Neon Prey (Lucas Davenport #29)(23)

They were transferring their construction business to San Diego, they said, which they expected to stay cooler.

“We’re moving down there piece by piece,” Barnett said. “There’s still some furniture in the house. I imagine you’re looking for Craig, right? Big black guy?”

“We’re uncertain of the names they’re using,” Lucas said. Rae pushed the mug shots across the table, and they instantly picked out Nast.

“He’s an asshole,” Barnett said. “When I say that, I’m insulting other assholes. He’d see us driving by and stick his thumb in his mouth and suck on it. I’ve been tempted to go after him with a baseball bat.”

“You’d need a baseball bat,” Jimenez said. “The guy is huge. And he’s no debutante. He looks like he’s done hard time. He’s got the attitude.”

“He’s never done anything physical?” Bob asked. “Nothing we could go over and talk to him about?”

“Not other than the thumb sucking. I don’t know how that would look on a search warrant,” Barnett said.

Rae smiled. “Not all that convincing.”

Jimenez said a couple of other men either lived at the house or were frequent visitors. “There are at least two people in there, maybe three. One of them told a neighbor lady that they were traveling sales guys and weren’t here most nights, so they decided to share a place so they could have a nice house with a pool and only have to pay part of the rent.”

They talked for a bit longer, and then Lucas asked, “What do you think? Can we have a key?”

The two men looked at each other, then Jimenez nodded and said, “We’re going over to the house right now. We brought our truck, we’re gonna take some things out. You could come over, put your cars in the garage, help us move some furniture . . . Nobody will think anything of it. Besides, most people on the street are working during the day, there’s almost nobody to see you.”

That’s what they did. As requested, all three marshals wore T-shirts and jeans. And one very clear reason for all the cooperation emerged as Lucas and Bob, along with Barnett and Jimenez, struggled to get two huge custom-made couches out the door and into the truck. “We got some guys at the other end to help get them into the new place, but we didn’t have anybody to help up here,” Jimenez said.

For the next hour, the marshals helped carry coffee tables, lamps, rugs, paintings, boxes of books, and an electric piano out to the box truck. The only neighbor they saw was an elderly man walking a blue heeler, who both ignored them.

Before the two men left, Rae went out to a Super King Market and bought three days’ worth of food and drink and then dropped down to Vroman’s Bookstore in Pasadena and bought a supply of books and magazines. The power in the house was still on, so they had a refrigerator, stove, microwave, and air-conditioning. The WiFi had been turned off, but Rae had a hotspot they could hook their laptops into.

“Please don’t shoot anyone and get blood all over. It’s impossible to get it out of the drywall,” Barnett joked as they were closing up the truck.

“We’ll try not to,” Lucas said. “And thank you,”


BARNETT AND JIMENEZ left behind two small couches and an oversized easy chair in the living room and two single beds in a guest room. They were hoping to sell the beds with the house. The windows were still covered with curtains.

The best view of the target house was from a corner of the living room. They put an easy chair and ottoman next to the window, opening the drapes just enough that they could use binoculars and Bob’s night vision goggles without moving the fabric. Lucas and Bob carried the couches to a family room in the back, where they could turn on lights that wouldn’t be visible from across the street.

After Barnett and Jimenez left, Bob, Rae, and Lucas did an oddman coin flip. Bob lost and took the first two-hour watch at the bedroom window. Lucas took the second watch and Rae the third. Bob came back on at eight o’clock, and, at ten after, he shouted, “Right now!”

Lucas was lying on one of the couches, reading a Mick Herron thriller, and Rae was sitting at the breakfast bar, looking through a book about architecture left behind by the owners and eating baby carrots. They both ran for the living room, and Bob, who was looking between the curtains with the binoculars, said, “Car pulled in, a Lincoln SUV, on this side of the street, so I couldn’t see the driver at all. Used a garage door opener, went straight in, dropped the door.”

“So we know it’s live anyway,” Lucas said, peering out the window. There was nothing to see.

“It’s live,” Bob agreed.

He shouted “Right now!” again forty-five minutes later, and Lucas and Rae bolted for the living room. This time, they saw the SUV, a steel-gray Lincoln Navigator, backing out of the driveway. This time, it drove past the house and there was enough light that they could see the driver was a black man.

“Bob, stay here,” Lucas snapped. “Rae, let’s go. Run, goddamnit.”

They ran out through the kitchen to the garage. Rae had left her Glock in its holster sitting on the kitchen counter and grabbed it as they went by. Lucas punched the button in the garage and the door rolled up. He backed out and nearly hit a passing car, but jammed on the brakes at the last second, then continued into the street.

The Prius ahead of them was dawdling, as Priuses will, and as Lucas burned past it Rae said, “She gave us the finger.”