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didn’t strike me as someone who showed up tardy, I didn’t think Darcy was a game player either.
    I glanced at the empty seat next to me.
    As the flight attendants took their seats and the plane taxied down the runway for takeoff, the anxious burning that had taken up residence in my gut since Darcy had accosted me in the water gained new life.

EIGHT
     
    The flight was bumpy and rough as the plane navigated the thick marine layer along the coast, and I felt like a ping-pong ball by the time we landed.
    I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. Darcy was supposed to be my tour guide.
    I dialed information on my cell and asked for a number for Darcy Gill. Information had a business number for her at a law firm called Gill and Gill. When I was connected, I heard a recording giving some perfunctory information. One of those pieces of information was Gill and Gill’s address.
    I walked outside and jumped in a taxi. I gave the driver the address, and we moved away from the congestion of the airport.
    San Francisco had never been my favorite place. Cold, rainy, and carrying an inferiority complex that it constantly denied, the city never felt like it belonged in California. The views were spectacular across the bays and the Golden Gate was pretty enough, but the place never felt comfortable.
    A missing Darcy and a meeting with Russell Simington had taken that uncomfortability to new heights.
    The taxi driver, a small Asian man who didn’t speak a word to me, navigated the streets of the city with the care of a wounded bull. The plane ride was nothing compared to the lightning-quick lane changes, rocket-like acceleration, and indifference toward red lights.
    The taxi pulled up to a three-story building that appeared to be waiting for a breeze to knock it over. The drywall on the outside was chipped away, a window on the top floor was boarded up, and the wooden door looked about two hundred years old. A small sign next to the door read “Gill and Gill.” Law firm, crack house. Same difference.
    I paid the silent man his money and stepped out into the wet, heavy morning air. The taxi exploded away from the curb, its tires screeching on the damp pavement.
    I pushed open the old wooden door. I was in a short, low-ceilinged hallway book-ended by another door at the opposite end. A frosted glass pane in the middle of the door had “Law Offices” stenciled on it.
    I opened that door into a room the size of a Geo Metro. A young woman looked up at me from behind a cluttered desk. Her hair was dyed jet black, with a purple streak right through the center. Each ear held a multitude of earrings. Her eyes were heavily lined with eyeliner and mascara, and her lipstick was nearly as dark. Her pale skin seemed to glow against the hair and makeup.
    “Can I help you?” she asked, sounding like she didn’t want to.
    “I’m looking for Darcy Gill.”
    “She’s not in,” she said.
    “Know where I can find her?”
    “No. I wish I did,” she said, annoyed.
    “Is she still in San Diego?” I asked.
    Surprise and curiosity appeared on her face. “I don’t know. Who are you?”
    “Noah Braddock. She came to see me yesterday.”
    She stood up. She wore a long-sleeved black sweater and black jeans that looked too big for her skinny frame. She looked me over like she was seeing me for the first time.
    “She’s not with you?” she said, her voice now sounding like she cared.
    “She was supposed to meet me on the plane. I was on it. She wasn’t.”
    She stared hard at me for a moment, her eyes cold and unfriendly.
    “Shit,” she said.
    “Who are you?” I asked.
    “Miranda,” she said, her eyes on her desk now, thinking. “I’m her paralegal.”
    “Who’s the other Gill in the firm?”
    “There isn’t one. Darcy thought it sounded better than just her name.”
    “Ah.”
    “When did you last talk to her?” I recounted our conversation on the beach. “And she was gonna meet you at the airport, right?” “She said