Eleventh Hour

He got her as far as Ventura County. “Hey,” he said, “I think we sing a pretty mean ‘Impossible Dream.’ ”

An hour later, a smaller supply truck loaded with linens and bathroom supplies for one of the big ski lodges picked her up and began the climb to Mt. Pinos.

It was cold in the Los Padres National Forest, but down at Bear Lake elevation there wasn’t much snow on the ground, just a white veil, and the air was clear, as it had been yesterday.

The driver dropped her off in front of Snow House, a small lodge where she could wait until the stores opened. She wasn’t about to take a room. She knew they’d be tracking the card, would realize soon enough where she was.

Things had to happen soon or Dane would get to her. She sucked in a nice deep breath and walked into Snow House.

Her husband was driving up from LA a bit later, she told the desk clerk, and was meeting her here. This was where they’d spent their honeymoon and they wanted to come back. She was just here first. No, she didn’t want to check in just yet. She’d wait in the lobby area, near that roaring fire. They didn’t seem at all suspicious.

When the stores opened, she smiled toward the clerk behind the counter and walked out. She visited a small boutique, bought a cheap parka and gloves, and went to a general store at a filling station.

An hour later, she hiked to the Lakeview Home for Retired Police Officers.

She began to wonder if her great plan was going to lead to anything. She had to try it. She believed that Captain DeLoach had more answers than he’d given to them before. Now she was alone, and she knew she could get him to talk.

At least she prayed she’d get the old man to talk.

She walked straight to Captain DeLoach’s double-paned sliding doors, and tapped on the glass. No answer.

She tried the door. It was locked.

She tapped harder on the glass and jumped when she heard a querulous old voice mutter, “Who the hell wants in now? That you, Weldon? You want to finish the job on me, you little bastard?”

The curtains were jerked back and she was face-to-face with Captain DeLoach. He looked pale, sported a small white bandage around his head, but his old eyes were clear and focused.

He stared at her a moment, nodded to himself, and unlocked the doors. She watched him wheel his chair back before she opened the door and eased in. She relocked the door and drew the curtains.

She said, “I shouldn’t be here, Captain DeLoach, but I think you’re where all the action is, so consider me your bodyguard.”

“You’re a lot prettier than that idiot I kicked out of here last night. Overweight dolt, all he wanted to do was eat Carla’s doughnuts and she was getting pissed, which means that she’d carp at me. Did you see any of the cops they put around to protect me?”

“Not a soul, but I was really careful.”

“Yeah, yeah, I bet they’re all asleep. Hey, I recognize you. You’re an FBI agent, aren’t you? The gal with Agent Carver?”

“Yes, that’s right, I was with Agent Carver. I’m here to protect you. You don’t need those other cops. But you’ve got to keep my presence here quiet, okay?”

The old man ruminated on this for a good five seconds and then slowly nodded. “I haven’t had a girl around me without a needle in her hand in more years than I can remember.”

“Do you remember back for a lot of years?”

“Yep. Do I salute you?”

“Yes,” Nick said. Slowly, the old man saluted her and she saluted him back. She said, “Tell me about some of those years you remember, Captain.”

Captain DeLoach paused again, then said in a dreamy voice, more singsong than not, “You know, young lady, some of those years are so clear in my head that it’s like yesterday. I can feel what I felt then, the exhilaration, the excitement. I can see their faces as they were then, hear the yells, the screams, feel them score into me, deep, taste them, you know? I can feel all the joy and triumph, the pure sweetness of wi

“No, sir, I don’t know what it is you’re talking about.”

He gave her the sweetest smile. “So many people I knew, liked, but now they’re mostly dead. All except me and mine, of course. Yep, just look who’s left. That’s a shame, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, it’s a real shame. Why do you call Weldon a little bastard?”

“I remember it was like yesterday that he was just a little tyke, couldn’t even walk yet, and he was into everything. I was alone. What did I know about how to raise a baby?”

“I imagine it was very difficult, sir. What about Weldon?”

No answer this time. His head just fell forward. He seemed to be asleep. From one moment to the next, he was simply gone, someplace in the distant past when he’d known happiness. Poor old man. She wondered how it would feel to have your own son trying to kill you. She didn’t know what Captain DeLoach had meant with all that talk about the yells and screams. It made no sense.

She straightened, looked around the large room. It was nice and warm in there. She shrugged out of her parka, walked around a bit, getting acquainted with everything. It was like a junior suite in a hotel, only it was personalized with some photos on the end table-none of Weldon, but she and Dane had already remarked on that. Maybe she’d ask Captain DeLoach if he had any pictures of his only son stashed somewhere. Beside his bed were a few more photos-of a baby, and then that baby as a toddler. Weldon? She didn’t know. But wait-that couldn’t be. There was a car in the background, and the car wasn’t forty years old. It was around the mid-1980s. Okay, so it wasn’t Weldon. Another family member had a little kid, that had to be it.

Nick turned away from the photo, realized that Nurse Carla or anyone who worked there, for God’s sake, could come tromping through the door. Where could she hide?

There was a big walk-in closet six feet from the double bed. The wood doors were slatted so she could see Captain DeLoach clearly. She spread her parka on the carpeted floor and made herself comfortable.

She’d bought taco dip, a small box of Wheat Thins, and a Diet Dr Pepper-her favorites-in the small food market inside the filling station, using up four dollars and eight cents of her twelve dollars. Before she fell asleep, her stomach happy, she wondered how long it would take Dane to track her down.

At ten o’clock in the morning, Delion, Savich, Sherlock, and Dane were seated around Detective Fly

Sherlock had said, “What about me, Linda?”

“I think of you as their mascot, cute as a button with that red hair flying all over the place. As for you,” she said to Dane, “you look a bit on the edge. The cookie will help get things in perspective, sugar always does.”

“Thank you, Linda,” Dane said. “That’s what we’ve been hearing about, sugar.”

The detectives’ room was, as usual, a madhouse, which didn’t appear to bother anyone. Savich settled down in a side chair next to Detective Fly

Sherlock said, “You know the deal you made with her not to delve into her past? Well, we’ve got to find her and protect her, we’ve got to find out who she is. The time has come. Dillon, can you have MAX find out who she is?”

“Yes,” Savich said. “We know her name’s Nicola, she’s twenty-eight, she’s got a Ph.D., and she’s a college professor. This won’t be anything for MAX. Everyone on board with this?”