(Chapter 11. Santa Monica, the house in Brentwood, other places in LA.
March 6, 2033.)
"Well," said Emily, now Elizabeth, "It's small, but it's clean. I think it will do us well. What do you say, Dad?"
Emily had used her laptop and a portable printer to create new identities for herself and Moretti.
John Morrissey, the former Giancarlo Moretti, shrugged amiably and said, "It don't matter to me, Betsy, as long as you like it."
In reality, the place was not 'small.' It was tiny to the point that it would barely accommodate both of them and the clothing and supplies they had purchased after dumping the Chevy, but it was fully furnished with two bedrooms, a full bath, a kitchenette, and an ocean view. It was also in a neighborhood where she and her charge had not yet been spotted by the cops.
Even though it was just a couple miles from the house her mother had given her, she was confident that she would never be spotted by anyone who might recognize her. She planned to make sure of that. She had robbed the makeup trailer at one of the studios in Hollywood last night before she met the Chief just to be sure she and Moretti could remain unrecognizable. She now wished she had used some of that makeup before going into the bank.
Oh well, it was done and over.
Smiling broadly at the building manager, Emily/Elizabeth extended her hand and said, "We'll take it. We can rent by the week, right?"
"Sloan here," Steve said into his cell phone. He was still at the bank supervising the collection of evidence
"Chief," Leigh Ann said, "You asked to be informed when they found that blue Chevy."
Just then, Steve's call waiting beeped.
"Yeah. Hold on a sec, Leigh Ann. I have another call."
He clicked off with Leigh Ann and clicked on to the other call.
"Sloan."
"Hey, Uncle Steve."
"Hi, Hannah. Tell me you have good news."
"Sure do, Unk."
Steve smiled at the nickname. It didn't matter that he was Deputy Chief of Police, Steve Sloan, in charge of the Valley Bureau, leading the largest manhunt LA had seen in decades. To the ever-casual Hannah, he was just Unk.
"I've isolated the BioGen virus signature and programmed it into the immunometer. I can start tracking Emily any time you want."
"Immunometer?"
"My 'gadget,' Unk."
"Oh, great. Hang on a bit and I'll get you her last known location. You can start there."
He switched back to Leigh Ann and got the address where they'd found the Chevy.
"…and by the way, Chief, less than a block away, someone reported a white Lasca stolen."
"Call dispatch and have them put out an APB on the Lasca for me, Leigh Ann."
"Way ahead of you, Chief."
"You're too good to me Leigh Ann," Steve said with humor in his voice.
"Don't I know it, sir."
"Oh, and Leigh Ann?"
"Sir?"
"Inform the officers at the scene that Hannah Wagner from UCLA will be arriving soon. Tell them to give her whatever she wants as long as it doesn't contaminate our evidence or put her in the line of fire."
"Yes, sir. Does Agent Wagner know she's involved?"
"Yes, but he doesn't approve. The only thing saving me is the fact that he knows I can't keep her out of trouble any better than he can."
He heard Leigh Ann laugh.
"She certainly has a mind of her own. I'll talk to the men right now, sir."
"Thanks, Leigh Ann. Good bye."
Steve switched back to Hannah and gave her the address where she would find the Chevy. He also reminded her to take her university ID in case the officers didn't know her.
"Ok, Unk. Will you be there?"
"Soon, Hannah."
"Okie-dokie. See you then."
After she hung up with the Chief, Leigh Ann made another call, this time from her cell phone.
"Roger M. Gorini's office," said the secretary.
"Tell him it's his little bird," Leigh Ann said. Mr. Gorini had picked her code name for her, and she rather liked it. It made her sound fair and sweet and delicate and beautiful, qualities she strived for but seldom fully achieved.
"Yes, Leigh Ann?"
"Emily's parents arrived last night, sir. They're staying at the Chief's house. The Chief met with Emily at the park at two thirty this morning, sir. She used some cheap electronic gear to convince him she had several snipers trained on him. He just missed her at Compton State Bank shortly after six this morning. He and Commander Banks actually drove right by her on their way to the bank."
"I'll bet they were upset."
"That doesn't even begin to cover it, sir. They just found the car she was using at the bank, and now they're looking for a white Lasca that was stolen less than a block from where she dumped the other car. Also, Hannah Wagner, is helping in the search, now, too."
"Good work, Leigh Ann. Find out whatever you can about the girl's parents and about how Hannah is involved in the investigation."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
Emily sat on the couch watching Moretti. He was watching the television in the way of a typically bored male. He'd watch a few seconds of something and flip the channel. Watch and flip, watch and flip. Finally frustrated, she spoke.
"Hey, Moretti."
"Wha'?"
"I've been thinking. It might be easier for me to keep you alive if you could dodge the occasional bullet."
Moretti laughed. "I've done more than my share of that over the years, kid. I've found it easier to avoid gettin' shot at."
"I suppose."
They lapsed into silence. He started to watch and flip, watch and flip again as she studied him some more. He was fat, flabby, and pasty-gray, and looked like nothing so much as a giant lump of blubber someone had flopped back in the chair. He was probably hypertensive and very likely beginning to develop heart disease.
Moretti glanced at her and saw her staring again.
"Wha'?"
She sighed.
"I was just thinking, Moretti. You're way too young to look so darned old."
"What's it matter to you?"
Shrugging, she said, "I'm not sure. We're bound to get bored waiting for the trial to start. Why not let me help you get in shape before then?"
Moretti didn't merely laugh at the suggestion. He brayed like a jackass.
"Kid, I'm sixty-two years old. What's the point of gettin' into shape now?"
Emily thought a moment.
"If you start taking care of yourself now, you've got forty, maybe fifty years left. It might give you time to make things right with your kid."
Now it was Moretti's turn to be thoughtful.
"I ain't gonna live on nothin' but rabbit food."
"Eat what I cook, and you'll never know you're on a diet."
He nodded.
"I'm not gonna take up joggin' either."
Emily shrugged. "I don't blame you. Many other exercises are a lot more fun. I like dancing, myself."
Moretti smiled. "I always wanted to learn the tango. Ever since I saw DeNiro do it in Scent of a Woman."
"That's an *old* movie."
"Yeah, and a *good* one."
Emily looked around the tiny living room and said, "If we put the coffee table on the couch and the TV on the recliner, there's room enough for me to teach you."
"I can quit any time I want?"
Emily scrunched up her face in thought.
"I reserve the right to make you stick with it twenty-four more hours. It's too easy to just quit and say there's no going back. If you have to go twenty-four hours more, you might decide to stick with it after all."
Moretti nodded and held out his hand. Emily shook it, and they both said, "Deal."
By the time Steve arrived at the location of the Chevy's discovery, several officers were dusting for prints and Hannah was already busy with her device. She had arrived with company.
"Liv, Keith, you shouldn't be here."
"Steve," Keith said, "She's our daughter and we want her back safely. We won't compromise your investigation."
"We're not going to interfere," Olivia added.
"I realize that," Steve assured them as he tried to usher them away from the scene. "But just by being here, you cast the whole process into doubt. Believe it or not, I don't want to arrest Emily if it can be avoided, and I am trying really hard to convince everyone to give her the benefit of the doubt, but if I let you two get involved, my credibility is shot to hell. You can't help me here."
Olivia faced him squarely and drew herself up to her full height. She had a way of carrying herself that made her imposing even at a diminutive five feet three inches.
"Then tell us how we *can* help."
"Full house." Emily laid her cards on the table.
Moretti shook his head and said, "You're a little too lucky, you know that? If I wasn't dealin', I'd say you cheated. Looks like I wash dishes for the next two weeks, huh?"
"If we're here that long, and you want my luck on your side, don't you?"
"Yeah, I s'pose I do."
Emily looked at her watch and said, "It's about lunch time. I better go get some groceries and ditch that Lasca. I can trust you to stay put?"
"Sure thing," Moretti agreed jovially. "I ain't ready to die yet."
She tossed him a new cell phone 'Betsy' and her 'dad' had purchased and activated earlier that morning.
"No outgoing calls. This is for emergencies only. If I call you, watch the clock. We'll only get to use this once, and if we talk more than a minute, they can track us. Got it?"
Now Moretti was more serious.
"Understood."
Emily went into her bedroom to get into costume and put on some makeup.
Steve settled back into the big leather armchair at 14783 West Dorothy Street in Brentwood. He knew the house belonged to Emily now, and he knew Steven had been living there for months, but as long as he lived, he would think of it as Olivia's place. Steven had agreed to move back into the beach house for a little while so Liv and Keith could use the place in Brentwood, and he was in the bedroom packing his things. As Liv and Keith had graciously offered use of the house for a command center, Officer Cioffi was setting up an easel with a map of the greater LA metropolitan area on it and marking confirmed sightings of Emily and Moretti with red pushpins, and places they were suspected of having been in blue. On the head of each pushpin was a small dot of paper on which Cioffi wrote the date and time of the sighting, hoping to track Emily's movements. There were not many blue pins, and even fewer red ones.
Emily was very good at hiding.
Steve had just placed a call to the number Emily had given him. All he had told her was they were still looking for her, she should turn herself in, her parents sent their love, and they were all worried about her. He was curious to know how she would check her messages knowing they would be monitoring all incoming calls to try and pinpoint her location.
He had just finished explaining to Liv and Keith that the best way they could help find Emily would be to give him all the information they could about her. The more he knew about her interests and abilities, the easier it would be to narrow the search and the sooner they could track her down.
He had a notepad in his lap, and was ready to begin taking notes when Steven came out of the bedroom.
"I need to talk to you for a minute, Dad. In private."
Already frustrated with the matter at hand, Steve was uncharacteristically short with his son.
"Not now, Steven."
After their recent conflict over the woman whose house his father had invaded, Steven was in no mood to be patient, understanding, or diplomatic.
"Dammit, Dad! For once in your life…" The young man's voice cracked with emotion. "I wish you would put *me* first."
Stunned at the outburst, especially because he had not recognized his son's agitated state, Steve looked from Liv to Keith and said in a puzzled tone, "Excuse me, I have to do this now."
Keith nodded and Liv said, "Go ahead. We'll fix lunch while we wait."
"Darn," Hannah muttered. "The trace is too diffuse. Well, at least we know she headed south."
"In case you hadn't noticed, Ms. Wagner," one of the officers said derisively, "there's a hell of a lot of LA south of here."
"Quite true, Officer Colombo, but now we have a pretty good reason to assume she's headed back into the city and not up San Francisco. Could you have said as much without my help?"
"Probably not," the officer conceded, "but it still doesn't do us much good."
Hannah had tracked Emily's viral profile from the western edge of the San Fernando Valley where she'd left the Chevy to the San Diego Freeway, where she'd headed south. Unfortunately, at the Ventura Freeway interchange, the cross-traffic had blown the spores (her name for the particles she used to track Emily) about to the extent that she could not tell if the fugitives had headed east toward Burbank or further south toward Santa Monica. She knew they probably hadn't headed west into the mountains. Dr. Stephens had told her one of the lingering effects of the BioGen virus was an extreme hypersensitivity to cold and it was still pretty chilly in the mountains this time of year.
She bade goodbye to the officers and headed to Emily's house. Her Uncle Steve had told her to meet him there when he had left the scene with Mr. and Dr. Stephens. She intended to share her findings and see if she could help make any sense out of the information that had been collected so far.
Steve entered the bedroom and sat on the bed with a sigh. Not knowing what to say, he chose to be silent for now. Perhaps his son would oblige by starting the conversation. When several minutes passed without a word between them, Steve decided he needed to open up first.
"If I had been a better father, I could have told you you were out of line out there."
"You were a good father."
"Bull. I dropped in once in a while, and signed a few report cards, but I let your mom and your granddad raise you."
His son didn't argue, but, hell, Steve hadn't expected him to. He hadn't expected his confession to be greeted with more stony silence, either, though. It was plain that Steven wasn't going to make this easy on him, but he knew he deserved no better. He took it upon himself again to break the silence.
"Son, *both* of us have worked too hard to overcome *my* mistakes to throw it all away now just because things are getting a little crazy."
Still nothing. Steve's father had often complained of him being taciturn when he was angry or hurting, but even at his worst he had nothing on his own offspring. Apparently, some genetic traits became more pronounced with successive generations.
He rose and moved to stand behind Steven as he took his clothes out of the dresser. Meeting the young man's gaze in the mirror, he said, "Dammit, Steven, I know that most of your life I was too busy to hear you when you tried to tell me what you needed, but I heard you today. You had to yell to get my attention, but I heard you. Will you please talk to me now?"
Emotion tightened in Steve's chest as he waited for what seemed like forever for a reply. He had been a lousy father when his son was younger, and he hadn't even realized it until fourteen-year-old Steven landed in jail on drug- and gang-related charges. All the signs had been there, and Steve had failed to see them. After Steven was placed on probation and released to his custody, Steve had made some major changes in his life, and with a lot of hard work, patience, and love, he had finally gotten to know his son. When he'd had his heart attack, their relationship had deepened and strengthened as Steven had spent much of his spare time helping his father with his recovery. They had finally found each other.
And now Steve was afraid they were about to lose each other all over again.
Emily drove the Lasca all the way to Long Beach and ditched it about six blocks from the Transit Mall Metro stop. Then she took the Blue Line to downtown LA, smiling all the way as she remembered the infamous 'Blue Line' of the Penn State hockey team. She'd been an avid fan and active member of the hockey club boosters during her days at PSU, and the only reason she hadn't actually joined the team was the lack of appropriate locker room facilities for her on their road games. She still thought she would have been a hell of a goalie. In Downtown LA, she caught a bus to Ralph's Supermarket near the intersection of Wilshire Boulevard and Bundy Avenue.
She strolled through the market casually, choosing her groceries with care, confident that the hat, glasses, makeup, and new hairdo she wore would sufficiently disguise her even from the FBI's facial recognition program, if the store was linked into it. After all, nobody was looking for a farsighted black woman with a long, blond weave. Noting the number of Muslim women in the store, she decided to wear a veil if she needed to go shopping here again. She took the time to buy enough groceries to last the month.
While she was in line at the register, she 'accidentally' bumped into the woman ahead of her and stole her cell phone to call the answering service she had asked the Chief to use to contact her. She had promised to check it daily, and, like her mother, she strived to be as good as her word.
Steven finally turned to face his dad.
"I know you did the best you could, Pops…"
Steve found the moniker reassuring. Steven only called him Pops when he wanted to be affectionate.
"…and I forgave you a long time ago. I know this has been difficult for you, and I should be a little more patient, but…" The young man had to pause to gain control of himself. "I love her, Pops, and I'm scared."
"I see," was all Steve could bring himself to say. He knew there was no way on God's good green earth right now that he could tell his son he had to stop loving Emily. All he could do was pray that the effort he was making now would make the truth easier on his son when it did come out.
"I don't think you do, but that's ok. I really wanted to talk to you about something else, sort of."
"And what might that be, son?"
"Well, I wanted to apologize for the way I reacted when you told me about what Emmy had done. You don't know her the way I do, and you had every right to worry about Uncle Jess. But, Dad, I'm telling you, she'd die before she let anything happen to Jess or Moretti. Knowing that, I want to help you get her back safely."
Steve nodded.
"We'll talk about Emily in a minute. First, I need to know, are we ok again?"
Steven grinned, tapped his temple and said, "We were never 'ok.' It runs in the family, Pops. Just look at Granddad."
Steve laughed.
Steven patted his dad's shoulder and said, "And I'm not angry anymore, either."
As she turned from Montana Avenue on to South Bundy, Hannah thought it would be a good idea to compare her readings on the immunometer as she approached Emily's house with those she had gotten from the Chevy and along the San Diego Freeway. The more readings she had, the easier it would be to fix the time when Emily passed through a given area and the better she could estimate how long she'd been there. When she reached over to the seat beside her and switched on the device, it went crazy.
'That's odd,' thought Hannah, 'these readings are even stronger than the ones at the Chevy.' She looked closer. "That's *really* odd," she muttered to herself. "It's almost as if…"
"Omigod!" She interrupted herself. "She's here!"
Hannah pulled over hastily and flipped open her cell phone. She speed dialed her uncle's cell number, and when he answered, she was talking even before he could finish saying "Sloan here."
"Uncle Steve, get every cop you can spare into Santa Monica *now*."
"Hannah? Honey, why? What do you have?"
"I turned on the immunometer, just to get a base reading, and it freaked out. I'm about six blocks from Emily's house, and from these readings, she's got to be close."
"Are you sure? She's been living in this area since September"
"Unk, if this were a Geiger counter, we would be at ground zero at the moment of a nuclear explosion. It's way too much for it to be residual traces."
"Damn!" Steve muttered. "I have another call, Hannah. Hold on."
"But Unk--"
"Sloan here."
"Chief, it's Leigh Ann. They found the Lasca. It's in Long Beach."
Steve thought for just a second. "Patch me through to the men at the scene, but stay on the line with us."
It took only a moment, and he had only one question.
"Is the engine still warm?"
"Sir?"
"Just answer the question, officer."
"No, sir."
Steve made a split second decision. He wasn't totally comfortable with new technology. It had taken him years to learn to effectively use a computer and he'd never learned to program a VCR, but he trusted Hannah's judgment. This was only the second break they'd had, and he'd be damned if he'd blow it this time.
"Ok. Stay there, secure the scene, and begin processing. Sloan out."
The officers signed out.
"Leigh Ann."
"Sir?"
"Get every available unit in the Valley Bureau into Santa Monica *now*."
"Sir?"
"Hannah *swears* Emily's here, somewhere within a couple miles of her house in Brentwood, 14783 West Dorothy. I want to saturate the area with cops. Uniform, undercover, everyone."
"Yes, sir."
Leigh Ann hung up and Steve went back to Hannah.
"Hannah, honey, get to Emily's house. It's our command post. I have every available officer on the way now."
"Ok, Unk, and thanks for believing in me."
Leigh Ann made another call to Gorini.
"They've found the Lasca in Long Beach, sir, but the Chief has every available officer in Santa Monica."
"Find out why, Leigh Ann."
"I'll do my best, sir."
"Very good, Leigh Ann. Oh, and Leigh Ann?"
"Sir?"
"From now on, you report to me *before* you report to the Chief. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
Emily spotted a black and white as she strolled down Wilshire Boulevard toward the little apartment she had rented, and something about it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It was moving much too slowly. The cops were looking for something. When she saw them stop, and question a redheaded woman roller-skating down the sidewalk, her stomach lurched into her throat. When a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, and she turned to look into the face of Charles Donovan, one of the officers she had often seen around the station before she went on the run, it nearly leaped out and ran screaming down the street without her. When the young officer showed her a photo of herself, a distant part of her brain was amused to discover that she was already so frightened it couldn't get worse.
"You seen this woman?"
"No, mon," she gave him her best Jamaican accent. "What she do, mon?"
"Nothing that we know of, but she's wanted for questioning in a kidnapping. If you see her, get in touch, ok?"
"Sure ting, mon."
Emily didn't question what she knew to be the standard police story when they were looking for a fugitive and didn't want to alarm the population. To question would be to draw attention, and that was the last thing she needed now.
As the cops slowly moved away, she flipped out the stolen cell phone and called Moretti. The damned thing was supposed to be for emergencies only, and she certainly hadn't expected an emergency just yet.
"We got trouble. Don't talk, listen. Meet me at the bus stop at Colorado and Ocean in thirty minutes. Bring our clothes, my computer, my makeup kit, and the cash. Come disguised, and ditch the phone."
Keith was pacing, with only a slight limp from his prosthetic legs, Steve noticed; and Liv was staring out the window as Cioffi marked the readings Steve called out to him on a map. They'd been at it for over an hour, Steve on the cell phone with Hannah as she rode around the neighborhood in a patrol car taking readings. There were several spots of high concentration in the area, indicating that Emily had stopped one place or another, but nothing to indicate that she was in the immediate vicinity when they were actually looking there. For some reason, there were large gaps between the areas of high readings, making her path impossible to trace.
Steven was studying the map, looking for places where Emily might hang out. He didn't recognize anything near any of the areas of highest concentration.
Hannah was on her second circuit of the search grid.
"I dunno, Unk," she said. "The readings are beginning to fade now. Maybe they were just residual traces, concentrated because she lived here so long. Maybe I have the immunometer calibrated too high."
Steve stifled a curse, and chose instead to reassure his goddaughter.
"I don't believe that any more than you do, Hannah. She was here, and we both know it. That's why the readings were initially so high and are beginning to fade. If they were just residuals, they wouldn't have been so strong, and they wouldn't be fading so rapidly."
"You really think so, Unk?"
"I know so, sweetie, and so do you. You found her, Hannah, we just didn't see her this time. Come on back to the house and we'll see about lunch."
"Ok, Unk. See you soon."
"Mother of God" Moretti exclaimed as he climbed in the vehicle Emily had appropriated. "I've never seen so many cops in my life."
Em smiled and said, "How does it feel to be a hot commodity?"
"A lot like wearin' a target on your chest."
Emily sighed as she settled back in the Toyota Tundra. The vehicle was so old, it didn't even have the capacity to support a modern theft deterrent or tracking system. She was headed north, back to the Valley, with Moretti at her side, grumbling away.
"Why don't we just go to Mexico? LAPD don't go into Mexico. We should be there."
Frustrated, she popped Moretti along side the head.
"Northern Mexico had been a friggin' *war zone* since the droughts back in the twenties. Wouldn't it be a *fine* damn thing if one of the factions held us hostage? We wouldn't know who was paying the ransom until we saw them, *if* our abductors didn't take the money and kill us *anyway*. And who's to say the people who ransomed us wouldn't meet their demands just to have the privilege of killing us themselves?"
Moretti pouted.
"I'm scared, ok? You didn't have to hit me."
Emily softened her tone.
"I'm sorry, Moretti. I'm scared, too. I don't know what went wrong, but they shouldn't have found us so easily. They have something we don't know about. I need to do some research."
She headed south on the San Diego Freeway planning to take the Artesia/Redondo Beach Freeway out to Anaheim. Surely, they could lay low there for a while.
Steve ordered Dion and Captain Cioffi to keep their men canvassing the area. The men were to report *everything* to Dion and Cioffi who would report to Cheryl. She would sort through the information and report what was relevant to Steve at the house in Brentwood. They had all finally had lunch. Jesse and Amanda had shown up when they got off work, and Mark had insisted that Maribeth drive him over when she went in to the hospital. Cheryl would be reporting in every hour or so, and Steve was finally ready to get down to business with Liv and Keith.
Officer Charles Donovan stopped yet another pedestrian and flashed the picture of Lieutenant Stephens, asking the young surfer if he had seen her.
"No, dude, but I wish I had. She's one foxy chick!"
Donovan smiled. "I guess she is."
"Woah, yeah, dude. Awesome eyes."
"Contact the police if you spot her, ok?"
"Sure, maybe after I make a little *contact* with her myself."
Shaking his head at the surfer's shameless lust, Donovan studied the picture.
She did have remarkable eyes.
Lovely green-gold eyes.
He'd seen those eyes earlier today, behind thick glasses.
Donovan froze for a moment. Then he seized his radio and called his captain.
"Well," said Emily, now Elizabeth, "It's small, but it's clean. I think it will do us well. What do you say, Dad?"
Emily had used her laptop and a portable printer to create new identities for herself and Moretti.
John Morrissey, the former Giancarlo Moretti, shrugged amiably and said, "It don't matter to me, Betsy, as long as you like it."
In reality, the place was not 'small.' It was tiny to the point that it would barely accommodate both of them and the clothing and supplies they had purchased after dumping the Chevy, but it was fully furnished with two bedrooms, a full bath, a kitchenette, and an ocean view. It was also in a neighborhood where she and her charge had not yet been spotted by the cops.
Even though it was just a couple miles from the house her mother had given her, she was confident that she would never be spotted by anyone who might recognize her. She planned to make sure of that. She had robbed the makeup trailer at one of the studios in Hollywood last night before she met the Chief just to be sure she and Moretti could remain unrecognizable. She now wished she had used some of that makeup before going into the bank.
Oh well, it was done and over.
Smiling broadly at the building manager, Emily/Elizabeth extended her hand and said, "We'll take it. We can rent by the week, right?"
"Sloan here," Steve said into his cell phone. He was still at the bank supervising the collection of evidence
"Chief," Leigh Ann said, "You asked to be informed when they found that blue Chevy."
Just then, Steve's call waiting beeped.
"Yeah. Hold on a sec, Leigh Ann. I have another call."
He clicked off with Leigh Ann and clicked on to the other call.
"Sloan."
"Hey, Uncle Steve."
"Hi, Hannah. Tell me you have good news."
"Sure do, Unk."
Steve smiled at the nickname. It didn't matter that he was Deputy Chief of Police, Steve Sloan, in charge of the Valley Bureau, leading the largest manhunt LA had seen in decades. To the ever-casual Hannah, he was just Unk.
"I've isolated the BioGen virus signature and programmed it into the immunometer. I can start tracking Emily any time you want."
"Immunometer?"
"My 'gadget,' Unk."
"Oh, great. Hang on a bit and I'll get you her last known location. You can start there."
He switched back to Leigh Ann and got the address where they'd found the Chevy.
"…and by the way, Chief, less than a block away, someone reported a white Lasca stolen."
"Call dispatch and have them put out an APB on the Lasca for me, Leigh Ann."
"Way ahead of you, Chief."
"You're too good to me Leigh Ann," Steve said with humor in his voice.
"Don't I know it, sir."
"Oh, and Leigh Ann?"
"Sir?"
"Inform the officers at the scene that Hannah Wagner from UCLA will be arriving soon. Tell them to give her whatever she wants as long as it doesn't contaminate our evidence or put her in the line of fire."
"Yes, sir. Does Agent Wagner know she's involved?"
"Yes, but he doesn't approve. The only thing saving me is the fact that he knows I can't keep her out of trouble any better than he can."
He heard Leigh Ann laugh.
"She certainly has a mind of her own. I'll talk to the men right now, sir."
"Thanks, Leigh Ann. Good bye."
Steve switched back to Hannah and gave her the address where she would find the Chevy. He also reminded her to take her university ID in case the officers didn't know her.
"Ok, Unk. Will you be there?"
"Soon, Hannah."
"Okie-dokie. See you then."
After she hung up with the Chief, Leigh Ann made another call, this time from her cell phone.
"Roger M. Gorini's office," said the secretary.
"Tell him it's his little bird," Leigh Ann said. Mr. Gorini had picked her code name for her, and she rather liked it. It made her sound fair and sweet and delicate and beautiful, qualities she strived for but seldom fully achieved.
"Yes, Leigh Ann?"
"Emily's parents arrived last night, sir. They're staying at the Chief's house. The Chief met with Emily at the park at two thirty this morning, sir. She used some cheap electronic gear to convince him she had several snipers trained on him. He just missed her at Compton State Bank shortly after six this morning. He and Commander Banks actually drove right by her on their way to the bank."
"I'll bet they were upset."
"That doesn't even begin to cover it, sir. They just found the car she was using at the bank, and now they're looking for a white Lasca that was stolen less than a block from where she dumped the other car. Also, Hannah Wagner, is helping in the search, now, too."
"Good work, Leigh Ann. Find out whatever you can about the girl's parents and about how Hannah is involved in the investigation."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
Emily sat on the couch watching Moretti. He was watching the television in the way of a typically bored male. He'd watch a few seconds of something and flip the channel. Watch and flip, watch and flip. Finally frustrated, she spoke.
"Hey, Moretti."
"Wha'?"
"I've been thinking. It might be easier for me to keep you alive if you could dodge the occasional bullet."
Moretti laughed. "I've done more than my share of that over the years, kid. I've found it easier to avoid gettin' shot at."
"I suppose."
They lapsed into silence. He started to watch and flip, watch and flip again as she studied him some more. He was fat, flabby, and pasty-gray, and looked like nothing so much as a giant lump of blubber someone had flopped back in the chair. He was probably hypertensive and very likely beginning to develop heart disease.
Moretti glanced at her and saw her staring again.
"Wha'?"
She sighed.
"I was just thinking, Moretti. You're way too young to look so darned old."
"What's it matter to you?"
Shrugging, she said, "I'm not sure. We're bound to get bored waiting for the trial to start. Why not let me help you get in shape before then?"
Moretti didn't merely laugh at the suggestion. He brayed like a jackass.
"Kid, I'm sixty-two years old. What's the point of gettin' into shape now?"
Emily thought a moment.
"If you start taking care of yourself now, you've got forty, maybe fifty years left. It might give you time to make things right with your kid."
Now it was Moretti's turn to be thoughtful.
"I ain't gonna live on nothin' but rabbit food."
"Eat what I cook, and you'll never know you're on a diet."
He nodded.
"I'm not gonna take up joggin' either."
Emily shrugged. "I don't blame you. Many other exercises are a lot more fun. I like dancing, myself."
Moretti smiled. "I always wanted to learn the tango. Ever since I saw DeNiro do it in Scent of a Woman."
"That's an *old* movie."
"Yeah, and a *good* one."
Emily looked around the tiny living room and said, "If we put the coffee table on the couch and the TV on the recliner, there's room enough for me to teach you."
"I can quit any time I want?"
Emily scrunched up her face in thought.
"I reserve the right to make you stick with it twenty-four more hours. It's too easy to just quit and say there's no going back. If you have to go twenty-four hours more, you might decide to stick with it after all."
Moretti nodded and held out his hand. Emily shook it, and they both said, "Deal."
By the time Steve arrived at the location of the Chevy's discovery, several officers were dusting for prints and Hannah was already busy with her device. She had arrived with company.
"Liv, Keith, you shouldn't be here."
"Steve," Keith said, "She's our daughter and we want her back safely. We won't compromise your investigation."
"We're not going to interfere," Olivia added.
"I realize that," Steve assured them as he tried to usher them away from the scene. "But just by being here, you cast the whole process into doubt. Believe it or not, I don't want to arrest Emily if it can be avoided, and I am trying really hard to convince everyone to give her the benefit of the doubt, but if I let you two get involved, my credibility is shot to hell. You can't help me here."
Olivia faced him squarely and drew herself up to her full height. She had a way of carrying herself that made her imposing even at a diminutive five feet three inches.
"Then tell us how we *can* help."
"Full house." Emily laid her cards on the table.
Moretti shook his head and said, "You're a little too lucky, you know that? If I wasn't dealin', I'd say you cheated. Looks like I wash dishes for the next two weeks, huh?"
"If we're here that long, and you want my luck on your side, don't you?"
"Yeah, I s'pose I do."
Emily looked at her watch and said, "It's about lunch time. I better go get some groceries and ditch that Lasca. I can trust you to stay put?"
"Sure thing," Moretti agreed jovially. "I ain't ready to die yet."
She tossed him a new cell phone 'Betsy' and her 'dad' had purchased and activated earlier that morning.
"No outgoing calls. This is for emergencies only. If I call you, watch the clock. We'll only get to use this once, and if we talk more than a minute, they can track us. Got it?"
Now Moretti was more serious.
"Understood."
Emily went into her bedroom to get into costume and put on some makeup.
Steve settled back into the big leather armchair at 14783 West Dorothy Street in Brentwood. He knew the house belonged to Emily now, and he knew Steven had been living there for months, but as long as he lived, he would think of it as Olivia's place. Steven had agreed to move back into the beach house for a little while so Liv and Keith could use the place in Brentwood, and he was in the bedroom packing his things. As Liv and Keith had graciously offered use of the house for a command center, Officer Cioffi was setting up an easel with a map of the greater LA metropolitan area on it and marking confirmed sightings of Emily and Moretti with red pushpins, and places they were suspected of having been in blue. On the head of each pushpin was a small dot of paper on which Cioffi wrote the date and time of the sighting, hoping to track Emily's movements. There were not many blue pins, and even fewer red ones.
Emily was very good at hiding.
Steve had just placed a call to the number Emily had given him. All he had told her was they were still looking for her, she should turn herself in, her parents sent their love, and they were all worried about her. He was curious to know how she would check her messages knowing they would be monitoring all incoming calls to try and pinpoint her location.
He had just finished explaining to Liv and Keith that the best way they could help find Emily would be to give him all the information they could about her. The more he knew about her interests and abilities, the easier it would be to narrow the search and the sooner they could track her down.
He had a notepad in his lap, and was ready to begin taking notes when Steven came out of the bedroom.
"I need to talk to you for a minute, Dad. In private."
Already frustrated with the matter at hand, Steve was uncharacteristically short with his son.
"Not now, Steven."
After their recent conflict over the woman whose house his father had invaded, Steven was in no mood to be patient, understanding, or diplomatic.
"Dammit, Dad! For once in your life…" The young man's voice cracked with emotion. "I wish you would put *me* first."
Stunned at the outburst, especially because he had not recognized his son's agitated state, Steve looked from Liv to Keith and said in a puzzled tone, "Excuse me, I have to do this now."
Keith nodded and Liv said, "Go ahead. We'll fix lunch while we wait."
"Darn," Hannah muttered. "The trace is too diffuse. Well, at least we know she headed south."
"In case you hadn't noticed, Ms. Wagner," one of the officers said derisively, "there's a hell of a lot of LA south of here."
"Quite true, Officer Colombo, but now we have a pretty good reason to assume she's headed back into the city and not up San Francisco. Could you have said as much without my help?"
"Probably not," the officer conceded, "but it still doesn't do us much good."
Hannah had tracked Emily's viral profile from the western edge of the San Fernando Valley where she'd left the Chevy to the San Diego Freeway, where she'd headed south. Unfortunately, at the Ventura Freeway interchange, the cross-traffic had blown the spores (her name for the particles she used to track Emily) about to the extent that she could not tell if the fugitives had headed east toward Burbank or further south toward Santa Monica. She knew they probably hadn't headed west into the mountains. Dr. Stephens had told her one of the lingering effects of the BioGen virus was an extreme hypersensitivity to cold and it was still pretty chilly in the mountains this time of year.
She bade goodbye to the officers and headed to Emily's house. Her Uncle Steve had told her to meet him there when he had left the scene with Mr. and Dr. Stephens. She intended to share her findings and see if she could help make any sense out of the information that had been collected so far.
Steve entered the bedroom and sat on the bed with a sigh. Not knowing what to say, he chose to be silent for now. Perhaps his son would oblige by starting the conversation. When several minutes passed without a word between them, Steve decided he needed to open up first.
"If I had been a better father, I could have told you you were out of line out there."
"You were a good father."
"Bull. I dropped in once in a while, and signed a few report cards, but I let your mom and your granddad raise you."
His son didn't argue, but, hell, Steve hadn't expected him to. He hadn't expected his confession to be greeted with more stony silence, either, though. It was plain that Steven wasn't going to make this easy on him, but he knew he deserved no better. He took it upon himself again to break the silence.
"Son, *both* of us have worked too hard to overcome *my* mistakes to throw it all away now just because things are getting a little crazy."
Still nothing. Steve's father had often complained of him being taciturn when he was angry or hurting, but even at his worst he had nothing on his own offspring. Apparently, some genetic traits became more pronounced with successive generations.
He rose and moved to stand behind Steven as he took his clothes out of the dresser. Meeting the young man's gaze in the mirror, he said, "Dammit, Steven, I know that most of your life I was too busy to hear you when you tried to tell me what you needed, but I heard you today. You had to yell to get my attention, but I heard you. Will you please talk to me now?"
Emotion tightened in Steve's chest as he waited for what seemed like forever for a reply. He had been a lousy father when his son was younger, and he hadn't even realized it until fourteen-year-old Steven landed in jail on drug- and gang-related charges. All the signs had been there, and Steve had failed to see them. After Steven was placed on probation and released to his custody, Steve had made some major changes in his life, and with a lot of hard work, patience, and love, he had finally gotten to know his son. When he'd had his heart attack, their relationship had deepened and strengthened as Steven had spent much of his spare time helping his father with his recovery. They had finally found each other.
And now Steve was afraid they were about to lose each other all over again.
Emily drove the Lasca all the way to Long Beach and ditched it about six blocks from the Transit Mall Metro stop. Then she took the Blue Line to downtown LA, smiling all the way as she remembered the infamous 'Blue Line' of the Penn State hockey team. She'd been an avid fan and active member of the hockey club boosters during her days at PSU, and the only reason she hadn't actually joined the team was the lack of appropriate locker room facilities for her on their road games. She still thought she would have been a hell of a goalie. In Downtown LA, she caught a bus to Ralph's Supermarket near the intersection of Wilshire Boulevard and Bundy Avenue.
She strolled through the market casually, choosing her groceries with care, confident that the hat, glasses, makeup, and new hairdo she wore would sufficiently disguise her even from the FBI's facial recognition program, if the store was linked into it. After all, nobody was looking for a farsighted black woman with a long, blond weave. Noting the number of Muslim women in the store, she decided to wear a veil if she needed to go shopping here again. She took the time to buy enough groceries to last the month.
While she was in line at the register, she 'accidentally' bumped into the woman ahead of her and stole her cell phone to call the answering service she had asked the Chief to use to contact her. She had promised to check it daily, and, like her mother, she strived to be as good as her word.
Steven finally turned to face his dad.
"I know you did the best you could, Pops…"
Steve found the moniker reassuring. Steven only called him Pops when he wanted to be affectionate.
"…and I forgave you a long time ago. I know this has been difficult for you, and I should be a little more patient, but…" The young man had to pause to gain control of himself. "I love her, Pops, and I'm scared."
"I see," was all Steve could bring himself to say. He knew there was no way on God's good green earth right now that he could tell his son he had to stop loving Emily. All he could do was pray that the effort he was making now would make the truth easier on his son when it did come out.
"I don't think you do, but that's ok. I really wanted to talk to you about something else, sort of."
"And what might that be, son?"
"Well, I wanted to apologize for the way I reacted when you told me about what Emmy had done. You don't know her the way I do, and you had every right to worry about Uncle Jess. But, Dad, I'm telling you, she'd die before she let anything happen to Jess or Moretti. Knowing that, I want to help you get her back safely."
Steve nodded.
"We'll talk about Emily in a minute. First, I need to know, are we ok again?"
Steven grinned, tapped his temple and said, "We were never 'ok.' It runs in the family, Pops. Just look at Granddad."
Steve laughed.
Steven patted his dad's shoulder and said, "And I'm not angry anymore, either."
As she turned from Montana Avenue on to South Bundy, Hannah thought it would be a good idea to compare her readings on the immunometer as she approached Emily's house with those she had gotten from the Chevy and along the San Diego Freeway. The more readings she had, the easier it would be to fix the time when Emily passed through a given area and the better she could estimate how long she'd been there. When she reached over to the seat beside her and switched on the device, it went crazy.
'That's odd,' thought Hannah, 'these readings are even stronger than the ones at the Chevy.' She looked closer. "That's *really* odd," she muttered to herself. "It's almost as if…"
"Omigod!" She interrupted herself. "She's here!"
Hannah pulled over hastily and flipped open her cell phone. She speed dialed her uncle's cell number, and when he answered, she was talking even before he could finish saying "Sloan here."
"Uncle Steve, get every cop you can spare into Santa Monica *now*."
"Hannah? Honey, why? What do you have?"
"I turned on the immunometer, just to get a base reading, and it freaked out. I'm about six blocks from Emily's house, and from these readings, she's got to be close."
"Are you sure? She's been living in this area since September"
"Unk, if this were a Geiger counter, we would be at ground zero at the moment of a nuclear explosion. It's way too much for it to be residual traces."
"Damn!" Steve muttered. "I have another call, Hannah. Hold on."
"But Unk--"
"Sloan here."
"Chief, it's Leigh Ann. They found the Lasca. It's in Long Beach."
Steve thought for just a second. "Patch me through to the men at the scene, but stay on the line with us."
It took only a moment, and he had only one question.
"Is the engine still warm?"
"Sir?"
"Just answer the question, officer."
"No, sir."
Steve made a split second decision. He wasn't totally comfortable with new technology. It had taken him years to learn to effectively use a computer and he'd never learned to program a VCR, but he trusted Hannah's judgment. This was only the second break they'd had, and he'd be damned if he'd blow it this time.
"Ok. Stay there, secure the scene, and begin processing. Sloan out."
The officers signed out.
"Leigh Ann."
"Sir?"
"Get every available unit in the Valley Bureau into Santa Monica *now*."
"Sir?"
"Hannah *swears* Emily's here, somewhere within a couple miles of her house in Brentwood, 14783 West Dorothy. I want to saturate the area with cops. Uniform, undercover, everyone."
"Yes, sir."
Leigh Ann hung up and Steve went back to Hannah.
"Hannah, honey, get to Emily's house. It's our command post. I have every available officer on the way now."
"Ok, Unk, and thanks for believing in me."
Leigh Ann made another call to Gorini.
"They've found the Lasca in Long Beach, sir, but the Chief has every available officer in Santa Monica."
"Find out why, Leigh Ann."
"I'll do my best, sir."
"Very good, Leigh Ann. Oh, and Leigh Ann?"
"Sir?"
"From now on, you report to me *before* you report to the Chief. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
Emily spotted a black and white as she strolled down Wilshire Boulevard toward the little apartment she had rented, and something about it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It was moving much too slowly. The cops were looking for something. When she saw them stop, and question a redheaded woman roller-skating down the sidewalk, her stomach lurched into her throat. When a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, and she turned to look into the face of Charles Donovan, one of the officers she had often seen around the station before she went on the run, it nearly leaped out and ran screaming down the street without her. When the young officer showed her a photo of herself, a distant part of her brain was amused to discover that she was already so frightened it couldn't get worse.
"You seen this woman?"
"No, mon," she gave him her best Jamaican accent. "What she do, mon?"
"Nothing that we know of, but she's wanted for questioning in a kidnapping. If you see her, get in touch, ok?"
"Sure ting, mon."
Emily didn't question what she knew to be the standard police story when they were looking for a fugitive and didn't want to alarm the population. To question would be to draw attention, and that was the last thing she needed now.
As the cops slowly moved away, she flipped out the stolen cell phone and called Moretti. The damned thing was supposed to be for emergencies only, and she certainly hadn't expected an emergency just yet.
"We got trouble. Don't talk, listen. Meet me at the bus stop at Colorado and Ocean in thirty minutes. Bring our clothes, my computer, my makeup kit, and the cash. Come disguised, and ditch the phone."
Keith was pacing, with only a slight limp from his prosthetic legs, Steve noticed; and Liv was staring out the window as Cioffi marked the readings Steve called out to him on a map. They'd been at it for over an hour, Steve on the cell phone with Hannah as she rode around the neighborhood in a patrol car taking readings. There were several spots of high concentration in the area, indicating that Emily had stopped one place or another, but nothing to indicate that she was in the immediate vicinity when they were actually looking there. For some reason, there were large gaps between the areas of high readings, making her path impossible to trace.
Steven was studying the map, looking for places where Emily might hang out. He didn't recognize anything near any of the areas of highest concentration.
Hannah was on her second circuit of the search grid.
"I dunno, Unk," she said. "The readings are beginning to fade now. Maybe they were just residual traces, concentrated because she lived here so long. Maybe I have the immunometer calibrated too high."
Steve stifled a curse, and chose instead to reassure his goddaughter.
"I don't believe that any more than you do, Hannah. She was here, and we both know it. That's why the readings were initially so high and are beginning to fade. If they were just residuals, they wouldn't have been so strong, and they wouldn't be fading so rapidly."
"You really think so, Unk?"
"I know so, sweetie, and so do you. You found her, Hannah, we just didn't see her this time. Come on back to the house and we'll see about lunch."
"Ok, Unk. See you soon."
"Mother of God" Moretti exclaimed as he climbed in the vehicle Emily had appropriated. "I've never seen so many cops in my life."
Em smiled and said, "How does it feel to be a hot commodity?"
"A lot like wearin' a target on your chest."
Emily sighed as she settled back in the Toyota Tundra. The vehicle was so old, it didn't even have the capacity to support a modern theft deterrent or tracking system. She was headed north, back to the Valley, with Moretti at her side, grumbling away.
"Why don't we just go to Mexico? LAPD don't go into Mexico. We should be there."
Frustrated, she popped Moretti along side the head.
"Northern Mexico had been a friggin' *war zone* since the droughts back in the twenties. Wouldn't it be a *fine* damn thing if one of the factions held us hostage? We wouldn't know who was paying the ransom until we saw them, *if* our abductors didn't take the money and kill us *anyway*. And who's to say the people who ransomed us wouldn't meet their demands just to have the privilege of killing us themselves?"
Moretti pouted.
"I'm scared, ok? You didn't have to hit me."
Emily softened her tone.
"I'm sorry, Moretti. I'm scared, too. I don't know what went wrong, but they shouldn't have found us so easily. They have something we don't know about. I need to do some research."
She headed south on the San Diego Freeway planning to take the Artesia/Redondo Beach Freeway out to Anaheim. Surely, they could lay low there for a while.
Steve ordered Dion and Captain Cioffi to keep their men canvassing the area. The men were to report *everything* to Dion and Cioffi who would report to Cheryl. She would sort through the information and report what was relevant to Steve at the house in Brentwood. They had all finally had lunch. Jesse and Amanda had shown up when they got off work, and Mark had insisted that Maribeth drive him over when she went in to the hospital. Cheryl would be reporting in every hour or so, and Steve was finally ready to get down to business with Liv and Keith.
Officer Charles Donovan stopped yet another pedestrian and flashed the picture of Lieutenant Stephens, asking the young surfer if he had seen her.
"No, dude, but I wish I had. She's one foxy chick!"
Donovan smiled. "I guess she is."
"Woah, yeah, dude. Awesome eyes."
"Contact the police if you spot her, ok?"
"Sure, maybe after I make a little *contact* with her myself."
Shaking his head at the surfer's shameless lust, Donovan studied the picture.
She did have remarkable eyes.
Lovely green-gold eyes.
He'd seen those eyes earlier today, behind thick glasses.
Donovan froze for a moment. Then he seized his radio and called his captain.
