“Carina just went in.”

Dammit. “I’m at least eight minutes out.”

“So far the place is quiet. A pair of customers just came out.”

“Where are you?”

“En route, but we’re downtown. It’s going to take at least thirty minutes. But if it becomes a hostage situation I might be of use.”

“Burns must know he can’t disappear,” Nick said almost to himself.

“His father did.”

“Did he?”

“I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

“How many people have you known who could just disappear?”

“It happens.”

“With a lot of planning and money, yes. But with an arrest warrant out on him? One slipup…his prints are in the system. He’d be pulled in.”

“What are you thinking?” Dillon asked.

“What if his wife killed him? Found out he was raping women again, knocked him off? The police come by and she says he just left. Been gone for days. They buy it because he screwed up, they have evidence, so they put out an APB on him and that’s that. No one looks at the wife for murder.”

“What about a body?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she buried it in the basement. A lake. The desert.”

“There may be a lot of places to dump a body in Montana, but in Los Angeles?” Dillon thought a moment. “The mountains. There are some places where you could get rid of a body discreetly. I read about a case in Utah where a husband left his wife’s body at the garbage dump. It took months for investigators to sift through the roughage to find her, and they even knew the general area where she’d been dumped.”

“It would explain something Kyle Burns said when we first talked to him about his father. He flat-out denied that there was any possibility that his father was behind the murders. He didn’t even entertain the thought.”

“As if he knew it was impossible,” Dillon said.

“Because Mitch Burns is dead.”

Dillon paused a long time. “You might be right. Hold on, I have a call coming in.”

Nick sat still in the passenger seat of the speeding police car. Dillon got on a minute later. “That was the DOJ. I called them earlier about any firearms registered to Regina or Kyle Burns. Regina Burns has a nine-millimeter registered in her name with a permit to carry. So far they haven’t found a gun in the house.”

“We have to get word to Carina that he may be armed.” He hung up and turned to the officer driving. “ETA?”

“Three minutes.”

Carina quickly assessed the room. Thirty-five civilians, including children. Six staff within sight. Likely two in the kitchen. Brandon worked here, he would be free to go wherever he wanted.

No one appeared panicked or worried. Just going about the business of eating and talking. As she watched through the large beachfront windows, two cops were talking to the dozen or so people eating on the patio outside. The plan was to clear as many people from the restaurant as possible.

Brandon wasn’t within sight.

“Talk to your people,” she told Kyle. “Gas leak, have them get the customers out quietly.”

She approached a waitress. “Hi, did Brandon Burns just come in?”

“Yeah, he went to the office to call his brother.” The waitress saw Kyle behind her. “Hey Kyle, Brandon’s looking for you. I didn’t think you were coming in today.”

“We have a gas leak,” Kyle said. “Can you quietly tell the customers and have them leave? Don’t collect any money, we just need everyone to leave the restaurant. Including staff.”

She furrowed her brow. “A gas leak? Is it dangerous?”

Kyle shook his head. “Just a precaution. Liability.” The waitress left and Kyle whispered to Carina “The safe is in my office.”

Carina nodded. The office was adjacent to the kitchen. “How much?”

“Saturday night’s take. Over three thousand. I-I went home with Maggie instead of the bank. No one knows.”

“Except Brandon.”

Kyle nodded soberly.

“Help get everyone out,” she began when Kyle’s phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID. “It’s the Shack number.”

Brandon, most likely calling from the office. Carina moved Kyle over to the front door, where she could watch the staff and keep an eye on Kyle while listening to the conversation. She nodded for him to answer.

“Hi,” Kyle said into the receiver.

“It’s me,” Brandon said.

“What’s up?”

“I’m sorry, Kyle.”

“Sorry about what?”

“You’ll know when you get to work tomorrow. I just wanted to say good-bye.”

“Good-bye? Where are you going?”

“I can’t tell you. But…” he paused, his voice low. “I think Dad is around. I’m going to find him.”

“What?”

Carina put her finger to her lips. Shhh.

“Why are you mad?” Brandon asked Kyle.

“Why do you think he’s in San Diego?”

“Because the police were asking about him.”

“Don’t go looking for him, Brandon. Why don’t you come over to my house? We can kick back, talk about Dad.”

“No. You don’t like him. You never have. You’re just going to try to tell me to forget about him like you always do.”

“That’s not true.”

“What?” Brandon’s voice was muffled and in the background of the phone Carina heard a female voice murmuring.

Then Brandon hung up.

THIRTY-FOUR

BRANDON STARED AT THE WAITRESS. Denise.

“Kyle’s here?” he repeated.

“He just walked in with that detective who was asking all those questions about Angie’s murder.”

Al, the weekend cook, called out an order. “Denise! Pickup.”

“Got to get that. See you later.” She grabbed the food from under the heat lamps and started for the swinging doors.

Kyle was here in the restaurant. With a cop. Brandon replayed his conversation with Kyle on the phone.

Come over to my place.

Kyle’s cell phone had caller ID. He knew Brandon was calling from the Shack. He didn’t say anything about being here, too.

Another waitress popped her head into the kitchen as Denise exited. “Watch it, Sherry. You almost knocked over my tray.”

“Put it down, Kyle says there’s a gas leak and we have to get out.”

“Gas leak?” Al said, quickly shutting off all the burners. “Are you sure?”

Sherry shrugged. “That’s what he said.”

Brandon stayed in Kyle’s small office so Sherry couldn’t see him. Heart pounding, he watched as Al and Denise exited the kitchen.

Why was Kyle with that cop? Why didn’t he tell Brandon he was here? Had the police figured something out? But he’d covered his tracks so well. Hadn’t he?

He was alone in the kitchen. Being alone was dangerous, he realized. He left the office and glanced through the half-open blinds next to the storage room. A cop stood half behind a tree with his eyes trained on the kitchen door.

Brandon quickly got out of sight.

Being alone was definitely dangerous. He should have called Denise back. Something.

He fingered the gun in his windbreaker pocket as he crossed the kitchen and peered through the swinging door window into the hallway. Beyond the hall he saw customers leaving the the restaurant. Food still on the tables. Everyone leaving at once.

Kyle had betrayed him.

He didn’t know how the police had figured everything out, but somehow Kyle was part of it. His own brother. Of all people who should have understood, but instead he was one of them.

Movement in the hall caught his eye. Someone was coming out of the restrooms.

Without hesitating, Brandon pushed the kitchen door a foot open. A boy of about eight or nine was walking back to his table.

“Hey,” he said.

The boy slowed. Slowed enough for Brandon to grab him and pull him into the kitchen.

The kid drew in a breath to scream. Brandon didn’t want to hurt him. Instead, he covered his mouth with one hand and showed him the gun.

“See this?”

The boy nodded.