He checked the time. She might be back at the house by now, if she’d turned around soon enough. Maybe they’d have a chance to argue foreign policy before Lamar kicked him off the property. He wondered how much she knew about Fallujah. Marines cutting off the water and then going into the hospital there. Tying up patients with plastic handcuffs, not seeming to know it counted as a war crime. In any case, he wanted to talk to her. He couldn’t trust Lamar to give her the unabridged story.

Traffic thinned out as they climbed north, and as they went up Mountain Drive into the hills behind town, the Lincoln was only one car ahead. It felt more rural here—dense trees, the houses set well back and often hidden, the verges planted with cacti and wild flowers.

Vincent said, ‘What’s the average house price around here?’

‘Up in the hills? Not sure.’ Grinning at him in the mirror. ‘Don’t think I’ll buy for less than ten million, though.’

‘Yeah, sounds sensible.’

‘Get a feeling I’ll have to start working nights at some stage.’

‘Yeah. You and me both. I don’t even have a job, actually.’

‘You better fix that.’

Vincent said, ‘Yeah. That’s actually my old boss up ahead. I quit about twenty minutes ago.’

‘Huh. No shit. You gonna make it fifty if I can ride his fender for the home stretch?’

‘No, this is good. I don’t want to piss him off even more.’

The guy slowed, and the gap opened up to a hundred yards. A side street was coming up on the left, and he could see an SUV—a white Lincoln Navigator—just nosing out. The Navigator punched it on the turn, rear end sitting low with the boost, and then slipped in behind Lamar. For a second, the picture didn’t sit right, and then he knew why: he’d seen the car before. On State Street, cruising past the lot after their little altercation.

The house was visible now, coming up on the right, and the gate was already open. Lamar must have phoned ahead. Vincent saw Lamar’s brake lights come on, and then the Navigator’s too, the big SUV staying tight. Lamar swung in through the open gate, and the Navigator chased him through, six inches off the rear fender.

Vincent said, ‘Shit.’ Getting a cold feeling he hadn’t felt for a while—knowing he was headed for something bad, not seeing the shape of it yet.

The driver was slowing, about to follow them in. ‘This is us, right?’

‘No, no, keep going, keep going. Don’t stop.’

The guy looking at him in the mirror. ‘Man, you okay?’

‘Yeah, straighten up. Pull in here—the next driveway. Go, go, go.’