Jeremy Carruthers ran a hand through his wild hair and sighed heavily. “What about your uncle?”

“No sign of him.”

“Damn.”

Ashley slipped the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. “Strange behavior, if you ask me, for a pillar of the San Diego community. Thanks for the orange juice, Mr. Carruthers. If you feel like talking, contact my office in Boston. Meanwhile, I have a cab waiting.”

“It can wait. I want to know every damned word Mac said.”

Ignoring him, she found her own way through the house. The mist was slowly burning off, and the house was filling with a soft light. The mood of the decor was cheerful and energetic, but gentle somehow.

Jeremy Carruthers tramped after her, bellowing.

“Let me get dressed,” he suggested as she reached for the front door. “I’ll go with you. Maybe we can figure this thing out together. Look, we don’t have to be enemies. You trust your uncle, I trust Mac. Maybe together we can keep them from killing each other. Goddammit, you’re not even listening!”

She spun around. “As far as I’m concerned, Mr. Carruthers, you’ve already told me your full quota of lies. I don’t give liars a second chance. Good day.”

She left him standing in his entryway, cursing her soundly. Knowing he was watching, she opened the cab door with a haughty toss of the head and climbed in. She told the driver, “Point Loma, please.”

And then she turned and smiled regally toward the yellow stucco house. But Jeremy Carruthers had already slammed the door.

The sanctimonious bitch, Jeremy thought, livid, as he pulled on a pair of jeans. What kind of superman did Mac think he was to stop her? He grabbed a pullover, slipped on a pair of topsiders, and dashed outside. Dammit, he had to try. He owed Mac that much. Keep her in San Diego. Fat chance.

To get back to the city, Ashley would have to cross the bay bridge. She was in a cab. He was in a Porsche. It was his only hope of catching up with her.

He shot up San Luis Rey to Glorietta and hit the bridge, swinging immediately into the left lane. He had two-plus miles of bridge to make up for lost time.

As the bridge curved downward toward San Diego, his Porsche slid in two cars behind her cab. Chuckling with satisfaction, Jeremy took a few seconds as he followed her onto 1-5 to put on his shirt.

11

“Mrs. Stevens?” Ashley smiled politely at the attractive woman standing in the doorway of the Stevens house. She wore elastic-waist khaki pants and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and Ashley could smell the soil on her. A gardener. Feeling calmer, Ashley went on, introducing herself, then adding, “I’d like to talk with you about your husband, if I may.”

Elaine Stevens nervously pushed back her hair and ended up smudging her cheek with dirt. She seemed surprised to see the dirt on her hands, as if she’d forgotten what she’d been doing before Ashley had rung her doorbell. She brushed them off slowly and finally looked at Ashley. “About Mac?”