Page 21 of The Wrong Brother

“She exited through the south gate twenty minutes ago.”

I close my eyes briefly.

The girl has exactly one instinct when cornered: run.

Unfortunately for her, I spent most of my life hunting people far smarter and far more dangerous than Emma Pierce.

“How, exactly, did she get by unseen?”

There’s an uncomfortable pause, and the hairs at the back of my neck stand up. Something is coming… a shift in the game.

“She punched Ray in the throat. Hard. He’s just getting his voice back now.”

Ray, the guard in the south gatehouse. He’s been working for me for eight years now; young, but not untried. The fact that Emma somehow got the better of him, enough to get a punch in, makes the corner of my lips twitch.

Who is she?

“She alone?” I ask calmly.

“Yes.”

“Armed?”

A pause. “Unknown.”

Interesting answer. I don’t write off the possibility; there’s still something about Emma… even though she acts like a preyanimal, there’s a sharpness and calculation in her eyes that I can’t forget.

I disconnect the call and set the earpiece down carefully before shattering it under my fist.

The house is quiet this morning. Kate left an hour ago with Mrs. Alvarez for school, blissfully unaware that her uncle spent half the night orchestrating an underwater graveanda revenge plot at the same time.

I shrug into a dark coat and head for the garage.

One more chance, Emma.

After this, I stop being patient.

* * *

Santa Barbara is crowded today. Tourists flood the sidewalks near State Street while musicians play somewhere near the waterfront. The late morning sun warms the city in gold, making it deceptively peaceful.

Peace makes people careless. The good thing is, if Emma is panicking the way she did at the airport, she should be easy to spot.

My SUV crawls slowly through traffic while updates feed steadily through my phone.

Southbound.

Foot traffic.

Last seen near Carrillo.

Emma moves unpredictably. I noticed that immediately. She does not think linearly once fear takes over; but is that emotion or calculation? In anyone else, I would think this kind of running thoughtless. But something about Emma tells me she might be trying that old trick of running in zigzags when being chased by a predator.

Unfortunately for her, I’ve done a lot of chasing.

People run toward crowds when they feel hunted. Instinct says there’s safety in numbers, but I’ve been in California for a decade now. I’m practiced at hiding just how twisted I am beneath tweed and cotton, leather and lace.

The farmer’s market appears three blocks later in a riot of white tents and moving bodies.