Close Your Eyes: A Novel Part 47

He slipped his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "Let's go to breakfast. Ever been to Brian's 24?"

She laughed. "I'm going to bed."

"That's even better." His smile was both intimate and mischievous. "Whatever you want, Kendra."

"By myself. In my own place."

"Okay, fine." He nodded toward the detectives, who were putting the husband in the backseat of a squad car. "But the next time you feel compelled to barge in on someone else's murder scene, give me a call."

"Why? So you can stop me?"

"I know better than that. So I can go with you. Which is a h.e.l.l of a lot better than trailing after you." He turned and moved away. "Think about it. I always thought we made a pretty good team..."

THE SKY HAD BEGUN TO LIGHTEN BY the time Kendra made it back to her condo near the Gaslamp District. She was already wound up by the double punch of the crime scene and Lynch's unexpected appearance, but the sunlight's psychological effect would soon make it even more difficult for her to get any sleep. The first year she'd had her sight, she'd covered her bedroom windows with aluminum foil to keep the daylight from poking around her curtains and nudging her awake. She had moved beyond that, but once awake, it was still tough for her to go to sleep once it was light outside.

Might be time to invest in blackout curtains, or at least a jumbo roll of aluminum foil.

It would be more difficult to put Lynch out of her mind. How in the h.e.l.l did he know she'd be there?

Of course he knew. He was Adam Lynch, and he had connections everywhere.

A light flashed on the phone in her living room, indicating a message had been received while she was gone. Between three thirty and four thirty in the morning. Probably someone from the crime scene she had just left. Or possibly her mother, who was presently at a conference in Amsterdam and frequently forgot to take into account the time difference.

She picked up the phone and checked the caller ID: Olancha Police Department.

Another murder scene? Olancha was over two hundred miles away; she hadn't cast her net that wide. She tried to remember if she even knew anyone on the force there.

No, she was sure she didn't.

And if there was an active scene, they had to know there was no way she could get there quickly. So why call in the middle of the night?

Kendra retrieved the voice mail, and there was only a brief message asking her to call Sergeant Hank Filardi at the Olancha PD at her earliest convenience.

She stared at the cordless phone in her hand.

No.

Lynch was right. She needed to step back. Whatever it was, it could wait a few hours while she tried to salvage what was left of this night.

She put down the phone.

Todos Santos, Mexico.

VICTOR CHILDRESS.

He stared at the name on the ID card he had just purchased. Victor Childress. Not a name he would have chosen for himself, but it would do.

He pocketed the pa.s.sport and turned toward the pounding surf. He couldn't see the waves cras.h.i.+ng on the dark beach though he could hear them. He took a deep breath. It should have been refres.h.i.+ng, but it wasn't. It was like inhaling salt and dirt.

He couldn't wait to leave this place.

Less than an hour from San Diego, yet a world away. A s.h.i.+t hole, to be sure, but it suited his purposes. No one knew him here, and no one would even think of looking for him. And after all those years in that prison, he needed the time to recharge his batteries and make preparations for his return.

It was time. Years of planning had finally led to this moment.

At his feet, a chunky Mexican man struggled to catch his breath as he rolled in a puddle of his own blood. The man's lungs had collapsed, and he would survive only another minute or so.

He pocketed his knife and took another look at the forged California driver's license, and then at the other doc.u.ments he'd been furnished. All the doc.u.ments he'd ordered were superb. He slipped them into his pocket. The dying man had done magnificent work, but he couldn't be allowed to live. Things had progressed too far to be derailed by an overtalkative tradesman.

He stepped over the dying man and walked across the warm sand. The wind suddenly kicked up, as if heralding the start of his journey.

He felt a surge of exhilaration. It was all coming together.

The waiting was over.

Eric Colby smiled. "This is it, Kendra," he whispered. "Can you feel it? You will soon. This will be our masterpiece..."

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fict.i.tiously.

THE NAKED EYE. Copyright 2015 by Johansen Publis.h.i.+ng LLLP. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com.

ALSO BY IRIS JOHANSEN AND ROY JOHANSEN.

Shadow Zone.

Storm Cycle.

Silent Thunder.

ALSO BY IRIS JOHANSEN.

What Doesn't Kill You.

Bonnie Quinn Eve.

Chasing the Night Eight Days to Live.

Blood Game Deadlock Dark Summer.

Quicksand Pandora's Daughter Stalemate An Unexpected Song Killer Dreams.

On the Run Countdown Blind Alley.

ALSO BY ROY JOHANSEN.

Deadly Visions.

Beyond Belief The Answer Man.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS.

IRIS JOHANSEN is the New York Times bestselling author of Eve, Quinn, Bonnie, What Doesn't Kill You, Chasing the Night, Eight Days to Live, Blood Game, Deadlock, Dark Summer, Pandora's Daughter, Quicksand, Killer Dreams, On the Run, Countdown, Firestorm, Fatal Tide, Dead Aim, No One to Trust, and more.

ROY JOHANSEN is an Edgar Awardwinning author and the son of Iris Johansen. He has written many well-received mysteries, including Deadly Visions, Beyond Belief, and The Answer Man.

Iris Johansen and Roy Johansen have together written Shadow Zone, Storm Cycle, and Silent Thunder.

Visit www.irisjohansen.com.

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