"Rancho Bernardo," Kendra repeated. "Can you think of anyplace else?"

"Nope, not in these parts. There may be an occasional backyard garden or hothouse with a few, but I don't know of any others. Of course, I haven't been so mobile lately." He waved his oxygen tube. "If someone has done some major planting in the last year or two, I might not know about it."

"You've been tremendously helpful," Lynch said. "You know, the Bureau could use a guy like you, at least on a consulting basis."

Charlie grinned. "They can't afford me, either. But if I ever get jammed up by LE, I hope you guys will step up for me."

"Come on, Charlie, I know you've made enough to retire," Kendra said.

"We could've retired years ago," Emma said. "We have a beautiful house tucked away on a beach in-"

"In an undisclosed location," Charlie interrupted.

"Right," Emma said. "But this fool still insists on spending eight months a year in this rat trap."

Charlie raised his hand to silence Emma. "I like to keep on the move. Am I supposed to curl up and become an old man? Not me. I've expanded the business since I last saw you, Kendra. It's kept me busier than ever."

She said warily, "I hate to even ask."

"Orchids." He smiled. "Lots and lots of orchids."

Kendra's face brightened. "Well, at least it's legal."

"Actually, it's not. The orchids I grow are on the endangered species list. It's quite illegal for me to sell or transport them. It's hard work, but very profitable."

Emma frowned. "It better be profitable, with all the d.a.m.n time you spend on those things."

"What can I say? It's an art. You can't rush genius."

Emma rolled her eyes. "So now he's a genius."

"Ghost orchids," Charlie said. "They're endangered, but they wouldn't even exist if I didn't bring them into being. I'm doing the species a huge favor. But those U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service agents are even more b.a.l.l.s to the wall than the DEA. They'd lock me up and throw away the key."

"And you'd probably find something illegal to grow in the prison garden." Kendra stood and hugged Charlie. "You listen to your wife, Charlie. Retire and get yourself to that beach house."

He shrugged. "Maybe. But you know how many people die when they retire and start to live the good life. Lack of purpose kills you." He reached up and chucked her under the chin. "You found that out, didn't you, Kendra? You were going to taste every wine and make life this big celebration. You made a good try at it, too. We had a h.e.l.luva good time when you pa.s.sed our way. But that mind of yours never stopped working, and the celebration went a little stale. Right?"

"Not because of you or Emma, Charlie," she said gently. "You made my life richer. I have such good memories of those months we spent together." She smiled as she brushed her lips across his forehead. "Though you never gave me one of those forbidden orchids. What kind of friend are you?"

He threw back his head and laughed. "I didn't know they existed back then. And they're more trouble than they're worth to most people except the addicts."

"Think about that beach. Maybe you could collect exotic sh.e.l.ls or coral."

His brow furrowed. "Coral ... Seems I heard about some kind of coral that was on the endangered list..."

Emma frowned. "Charlie, you can hardly breathe, and you're thinking about going diving?"

"Just thinking, Emma..."

"And I think we'd better get out of here." Kendra gave Emma a hug and headed for the door. "Sorry I opened a can of worms. Bye, Charlie. Come on, Lynch."

"No can of worms, Kendra." Emma had followed them as they left the RV. She added quietly, "If you manage to get him to that beach, I can do the rest. I'm sorry I wasn't more welcoming. Charlie's right, I have to take care of him now. He's all I got." The door was closing behind her. "Thanks for coming by, honey. I'll send you our address when I get Charlie to that beach."

"Do that." She headed for the car. "I'll look forward to it."

"INTERESTING COMPANY YOU KEEP," Lynch said as he sped away from Charlie and Emma's farm after Kendra had reluctantly surrendered the keys. "But I could see why you would want to talk to Charlie about this. That was impressive."

"There's no one better at this kind of thing than he is. Much better than waiting for the FBI lab."

"Oh, I agree."

Kendra pulled out her phone and quickly typed a search term on the tiny keypad. "Jeff wasn't a golfer. I know he wasn't in Rancho Bernardo for that."

"Have you ever been up there?"

"Not since I've been able to see." She scanned the page of results. "Hmm. Charlie was right. A lot of commercial properties. Sony's U.S. headquarters are there. Eastman Kodak and Hewlett Packard also have corporate offices in the area."

"It's a nice place, but as far as I know, none of the princ.i.p.als in this case have any connection with it."

"Are we headed there now?"

Lynch grinned. "You know it, lady."

An hour later, they rolled into Rancho Bernardo, nestled in the rolling hills of the North County. Kendra could see signs of a wildfire that had blasted down the slopes a couple of years before, but the streets and buildings were clean and well maintained. As Charlie had said, the hillsides and medians were filled with the red and white Pineland Hibiscus flowers in full bloom.

"About as different from Devil's Slide as you can get," Kendra said. "But it looks as if he might have driven both here and there sometime in that last day or two. Yet they don't appear in any of his notes, case files, or audio transcriptions. I don't get it."

"His phone also didn't ping any of the cell towers here. Or out in Ocotillo Wells. I got the records last night."

"You mean for his company phone."

"Yes. The only one the FBI knew about."

"But we knew he was using another one, at least part of the time." She considered this as they pa.s.sed a neighborhood of large homes. "He didn't want to be tracked. Not by the FBI or anyone."

Lynch nodded. "That's the way it's looking. He didn't even carry his work phone with him."

"But why wouldn't he even want his own bosses tracking him?"

"You tell me. Do you think Jeff was dirty?"

"No way in h.e.l.l."

"It's either that, or maybe he thought he was working for someone who was. Take your pick."

She couldn't believe that Jeff was crooked, so the choice was easy. Someone from the Bureau? But there might be still another reason. If he was undercover, he might have thought he'd be safer with no connection to the Bureau. "Or he could have been afraid to tip his hand, which means that whoever he suspected had megapower, and he couldn't take any risks." Her lips tightened. "But it's doing us no good to make guesses. We've got to find out, dammit."

OSCAR LAIRD TRIED TO KEEP his eyes on Lynch's car as he punched in Schuyler's number.

"What's the story?" Schuyler already sounded p.i.s.sed.

This wasn't going to be a good conversation, Laird thought.

"They're here."

"Where here?"

"Rancho Bernardo."

Schuyler cursed under his breath. "How?"

"I have no idea. I'm following Lynch and Kendra Michaels right now. They're heading north on Pomerado Road."

"How in the h.e.l.l did they find their way there? Do we have a leak?"

"I don't think so. And they're pretty much just driving around. I don't think they know what they're looking for."

"You don't think. That's comforting. They're less than two miles away from destroying everything we've been working toward, and I'm supposed to rely on your vague hunch?"

"That's what you pay me for."

"I'm shutting down."

"Don't do it. If they knew what they were doing, they'd be there already. It wouldn't be just the two of them, and they wouldn't be aimlessly driving around like a couple of house hunters looking to get a feel for the area."

A long moment of silence. Schuyler obviously knew that Laird was right, but he hated like h.e.l.l to admit it.

"Okay, Laird. We're so close to the end that I'm going to take a chance and hold out for that last shipment to be processed. Don't let them out of your sight. If this goes wrong, I'm holding you responsible."

Hollow threat.

If this went wrong, Laird wanted to tell him, they would probably both be dead.

THOSE b.a.s.t.a.r.dS THOUGHT he was washed up, Steve Rusin thought. As if there were a mandatory retirement age for killers for hire. He checked his watch and leaned back in his car seat.

He was sixty-eight, and h.e.l.l, it was easier now than it ever was. The years had given him the wrinkles, gray hair, and bushy eyebrows that made him appear less threatening than he had in his younger days. He now had a face that people trusted. He could get closer to his marks, get them to lower their guard, then pounce with the same deadly precision he'd always had. Sure, things had gone a bit awry with his last target, but he'd gotten the job done.

But he had seen the doubt in Laird's eyes. He, like Schuyler, was afraid he had lost the touch.

Idiots.

Rusin gaze narrowed on the lithe, energetic figure walking toward him on the deserted street. That would be Lesley Dunn, on her way home from the advanced Photoshop cla.s.s she was taking from a local art school. She made her living as a public-relations representative at an indie record label, but she harbored dreams of becoming a graphic designer. Too bad that would never happen for her, Rusin thought.

He climbed out of the car and quickly glanced at the industrial buildings around him. It was after hours, and no one else was around. He had chosen his spot well. He unsheathed his ivory-handled blade and held the knife at his side.

He unfolded a piece of paper and did his best to look befuddled.

Lesley slowed as she approached him. There was no wariness, no fear. If anything, just a hint of concern. Perfect.

"Young lady, I'm sorry to bother you. I'm not sure if I'm in the right place..."

She stopped and smiled but kept about five feet between them. Smart girl. "Where do you want to be?"

He glanced pathetically at the building in front of them. "Garnet Street?"

She nodded. "That's where you are."

"I'm supposed to get my hearing aid repaired somewhere around here." He knew he was laying it on thick, but she was totally buying it.

She stepped closer. "Do you have an address?"

He squinted at the paper in his hand. "Yes. But I can't quite..." He angled the paper in her direction, and she stepped closer.

Yes.

As she leaned over to read the paper, in one lightning motion, he jabbed at her with the blade.

He missed.

Lesley Dunn had jumped back out of range. She moved like a cat, he thought. Impressive.

He couldn't give her time to think, to realize what was happening to her.

He lunged again. Contact.

But she had jumped away again, and he'd only given her a slice across the midsection. Not enough to finish the job.

Whump! Something clobbered him upside the head.

What the h.e.l.l-?

Whump!

She had swung her knapsack and scored two direct hits. What was she carrying in there, rocks?

A third swing stuck his hands and sent the blade skittering across the sidewalk.

Dammit!

She sprinted down the street. He bolted after her, bending and scooping up his knife without breaking stride.

That's it, honey. Run. Do you run four miles every morning? Because I sure as h.e.l.l do. Each and every day.