Free The Program by Gregg Hurwitz Page B

On their post-Ginny wedding anniversary, a grim evening in May, they'd sat stiffly among second-tier movie stars and Malibu divorcees, pretending not to notice the three well-groomed girls at the table to their left or the empty chairs at their own four-top.
    Dray changed quickly, even putting on a touch of eyeliner and blush. Makeup, which she rarely and reluctantly wore, didn't suit her -- her looks were so natural and healthy she could go without -- but Tim didn't mention it because he prized the intent behind her effort. He threw on a pressed shirt, and soon they were on their way in Dray's Blazer, Tim at the wheel, holding hands across the console. Dray blinked against the sting of the mascara. "In Your Eyes" wailed from the speakers, seeming an added contrivance to the impromptu romantic outing. When they reached the 23/101 interchange, Dray finally snapped down the visor and started smearing off her makeup. "You know what? This is too weird after everything tonight."
    Tim let out a relieved laugh. "Thank God. How's Fatburger sound?"
    Dray smiled as he exited the freeway. "Divine."

    Chapter eight
    The insistent bleating of the cell phone pulled Tim from sleep. Buried in blankets, Dray made tired noises and shifted around. A spout of hair across the pillow, the sole trace of her, had gone red in the alarm-clock glow -- 2:43.
    Tim sat up before answering, feet flat on the cold floor -- a habit that forced wee-hours lucidity. "Yeah?"
    "Tim Rackley?"
    "Who is this?"
    "You tell me."
    He rubbed an eye, running through the options. Since he was working only one case, it didn't take long. "Reggie Rondell."
    "Just might be."
    "It's two-thirty in the morning."
    "Is it really?" No hint of sarcasm. Some rustling. "Holy shit, look at that -- you're right. I don't keep track of the hours so good anymore."
    "You want to talk?"
    "Not on the phone."
    "Okay. Let's set up a time, and I'll come see you."
    "I got time now."
    "Now's not the greatest."
    "For who?"
    Tim dropped the receiver from his mouth so his exhale wouldn't be heard. "Okay. Where are you?"
    "Where you left me. I'm working back-to-backs."
    "I'm gonna bring my partner. I can have him wait in the car if you'd like."
    "I'd like."
    Tim snapped the phone shut and blinked hard a few times. Dray surfaced, bangs down across her eyes. "I forgot about this part."
    He crossed the bedroom, crouched, and spun the dial of the gun safe.
    Bear gazed bleary-eyed through the windshield, one hand fisting the top of the wheel, the other holding a chipped mug out of which spooled steam and the scent of cheap coffee. "Here's where I wish I still smoked."
    The headlights blazed a yellow cone between the asphalt and the morning dark, the truck hurtling toward dawn. Curled between them on the bench seat, Boston stuck his muzzle into Tim's side until Tim scratched behind his ear. Bear had reluctantly inherited the even-tempered Rhodesian Ridgeback, and the two had rapidly become inseparable. Tim had only recently begun to disassociate Boston from his previous owner, a plucky brunette who'd fared worse than Tim in last year's collision course.
    "Kind of a shady meet, no? A nighttime summons to a by-the-hour motel the wrong side of Culver City?"
    "That's why you're here," Tim said.
    "And I thought it was my sunny disposition."
    Road construction slowed them to a crawl at the 405 interchange. In L.A., even a 3:00 A.M. drive can't deliver you from traffic.
    "He's got no wants, no warrants, for what that's worth, but his jittery-poodle routine doesn't fill me with trust. You think he's really scared of me or he's trying to sitting-duck my ass out in the parking lot?"
    "I think he's really scared of you. Or what you represent in his cult conditioning."
    Bear stared at him as if he'd shifted to Swedish. "Well, Dr. Phil, I still say we just haul him in and press the fuck out of him. Or are you gonna give me your bullshit about catching flies with honey?"
    "We push too hard, the guy could melt down all over