“Poppy is Daisy’s radio name,” Tom explained to Croft.

Croft rolled her eyes. “I know. I’m a listener. Go on, Gideon.”

“I’d already told the receptionist to let me know if Daisy got any calls. Daisy shot Belmont a month ago. If he knows that, he’ll be gunning for her, too.”

“Or he might use her to get to you,” Croft murmured. “And to Mercy through you.”

“Yeah,” Gideon bit out. “I figured that out myself. Another reason why I’m Daisy’s Velcro for the foreseeable future. The guy didn’t get anywhere with the receptionist, who taped the call. I checked it out and it came from a burner. An hour later, a bouquet of flowers arrived. The card said they were from one of the charities that she featured on the show last week.”

“But they weren’t?” Tom asked.

“No. I called, because my gut was in knots, and the flowers seemed too timely. The charity said that while they did appreciate Daisy’s shout-out, the flowers were not from them.”

“And then?” Tom didn’t think he was going to like the answer.

“And then I got mad. I took the flowers out to the dumpster and chucked them in.”

Croft winced. “And then?”

Gideon’s laugh was bitter. “And then the bastard shot me from a goddamn Lexus.”

Tom shared a tense glance with Croft. “Belmont? Did he hit you?” he asked, because Gideon was still talking. Therefore he hadn’t been hurt that badly, if at all.

“Vest.”

Croft’s cheeks flushed in anger. “Motherfucker. He shot you in the chest?”

“Yep. It’ll bruise, but I’ll live. I pulled my gun, but he drove away and there was too much foot traffic to risk shooting back. I called it in, but the license plates were another fake. Marin County issued the original plates to a Lexus in the same color six months ago.”

“He has access to private citizen information, then,” Croft said. “Not a surprise.”

“No, but also, he’s changed his appearance. It all happened so fast that I didn’t realize it until I watched the station’s security tapes. He’s dyed his hair dark. Has a goatee, too. His left arm was in a sling, so he’s still injured. Molina said she was updating the BOLO to reflect.”

“We need to roll, Gideon,” Croft said. “Do you need a ride out of there?”

“No. We’re sitting tight here for a while. Molina arranged for a Bureau transport van to pick us up. It’ll be disguised as a delivery van and will back up to the door so that we can crawl in and hide. I fucking hate this guy,” he finished.

“You’re not the only one.” Croft ended the call. “Let’s head back. We’ve got work to do.”

NINETEEN

SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

FRIDAY, MAY 26, 12:15 P.M.

DJ exited the interstate and wound his way toward the zoo. He could lose himself in traffic there. Once he felt sure that no one was following him, he pulled into an alley, released his iron grip on the steering wheel, and sagged against the seat.