“Nobody’s home,” Eve said and wondered if he’d fled for good.

“Is there anywhere we can sit and keep our eyes on the place without attracting attention from the neighbors?”

Eve rode to the end of the street, made a U-turn, and made another pass by the house. On her way down, she noticed a mobile home at the corner with a FOR SALE sign out front. One of the windows looked out at Coyle’s place.

“Maybe,” Eve said and continued out of the mobile home park and on down Topanga Canyon. “I’ll meet you at Bristol Farms.”

She turned left where Topanga hit Mulholland Drive, rode past the intersection with Mulholland Highway where the LAPD tried to scam them, and then past the Motion Picture and Television Country House and Hospital, where her father, Vince, lived in one of the bungalows on the forty-eight-acre property. Eve wasn’t the least bit tempted to ride in for a reunion.

Instead, she entered the shopping center strip across the street and rode to Bristol Farms, a high-end grocery store, just as Duncan parked out front in the Explorer. She got off her bike and removed her helmet. He got out and opened the tailgate.

“There’s a mobile home for sale on the corner of Coyle’s street,” Eve said. “If the Realtor will play along, maybe we can go in as a cleaning or painting crew and nobody will know we’re cops.”

He helped her lift her bike into the SUV. “That’ll work.”

“There’s only one way in and out of the mobile home park and it’s off Topanga Canyon, which is good. The bad news is we can’t stake out the entrance without being seen.”

“No problem. We’ll plant unmarked units down at Mulholland Drive and more up on the overlook, so we’ll have both ends of Topanga Canyon covered. We’ll see him coming or going.”

“If he’s not already gone for good,” Eve said.

“You’ll feel more optimistic after you’ve had a couple apple fritters.” Duncan gestured to the grocery store, which sold gourmet donuts in their bakery. “I always do.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

She opted for Red Bull instead of an apple fritter and it definitely improved her mood and her alertness. It was a good thing, too, because Biddle and Garvey were in the squad room when Eve and Duncan came in at four thirty and she needed to be sharp and ready to respond quickly to whatever they had for her. They’d pounce on any sluggishness in her thinking as a sign she wasn’t fit for the job.

“Isn’t that your crime-fighting costume?” Biddle said, giving her tight-fitting Lycra biking outfit a once-over. “It would look better with a cape and a logo on your chest.”

“And maybe a mask to hide your real identity,” Garvey said.

Biddle gave him a chiding look. “Deathfist doesn’t want to hide her real identity. She wants to be a YouTube star again.”

Eve ignored the digs. “What have you two come up with so far on Lionel Coyle?”