But it does have a message on this side. It says, I shoot everyone, and there’s a bullet hole smack in the middle of the sign.

Sasha is a damn good shot.

My phone buzzes in my pants and I let my cigarette dangle as I fish it out and press the green tab. “Yeah,” I say.

“What kind of favor do you need?” Harrison asks.

“You still in Vegas?”

“Yeah, till tomorrow, why?”

“I need you to pick something up in Colombia.”

His laugh is so loud I have to pull the phone away. “I’m not doing drug runs, ass**le.”

I take a drag on my cigarette and let it out. “Not drugs, you freak. I’m gonna place an order for you to pick up, but I need it tomorrow night. Can you do it or not?”

“Dude,” he says, laughing. “That’s a three-leg journey at least. It’s gonna cost you a ton of dough.”

“Money is not a problem. I just need this package. Tomorrow night. Delivered to Orange County.”

“I can, but you will owe me more than money.”

“I’d expect nothing less. Look for deets soon. Later.”

I press end and immediately key in another number. It reroutes several times, making loud clicking noises that would usually have me on high alert for wiretapping. But this is just how it is when you want to talk to Roberto.

“Hola,” a woman’s voice says. “Roberto Moreno Diseñador.”

“This is Tet. I have an order and I am sending someone to pick it up tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, switching from Spanish to English effortlessly. “How can I help you?”

I give her my request. It’s nothing special, at least for Roberto. But they don’t sell them here in the States. At least not of this caliber. And I need the best for this job. I end the call, text Harrison the details, and go find Sasha.

“Come in,” she says softly after I knock on her door. I open it up and she’s curled up in a chair on the far side of the room, still holding the gun I gave her. “That was fast,” she says through a yawn. “I hope it’s not some crackpot idea that will get me killed.”

“Well, you can let me know afterward, OK?”

She stares at me for a few seconds and I can almost see her mind spinning with questions. Will she ask them? Will I answer them?

I don’t think I can, not yet anyway.

“Medicine Wheel or something like that.”

“What?” I shake my head at her randomness.

“That place my dad was gonna take me today. Something about a medicine wheel. And he had special permission to go up with some Native American friends because normally it’s closed to the public on the summer solstice.”

“Sorry, kid. I have no idea.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, her expression blank. “Who cares about stupid stuff like that anyway.” She turns away from me, curling her little body up in the chair like she’s cold. But this is the desert. It’s still almost eighty degrees out in the dead of night. Her posture is just another defense mechanism to protect herself from all the hurt. And not the physical kind. She’s got plenty of that tonight too. But missing that trip with her dad, that’s the kind of pain that can’t be fixed with a pill.

Not easily, anyway.

“Hey,” I say after her eyes have been closed for a few minutes. “Stupid medicine wheels are the only things that count, Sasha. How about… how about I make you a promise. For when this is all over.”

“What kind of promise?” She asks the question out of duty, it seems. Because she doesn’t even bother to open her eyes.

“I’ll take you to that place. We’ll find it and I’ll take you there.”

The tears start to fall down her face. “It’s too late. The solstice is today. I missed it and I don’t want to go anymore.”

I have nothing to say to that. Do you convince them? Kids, I mean. Is that what parents do? Convince them that they really do want to go, they’re just acting like… well, kids?

Or do you take them at their word?

I’m not sure. So I just get up and walk out. It seems like a cowardly move on my part, but f**k it. I’m not her father. She’s not my kid. She’s not my problem.

She’s my solution and nothing more.

Chapter Twenty-Eight - James

“We should’ve left last night,” Sasha whines.

I swear to God, if this kid complains all the way to Huntington Beach, I will not be held responsible. Already this morning she’s complained about the lack of breakfast, her lack of clean clothes, and her sore body.

“It’s soooo hot.”

The air-conditioning is on full blast, but even though the sun just came up a half hour ago, it’s almost a hundred degrees outside.

“I’m hungry.”

“Jesus f**king Christ, do you ever shut up? I’m ready to drop your ass off on the side of the road.”

Sasha lets out a big sigh and I glance over at Harper. She’s been quiet the entire ride. I reach across the center console and tap her on the shoulder. She pulls her distracted gaze away from the window and smiles half-heartedly at me. “You OK? You haven’t said much since we left.”

“Yeah, fine. Just hungry.” She looks away again.

“OK.” I scan the horizon and see some civilization coming up. “We’ll get off at the next exit.”

I know why she’s quiet. I told her I was going back to the OC to get some files. That has to be it. She has them stashed somewhere and she must’ve felt pretty confident about the hiding place, otherwise she would’ve taken them with her. But I checked her backpack. There is no flash drive or papers or any other means of containing information that I can see. And her unease this morning is proof enough. Those files are stashed and we are headed right for them.

When she escaped, as she calls it, she hopped a plane to Hawaii, changed her name and credentials, and then hopped another plane to LA. From there she was tracked to the UCLA library. And that’s as far as they got. Meaning the Company forensic surveillance team. Because for some odd reason there was a power surge at the library that day. About three minutes before Harper entered the building, to be precise. And even though the general power kicked right back on, the security systems went down. All cameras were affected.