BooksBarbecue
Back Desert Star Save as PDF
Chapters (62)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. ALSO BY MICHAEL CONNELLY
  3. DEDICATION
  4. PART 1
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. PART 2
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. EPILOGUE
  61. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  62. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

He hit the gas and drove up to Montana. At the stop sign he crept the car out into the intersection and looked down to his left. He saw the blue BMW pull out onto Montana and head west. Bosch did the same and started to follow, maintaining a block-and-a-half distance from the BMW. He guessed that Rawls was heading to Lincoln Boulevard, which in turn would take him to the 10 freeway and then anywhere he wanted to go.

He called Ballard again.

“He’s on the move,” he said. “I think he’s heading to the freeway.”

“Where should I go?”

“If he gets on the ten, he’ll be heading toward the four-oh-five.”

“I’m right by the four-oh-five.”

“So jump on and head south. I’ll call you back when we’re heading that way. If we pull this off, you take lead. I think he made me.”

“How do you know?”

“He turned around in the alley so he didn’t have to drive by my location.”

“Shit.”

“One-car follow, what can I tell you.”

“I know, my fault.”

“No, not your fault. It just is what it is.”

“What if he’s just going home?”

“That would be perfect but I don’t think it’s happening. The college streets are east of here. He’s taking a roundabout way if that’s where he’s going.”

Up ahead, Rawls turned south onto Lincoln as predicted. Bosch reached the intersection, and as he made the same turn, he didn’t see the BMW ahead. As he passed through the next intersection, he slowed and quickly looked one way and then the other. The BMW was nowhere to be seen.

“Shit,” he said. “I think I already lost him.”

“What?” Ballard said. “Where?”

“He turned onto Lincoln, and when I followed, he was gone. I’m checking side streets but don’t see his car anywhere.”

“We need to get that swab.”

“I know that. So now it’s my fault.”

“I’m not blaming you, Harry. I’m just pissed. Where do you think he was going?”

“The freeway, and from there, who knows? Maybe he’s going to the airport, or he could be driving south to Mexico or north to Canada.”

Bosch had now passed through three intersections and had not seen the blue BMW.

“Where should I go now?” Ballard asked.

“Keep going to the four-oh-five and head south. I’ll do the—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. His phone flew out of his hand as he felt a sharp impact on the rear corner of the car. Suddenly he was in a counterclockwise spin. The Cherokee slid sideways through an intersection and then sheared off a stop sign before slamming into a parked car and coming to an abrupt stop.