Free Phantom Instinct (9780698157132) by Meg Gardiner Page B

the third shooter that night.
    The man was real. He was still out there. And now, Aiden had to think, the shooter might be working with Harper. Working on
him
.
    He grabbed the keys to his truck. Whistling for the dog, he stormed outside.

12

    T he wind lifted damp strands of hair from Harper’s neck. She focused on the trash can a hundred yards up the beach and ran, pumping her arms. Her lungs burned. The whitecapped ocean was gilded in the afternoon light. The sand churning under her feet was hot. On Pacific Coast Highway, traffic slurred past. She tried to pick up her pace, but her legs felt like wool. She slogged to the trash can and stopped, wheezing.
    The Santa Monica Pier glittered in the surf spray. The sun shone on surfers and sunbathers and palm trees. She hated it all right now.
    She spit onto the sand. “Dammit.”
    She had thought running after work would clear her head. But bent over, hands on her knees, she only felt her fears confirmed: She had blown it. Cajoling Aiden into going with her to Sorenstam had been a disaster. And she had exposed herself to whatever winds were rising.
    Distantly, a vehicle door slammed shut. A moment later, a dog loped up to her, tags rattling, a beautiful black mutt that gazed up at her as though beguiled. She heard a whistle.
    â€œCobey, sit.”
    She straightened. Aiden was walking toward her across the sand.
    She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “My boss told you where to find me? Turnabout, I guess.”
    He walked up. “I followed you along the road for half a mile. You didn’t watch your back.”
    The sun glared from his shades. The wind smelled of salt.
    â€œI’ll be more careful,” she said. “Are you here to talk about seeing Zero that night at Xenon?”
    â€œForget Xenon. I’m here because I can’t stand being lied to.”
    She dropped her hands to her sides. “I didn’t lie to you.”
    â€œBullshit. You weren’t Eddie Azerov’s victim. You were his accomplice.”
    A bright hum rose in her ears. His face was flat with anger, his shirt blowing against his frame. An urge to disappear overcame her. Drive north to the desert, up the eastern side of the Sierras. Vanish into the backcountry.
    She had thought Los Angeles would be the backcountry. She came here to hide in plain sight among nine million people in L.A. County. Aiden’s hands hung open, but tense, as though ready to curl into fists.
    She was well and truly hosed.
    â€œMy juvenile record was sealed when I turned eighteen,” she said.
    â€œYou and Zero had a hell of a run, until you crashed a getaway car. Is that why you didn’t tell me earlier? Because you botched the escape?”
    The humming in her ears rose to a roar. The light took on a searchlight gleam. Sorenstam had managed to dig it all up.
    Why had she thought her history could be kept secret? Records were records. They might be sealed, but they never evaporated, any more than memories or pain.
    Say something. Say the right thing.
The gleaming light seemed to turn her numb.
    â€œEddie Azerov is a nightmare. He’s . . .”
    â€œSssuu . . .”
    Azerov’s voice, hissing and hot, filled her mind. His flat eyes, his tiny teeth, the way he cocked his head as he leaned in and whispered threats in her ear.
    â€œYou think I wanted to spill everything about him fifteen minutes after I met you? No way. And to hear you give me information that he was involved—”
    â€œStop it. Whatever you’re trying to pull, just stop it.”
    She nearly raised her hand to slap him. Ten years earlier, she would have. “I’m not pulling anything. Why would I do that?”
    â€œThat’s the jackpot question. You want the sheriff’s department to provide you with official cover for something? You’re out to get Azerov and think you can worm his whereabouts out of the department? Barricading yourself