Wolf in the Shadows - Marcia Muller [91]
Finally he turned away from the scope, and I saw he was deeply tanned and wore a short, stubbly beard. His hair curled wildly, as disheveled as Timothy Mourning’s.
“What happened?”
“Tell you later. We’d better get out of here.”
“We can’t leave while they’re—”
“Going inside, all of them.” He pushed up, pulled the camera out of the hole, and hefted it.“Come on, somebody might’ve spotted us. You took an awful chance here, McCone.”
“What about you, Ripinsky? What the hell have you been—”
“Save it.” He shoved my bag toward me. “Let’s go.”
He was giving orders. For nearly a week I’d tracked him. With very little to go on, I’d followed only a few paces behind, then come out even—maybe ahead. And he had the nerve to give orders!
I choked back a sarcastic remark; common sense dictated we do as he said. “Keep low,” I whispered, giving an order of my own, and began moving toward the beach access.
“Where’re you going?”
“I’ve got a car up at the parking area. We’ll get it, stake out the front of the house in case any of them decide to leave. While we do that, you can explain some things.”
“Forget it, McCone. The local cops and a private security force patrol up there. To say nothing of Salazar and his pals. What do you think I was doing when I got this”—his hand touched the bandage—“at around four o’clock this morning?”
I hesitated. “Well, I can’t leave the car there. If they find it, the rental contract’ll tell them all they need to know.”
“How do they know about you—”
“Save it, Ripinsky,” I said in a perfect parody of him.
His lips twitched in a faint smile, and he remained crouched on the sand, eyes glittering in the lights from the villas. “Okay, you’re right. We’ve got to get that car. We’ll need it later on, anyway.”
We! He could disappear for all that time and never bother to contact me. He could place me in a situation where the danger was tripled because of all I didn’t know. He could sneak up on me on a deserted beach in a strange land and act as if it was perfectly normal to find me there. And then he could blithely make the assumption that we were acting in partnership- All that, with no explanations!
Suddenly I was seized by an uncharacteristic desire to swat him right smack across the bridge of his hawk nose. I restrained myself, aware on some level that my relief at finding him alive and reasonably whole—or him finding me, to put it more accurately—had given my anger release. Now I could both recognize and admit that I’d been terribly angry with him ever since this whole business began.
The realization didn’t make me feel any better. I tried to speak, strangled on the words, and simply began creeping toward the beach access.
At the top of the path I paused, hand on my father’s gun, scanning the parking area. A couple of the older vehicles were still there, the Tercel nestled companionably between them. Hy came up behind me, his hand moving in such a way that I knew he had a gun tucked under the T-shirt in the waistband of his jeans. In concert, our breath slowed as we watched and listened. When I was satisfied no one waited there, I touched his arm and we moved to the car.
Once inside, I asked, “Any idea where to go from here?” “Yeah. Turn right, drive past Fontes’s place, and keep going. By the riverbed there’s a dirt track leading toward the beach. Take it.”
I started the engine.“We’re going down where the shacks are?”
“Uh-huh. People there’ve been letting me stay in an abandoned one since last night.”
“Is that where you spotted me from?”
“Right.”
I turned onto the road. “How long have you been in Baja?”
“Too damn long. And I’d feel a whole lot better talking about this after we get to the shack.” Strain was eroding his speech—pain, too.
“Have you seen a doctor about that bullet wound?”
“They’ve got a woman down there who’s better than any doctor I ever went to. I’m okay, just tired. But I’m glad to see you, even if you have done something funny to your hair.” With an effort he smiled and touched my cheek.
I sped up as we passed Fontes’s villa. The automobile gate