The Watchman by Robert Crais

stepped out. She was puffy with sleep, and still wore only the bra and the tiny green thong. She didn’t look so wild.
    Pike touched his lips with a finger. Shh. Larkin blinked sleepily at him, then went into the bathroom.
    Bud said, “You’re killing me, Joe. Jesus, where are you?”
    “We’re good. Why is everyone so upset?”
    Pike, having fun.
    “You dropped off the world, is why! You’re supposed to take care of her, yes, but you can’t just disappear. The feds, they’re—”
    Pike interrupted.
    “How many people know I have her?”
    “What are you asking? What are you saying, asking that?”
    “You, your boys in their nice silk suits, the feds, her family? Someone hit my home this morning, Bud, so your leak is still leaking. Trust is in short supply.”
    Larkin came out of the bathroom and into the living room, her bare feet slapping the floor. Pike held up his coffee to show her that coffee was available, then pointed the cup toward the kitchen. She didn’t seem self-conscious about her lack of clothes or even aware of it. She went past him into the kitchen.
    Bud still had the uncertain voice.
    “I understand what you’re saying, but we have five bodies to deal with. We have a full-on police investigation, and—”
    Pike cut him off again.
    “Here’s what’s going to happen. Larkin and I will meet you. Don’t tell her father or those feds or your boys in their silk. Come by yourself, and we’ll figure this out. You good with that?”
    “Where?”
    The girl came out of the kitchen with the pot. She looked confused as she held up the pot, her expression saying what in hell is this? Pike raised a finger, telling her to wait, then checked his watch. It was now thirteen minutes before eight.
    “Where are you right now?”
    “Home. In Cheviot Hills.”
    “The subway stop in Universal City at noon. Can you make it at noon?”
    “Yes.”
    “What will you be driving?”
    “A tan Explorer.”
    “Park in the north lot. As far north as you can. Wait in your car until I call.”
    Pike turned off his phone. Larkin took this as a sign she could speak, so she waved the pot.
    “What is this?”
    “Coffee.”
    “It’s sludge. There’s stuff in it.”
    Pike finished his cup, then went to the couch and pulled on the long-sleeved shirt.
    “Pack your things. We’re going to see Bud.”
    She lowered the pot, staring at him as if she were fully dressed.
    “I thought we were safe here.”
    “We are. But if something happens, we’ll want our things.”
    “What’s going to happen?”
    “Every time we leave the house we’ll take our things. That’s the way it is.”
    “I don’t want to ride around all day scrunched in your car. Can’t I stay here?”
    “Get dressed. We have to hurry.”
    “But you told him noon. Universal is only twenty minutes away.”
    “Let’s go. We have to hurry.”
    She stomped back into the kitchen and threw the pot into the sink.
    “Your coffee
sucks
!”
    “We’ll get Starbucks.”
    She didn’t seem so wild, even when she threw things.
     
     
     

11
     
     
    PIKE didn’t bring her to Universal and didn’t wait until noon. Cole had Bud’s home address before they were out the door.
    Cheviot Hills was an upscale neighborhood set on the rolling land south of the Hillcrest Country Club in midtown Los Angeles. Gracious homes with immaculate yards and manicured sidewalks were scattered throughout the area, though the larger homes were closer to the park. The homes farther south and closer to the I-10 freeway were smaller, but still beyond a police officer’s salary. Back in the day when Pike rode with Bud, the Flynns had shared a duplex in Atwater Village.
    Bud’s current home was a small split-level not far from the freeway. A tan Explorer was parked in the drive as if it had been there all night. The house sat at the top of a rise, with a gently sloping drive and a front lawn that struggled against the brutal summer heat. Many of the homes had not been changed