Burning Bright (Peter Ash #2)(91)

Lewis spoke up from the back seat. “I believe that a tactical error on his part.”

“Oh, hell yeah.”

They were in a newer neighborhood of mid-rise office buildings and condos. June turned left onto a busy street that rose toward a bridge over the freeway, her hands tight on the wheel. “We need to talk about the Yeti. What was he doing there?”

Peter put his hand on her shoulder. “We’re gonna find out.”

From the back seat, Lewis said, “Who the fuck is the Yeti?”





44





This is why you were asking me about my dad, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Peter.

June was driving very fast up the bridge through heavy traffic. She was used to a smaller car and Peter was pretty sure she’d start chunking off side mirrors any minute now. In her current state of mind, he figured side mirrors were best-case. “Slow down, would you?”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she said. Her voice was loud.

There was no good response to that. He figured she was headed to her apartment, which would have felt like a safe place. It probably wasn’t a good idea, but now wasn’t the time to bring that up.

“How did you know my dad was involved?”

“I didn’t,” said Peter. “But I figured the cops thought your mom was killed in a hit-and-run, so they were probably calling insurance companies and looking at body shops. If they’d known she was murdered, the first thing they’d do is look at friends and family. So I asked Lewis to do that. He found out about the restraining order on your dad.”

“You were investigating my mom?” She stomped the brake behind a slow Prius, then swerved across the yellow line to pass. A beer truck came at them, eating the whole lane. The driver hit his air horn and Peter grabbed the dashboard as June ground her teeth and ducked back to her lane.

“Not investigating,” he said. “Getting more information. Doing my job. Protecting you.”

“Fuck!” She slammed her hands into the steering wheel.

“June.” Peter kept his voice calm. “I know this is hard. But we need to know more about your dad. What else do you know that you haven’t told me?”

“I don’t know anything,” she said. “I tried to forget all about him.”

“Try to remember,” said Peter. “Anything will help.”

“You guys see that?” asked Lewis from the back seat.

They all saw it, a plume of smoke coming from just beyond the crest of Capitol Hill, getting bigger with each block.

“Oh, no.” June slipped the Escalade onto a side street, finding as always the fastest way through the dense traffic. At every turn, Peter kept an eye on the smoke, hoping their path would take them away from it eventually. But for every left that pointed them away from the smoke, there was another right that pointed them toward it. As the plume grew larger in the windshield, there was little point in pretending it was coming from someplace other than her apartment.

It would have been impossible to keep her away, so he didn’t try.

Half of June’s block was filled with fire trucks and police cars keeping a perimeter. She pulled the Escalade into a random driveway and opened her door to get out. Peter put his hand on her arm. “Stay in the car,” he said. “They’re still here. This was no accident. Dawes isn’t waiting for our next move, he’s still looking for us. For you.”

She shook off his hand. “I have to see it,” she said. “It’s my home. Anyway, they won’t do anything here, not with all these people.”

“They got into your mom’s lab in Stanford,” said Peter. “They put you into their car on a busy street. These people do whatever they want.”

June hopped out, but left the Escalade running. “I’ll just walk past,” she said. “I won’t stop. But I’m going.”

Peter scrambled out to follow her. “Lewis, can you pick us up on the other side? Maybe they won’t be expecting that.”

“Done,” Lewis said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “Look for me on the next block.”

They walked down the opposite sidewalk, through knots of spectators and policemen watching the firefighters continue to spray water on the smoking remains.

Leo Boyle’s empty shell of a house had become a wet pile of charcoal and ash settled into the heat-cracked foundation. Only the smoke-stained chimney still stood, towering improbably over the ruin. All that ancient bare wood, dry as bone, coated in fresh paint, just waiting for a match.

June’s garage apartment behind it was nothing but a smudge on the concrete slab.

Peter allowed himself only a moment to look at the house. The rest of the time, he had his head on a swivel, looking for anyone who didn’t belong. June tried to stop, but he put his hand on her elbow and said into her ear, “Get a good look, but keep walking. Lewis will be waiting for us.”

“Fuck them,” she said, her face dark. “That was my home.”

But she kept walking.

Three houses past the police perimeter, a familiar scraped-up BMW was angled into a parking spot. It faced the wrong direction, with two wheels on the curb. One corner of the front fender was newly crumpled into the trunk of a big maple. Four tickets were stacked under the wiper. The house wasn’t the only thing ruined.