Chương 9
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"Was it pinned up?"
"Yeah."
"With anything else?"
"Some project documents."
"Was her name written on it?"
Dale hesitated.
"Yes."
"What did it say?"
Another silence.
Then Dale answered.
"Problem."
Gideon stared at the frozen yogurt melting in his cup.
The whole restaurant encounter rearranged itself without becoming clearer.
"Listen to me, Dale."
"Yeah."
"Do not call Briggs."
"I wasn't going to."
"Do not call Travis."
"Okay."
"Do not go anywhere they ask you to meet."
"Okay."
"And if either of them comes back to your house, call 911."
Dale swallowed audibly.
"All right."
"I mean it."
"I heard you."
The call ended.
Maisie was watching him.
"What was that about?"
"Work."
She narrowed her eyes.
"You lie worse than I do."
Gideon looked at her for a long moment.
Then he picked up his phone again and searched his recent calls for Evelyn's number.
It wasn't there.
Of course it wasn't.
She had never called him.
He had no direct way to reach her.
He could call the restaurant and ask Warren.
He could call the police officer.
He could do what any sensible person would do and stay out of it.
Maisie scraped the bottom of her yogurt cup.
"Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Are we going home?"
He looked at her.
At the blue tongue.
At the piano backpack.
At the child who had already lost one parent and deserved a father who understood the difference between courage and compulsion.
"Yeah."
He started the truck.
"We're going home."
Ten minutes later, as Gideon turned onto his street, a black sedan was parked across from his house with its lights off.
He drove past without slowing.
Maisie noticed immediately.
"You missed the driveway."
"I know."
"Why?"
Gideon checked the rearview mirror.
The sedan's headlights came on.
Then it pulled away from the curb and followed them.
Gideon kept driving at the same speed.
Maisie twisted in her seat.
"Who is that?"
"Eyes forward."
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
She went still.
That tone did what shouting never could.
Gideon took the next right instead of heading toward June's house.
The sedan followed.
He took another right.
It followed again.
Maisie looked at him without moving her head.
"Are we in trouble?"
"I don't know yet."
"That's not a no."
"No."
He hated the answer as soon as he gave it.
His daughter had inherited an inconvenient ability to hear what people meant instead of what they said.
He reached for his phone and set it in the cup holder.
"Call June."
Maisie obeyed.
June answered on speaker.
"You forget the pistachio?"
"June, lock your doors."
Silence.
Then her voice changed.
"What's happening?"
"There's a car following us."
"Bring Maisie here."
"Not yet."
"Gideon."
"If they're interested in me, I don't want them learning she's with you."
Maisie stared at the dashboard.
June said, "Police?"
"I'm calling."
"Where are you?"
"Heading north on Mason."
"I can see Mason from my kitchen."
"Stay away from the windows."
June swore quietly.
"Maisie okay?"
"I'm fine," Maisie said before Gideon could answer.
Her voice was smaller than usual.
June heard it.
"Hey, bug."
"Hi."
"Remember when your dad tried to make pancakes and set off the smoke alarm?"
Maisie blinked.
"Yes."
"He survives bad decisions professionally."
Gideon said, "Helpful."
"I'm helping her, not you."
Maisie gave a weak laugh.
It was enough.
Gideon ended the call and dialed 911.
He gave the dispatcher his location, vehicle description, and the sedan's approximate make.
"Can you see the plate?"
"No."
"Do not attempt to stop or confront the vehicle."
"Wasn't planning to."
"Can you drive to the sheriff's substation on Franklin?"
"Yes."
"Proceed there if safe."
Gideon changed lanes.
The sedan changed with him.
He watched it in the mirror.
It stayed three car lengths back.
Too close to be accidental.
Too steady to be drunk.
At the next light, Gideon slowed earlier than necessary.
The sedan slowed too.
For a second, its headlights illuminated the inside of his truck.
Maisie's face reflected faintly in the windshield.
That did something to him he did not like.
Fear was useful when it sharpened choices.
The other kind, the kind involving a child, had edges that cut everywhere.
"Maisie."
"Yeah?"
"Get your backpack."
She pulled it onto her lap.
"Why?"
"Just do it."
She gripped it against her chest.
The light turned green.
Gideon accelerated normally.
The sedan stayed with them.
A patrol car appeared two blocks ahead, parked at an angle near the entrance to a grocery store.
Gideon flashed his headlights.
The officer pulled out.
The sedan immediately turned left.
No signal.
No hesitation.
Just gone.
The patrol car accelerated after it.
Maisie exhaled loudly.
"Was that bad?"
"Yeah."
"How bad?"
"Bad enough."
"Was it because of the restaurant?"
Gideon did not answer.
She watched him.
"Dad."
"I don't know."
"Are you in trouble because you helped that woman?"
"I don't know."
"Would you do it again?"
That answer came faster.
"Yes."
Maisie looked down at her backpack.
"So then I guess I can't be mad."
Gideon looked at her.
"You can be mad."
"Okay."
"You can also be scared."
"I know."
"Good."
"I'm both."
"Me too."
That made her look up.
He almost never admitted fear to her.
Not because he wanted to appear invincible.
Because children borrowed their understanding of danger from adults, and he had spent years trying not to lend her too much of his.
The dispatcher directed him to meet an officer at a gas station two miles away.
When Gideon pulled in, two patrol cars were already there.
The officer from Carver's stepped out of one.
His name tag read SULLIVAN.
He approached Gideon's window.
"You again."
"Apparently."
Sullivan glanced at Maisie.
"This your daughter?"
"Maisie."
She raised one hand.
"Hi."
Sullivan nodded politely.
"Hi, Maisie."
Then he looked back at Gideon.
"Black sedan?"
"Mid-size."
"Could be a Chrysler or older Audi."
"Plate?"
"Could only see glare."
"How long following?"
May you like
"At least six minutes."
"Started at your house?"
