Mission Canyon Read Online Free PDF

championships, plainly after a win, and in victory they looked glorious. Adam was almost goofy with delight. Isaac wore a puckish grin and was holding up his index finger for the camera: We’re number one .
    He was the wild man, so furious in the water that they called him the Washing Machine. He tattooed their winning time on his ankle afterward.
    And Jesse looked ecstatic. He had draped his arms across the Sandovals’ shoulders, pulling them to him. His hair was bleached gold from chlorine, his body rip with power from head to toe. It was the way he looked when I first met him, when his blue eyes and athletic grace knocked me flat on my butt, astonishing me with my own desire.
    He still had the lithe build that gave him such fierce beauty in the water. His shoulders could carry almost anything, and since the accident they’d been carrying the weight of concern for Adam. I heard it in the words he chose, the care in his voice. I knew why. He thought that between them, Adam had suffered the heavier blow.
    He said, ‘‘Whatever Brand is after, he’s taking risks, and that’s why he’s going to get nailed. He’ll fuck up.’’
    Adam looked at him. ‘‘Once more, with feeling.’’
    ‘‘He’ll blow it. Because that’s what fuckups do.’’
    Another caustic smile. ‘‘You’re such a cheerleader.’’
    The light muted and the ocean took on a silver sheen. Shadow brushed Adam’s face.
    I said, ‘‘What do you think Brand wants, if it isn’t money?’’
    ‘‘Revenge,’’ he said.
    I must have looked startled. ‘‘Against whom? Mako?’’
    ‘‘The woman. The anonymous caller who phoned the police and turned him in.’’
    ‘‘You think he was stalking her at the museum?’’
    ‘‘Yes.’’
    Jesse said, ‘‘You think she works for Mako.’’
    Adam nodded. ‘‘And I think people at Mako know who she is, because office affairs are never truly clandestine. But nobody has ever come forward. Nobody has the backbone.’’
    Jesse gave me a glance. We were thinking the same thing: Adam had been working this out for a long time. He lived with this constantly.
    Adam said, ‘‘If you want to get in Mako’s face, I’ll get in it with you. But be prepared for them to land on you like a hammer. George Rudenski may be a nice guy, but Kenny’s a schemer, and he’ll set the tone.’’
    ‘‘Screw Kenny, and screw Mako. They’re just the levers we use to get to Brand. Eyes on the prize, buddy.’’
    Adam nodded and stared out the window at the ocean. Jesse gave me a look: Time to go.
    He touched Adam on the elbow. ‘‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow. You okay?’’
    ‘‘Yeah.’’
    We started toward the door. Adam said, ‘‘One thing, jefe. ’’
    Jesse glanced back over his shoulder.
    ‘‘You’re taking action against a killer. There’s going to be a reaction.’’
    ‘‘I remember my Isaac Newton, Dr. Sandoval. Equal and opposite.’’
    Adam said, ‘‘Be careful, man.’’
    In Hope Ranch, the landscaping lights were on at Cal and Mari Diamond’s estate. They illuminated the palms and the flower beds, where red camellias grew as big as fists. They spotlighted the arches and balconies of the house, Casa Maricela. And they cast shadows at the edges of the property, where the young woman walked outside the wrought-iron fence, dragging a metal baton along the railings. She waited for the noise to bring the dogs.
    Her name was Cherry Lopez. She was twenty-four, but with her wiry frame people took her for a teenager. She kept her hair cropped short and dyed it gothic black. A tattoo ran like a cable from her ankle up one leg, coiling around her thigh, across a hip, and over her ribs, eeling around her breast and up her neck. It ended behind her ear, with a viper’s head sinking its fangs in.
    The baton rang against the railings. ‘‘Here, doggies. Got a surprise for you.’’
    And now they came, two Dobermans racing across the lawn in the dusk, ears flat against their heads. Cherry