“No thanks necessary. Just walk out that door and don’t look back.”

Fifteen minutes later, Decker pulled his Porsche into the valet lot. The parking attendants were different from the ones who had been here in the afternoon. When they asked how long he’d be staying, Decker told them that he didn’t know.

The resort hotel was fifteen acres of lush plants and tropical foliage set at the foothills in Bel Air. The evening air was sweet from night-blooming jasmine with a hint of gardenia. Broad-leaf palms, ferns, and flowering bushes lined stone walkways and draped over the edges of a man-made lagoon populated with ducks and swans. Decker and Rina crossed over a bridge, glancing at the lake as the birds glided by.

Decker faced her. “Why don’t you take the car and go home.”

“Hannah’s at a friend’s house. I can wait.”

“I don’t know if I want you around in case Chris pops in. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“How about if I wait in the lobby?”

“Would you mind? It may take a while. If I don’t find her right away, I’m going to have to do a search of the hotel.”

“It’s not a problem unless they kick me out.” She paused. “What are you going to do with Gabe? You don’t know what’s going on. You certainly can’t let him stay here by himself even if he was of age.”

Neither of them spoke.

Rina said, “He can stay with us.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I don’t think you have any choice.”

“He has a grandfather living in the Valley.”

“Then contact him in the morning. One night with us won’t make a difference.”

“You really are Earth Mother.”

“That’s me,” Rina said. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, et cetera, et cetera. Emma and I had a lot more in common than just our last names.”

ALTHOUGH THE ACTUAL hotel was series of connected low-profile, pink stucco bungalows topped with a Mediterranean red-tiled roof, the lobby was a stand-alone building. Through the window, Decker could see the registration desk with a uniformed woman flipping through files, an empty concierge desk, and a suite of traditional furniture facing a stone fireplace. One of the beige chairs was taken up by a lanky adolescent—The Thinker done by Giacometti. He and Rina went inside and the thin kid looked up, then stood up. Decker tried out a reassuring smile. “Gabe?”

He nodded. Good-looking kid—an aquiline nose, strong chin, a mop of dirty blond hair, and gem-quality emerald eyes that sat behind a pair of frameless glasses. Not much bulk, but he had the same kind of wiry muscle that his dad had as a teenager. He appeared to be grazing the six-foot mark.