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The hurt look softened.
‘But Robert is just—’ A
‘Bad past experience?’ Patricia asked.
‘No one knows.’ A
‘So he doesn’t date?’
‘I never said that. I said that he doesn’t do relationships. He dates plenty.’
Patricia smiled. ‘There you go, then.’ A hip-hop swagger found its way onto her words. ‘Hook me up, sista.’ She smiled, but it didn’t sound like she was joking.
‘You want me to try to hook you up for a one-night stand with my husband’s work partner?’
‘Are you kidding? With that man I’ll take meaningless sex any day of the week, and twice on Sundays, thank you very much.’
A
‘You are incorrigible.’
‘I know, but that’s what makes life fun.’
As A
A
The man standing just a few feet behind A
Sixty-Three
‘Hey, hun!’ A
Garcia kept his voice as calm as he could manage. ‘A
‘What?’
‘I know you’re out shopping with your friend, but where exactly are you now?’
A
‘A
‘Um . . . I’m in Tujunga Village . . . Carlos, what’s going on?’
Located near bustling Ventura Boulevard, in Studio City, but seemingly a world away from everything, Tujunga Village was nestled between the Colfax Meadows neighborhood and Woodbridge Park. The heart of the Village was the block-long stretch of Tujunga Avenue, between Moorpark and Woodbridge, where boutiques, restaurants, cafés and miscellaneous stores catered for even the most discerning of visitors.
‘Baby, I told you, I don’t have a lot of time to explain,’ Garcia said. ‘But I need you to trust me right now, OK?’
A
‘I’m sorry. There’s no need for you to be scared. I just need you to trust me right now. Can you do that?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘OK. Who’s with you?’
‘Um . . . Pat, my friend from yoga. You remember her, right?’
‘Yeah. She came to your birthday drinks, right?’
‘That’s right.’
‘OK. Listen, I need you to find a busy place – like a café, or a pizzeria, or a burger joint, whatever, and go sit in there with Pat and wait for me. I’m on my way to you now. Do not engage in a conversation with anyone. No one at all. And do not leave the place, under any circumstances, until I get to you. Do you understand that, baby?’
‘Yeah . . . but . . .’
‘Call me as soon as you find a place, OK?’
A
‘Carlos, what’s this about?’ A
Patricia was standing next to A
‘No, baby,’ Garcia replied. ‘Nothing has happened to anyone, I promise you. Look, I’ll be there in twenty-five minutes, half an hour tops. I’ll explain everything then. Just trust me. Find a place and sit tight.’
A
‘Great, baby. Get in there, grab a coffee and I’ll be with you in a few minutes.’
Garcia disco
Sixty-Four
Garcia saw A
A
Garcia met her by the door, and instinctively threw his arms around her as if he hadn’t seen her for years, kissing her hair as she buried her face into his chest.
‘You OK?’ he asked, relief taking over him.
A
‘I’ll explain in a moment. Did you drive here?’
A
‘We took the bus,’ Patricia said. She was standing next to Hunter, wide-eyed and confused, watching the scene between A
Hunter’s eyes were sca
Hunter had also already surveyed the street for CCTV cameras. There weren’t any. Unlike many cities in Europe, some with as many as one camera for every fourteen people, Los Angeles wasn’t a surveillance-crazy city. There wasn’t a single government or law-enforcement CCTV camera in the entire Tujunga Village stretch.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ A
Hunter shook her hand. ‘Pleasure to meet you.’
Patricia was a little over five foot five, though black high-heeled boots added a couple of inches to her height.
‘The pleasure is mine,’ she replied, sending him a sincere smile.
Hunter handed the car keys back to Garcia. ‘Carlos, you take the car and take A
‘Look around for what?’ A
Hunter’s gaze rested on his partner for only a split second before moving to his wife. ‘Nothing in particular, A
A
‘Look,’ Hunter said. ‘Trust us on this. Carlos will explain everything to you later.’
‘I promise I will,’ Garcia said, squeezing her hand. ‘But right now, we need to go.’