The Watchman by Robert Crais Read Free Book Online Page B

bad.”
    “Thanks. I think.”
    The money vibe came off her like heat—the Rock & Republic jeans, the Kitson top, the Oliver Peoples shades. Cole was good at reading people, and had learned—over time—that he was almost always right. The trouble vibe came off her, too. She looked familiar, but Cole couldn’t place her.
    Cole said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
    The girl glanced at Pike.
    “Can I tell him?”
    Pike said, “This is Larkin Barkley. She’s a witness in a federal investigation. She was in a program, but that didn’t work out.”
    Larkin said, “Ha.”
    “We could use something to eat, maybe a shower, and I’ll tell you what’s up.”
    Cole sensed Pike didn’t want to talk in front of the girl, so he gave her the smile again.
    “Why don’t you use the shower while I make something to eat?”
    Larkin glanced back at him, and Cole read a new vibe. She gave him the same crooked smile she had made in the drive, only now she was telling him he could say and do nothing that would surprise her, affect her, or impress her, here in his little house that wasn’t so bad. Like a challenge, Cole thought; or maybe a test.
    She said, “Why don’t I eat first? The Pikester won’t feed me. He only wants sex.”
    Cole said, “He’s like that with me, too, but we’ve learned to adjust.”
    Larkin blinked once, then burst out laughing.
    Cole said, “One point, me; zero, you. Take the shower or wait on the deck. Either way, we don’t want you around while we talk.”
    She chose the shower.
    Pike brought in her bag and showed her to the guest bathroom while Cole went to work in the kitchen. He sliced zucchini, summer squash, and Japanese eggplant the long way, then drizzled them with olive oil and salt, and put on a grill pan to heat. After a few minutes Pike joined him, but neither of them spoke until they heard the water running. Then Cole settled back against the counter.
    “The Pikester?”
    Pike dealt out a driver’s license and two credit cards. The DL picture showed the girl with spectacular red hair. The credit cards showed her name. The AmEx card was black. Money.
    Pike said, “I met her for the first time yesterday, but I don’t know anything about her. I need you to help me with that.”
    Pike followed the credit cards with what appeared to be a text-only criminal-history file from the FBI’s National Crime Information Center.
    “This is the man who’s trying to kill her. His name is Alex Meesh, from Colorado by way of Bogotá, Colombia.”
    Cole glanced over the cover page. Alexander Meesh. Wanted for murder.
    “South America?”
    “Went down to flee the murder warrants. The feds gave Bud his record, but I didn’t see much that would help. Maybe you’ll see something different.”
    Cole listened as Pike described Larkin Barkley’s situation in the flat, declarative sentences of a patrol officer making a report. Pike described how the girl had found herself in a Justice Department investigation involving a suspected money launderer named George King and how her agreement to testify had led to the attempts on her life. Cole listened without comment until Pike described the shootings in Malibu and Eagle Rock. Then the skin on his back prickled and he stepped away from the counter.
    “Wait. You shot someone?”
    “Five. Two last night, three this morning.”
    Pike, standing there in his kitchen without expression, saying it like anyone else would say their car needed gas.
    “Joe. Jesus,
Joe
—are the police after you?”
    “I don’t know. Malibu was last night and Eagle Rock was only a couple of hours ago. But if not now, then soon—I lost a gun in Eagle Rock.”
    Cole felt a momentary lightness, like when the earth drops in a temblor. Ten minutes ago, he had been waxing his car. Three days ago, he and Pike had spent the evening planning a backpacking trip.
    “This was self-defense, right? You were defending your life and the life of a federal witness. The feds are