped inside the airport, he might still be able to purchase a ticket, but he wouldn’t make it through security screening and out to a gate. That’s where the cops would be waiting and watching-at the security checkpoints.

Worried about airport security, he had left his Glock in the car when he left the motel. He had been afraid that if the weapon showed up in his checked luggage, it might arouse suspicion. Now, though, he wanted it back. Once the cabdriver returned him to Los Amigos and dropped him off, he went straight to the minivan and retrieved the weapon from under the front seat.

Is that how all this is going to end, he wondered, in a hail of bullets?

Jonathan still had that collection of pills he had brought along from California. That and some booze-well, enough booze-would probably do the trick if it came to that, but he had to believe that it was still possible for him to make a clean getaway. That would only be possible if he made his move soon-very soon.