The Heist (6 page)

“She’s not make-believe,” Jessup said. “She’s real. It’s what she’s hired to protect that’s not.”

Kate looked Jessup in the eye. “Are you punishing me?”

“Not every case can be Nick Fox,” Jessup said. “Get used to it.”

“You have to take down your Facebook page,” Kate told her sister, Megan.

It was clearly an order, but Megan wasn’t the least bit intimidated. The two women were sitting at a table in the backyard of Megan’s hillside home, one of the many red-tile-roofed Spanish Mediterranean McMansions in Calabasas, a suburb of guard-gated communities at the southwestern edge of the San Fernando
Valley. Megan was in shorts and a T-shirt, reading
Star
magazine and getting the latest news on the Real Housewives of Everywhere. While she was talking to Kate she was keeping an eye on her narrow lap pool, where her four-year-old son, Tyler, and six-year-old daughter, Sara, yellow floaties around their chubby, pale arms, were in a water cannon fight with Megan’s husband, Roger. They were all splashing and shrieking, and their Jack Russell terrier, named Jack Russell, was running around the pool barking.

The air was rated “moderately unhealthful” by the Air Quality Management District, the fire hazard in the surrounding foothills was deemed “very high” by the Department of Forestry, and a SigAlert had been declared by the California Highway Patrol on the Ventura Freeway, meaning it would be an hour-long crawl to anywhere across the valley floor. In other words, it was a perfect Saturday afternoon in Southern California.

“Why would I want to take down my Facebook page?” Megan asked.

“Because it allows stalkers to mine personal information about you and your entire family,” Kate told her.

“I don’t have stalkers.”

“You might.” Kate was wearing a tank top, shorts, and flip-flops, and she felt naked without her Glock, which was in a lockbox in the trunk of her car. “You won’t know until one of them kidnaps your daughter to be his sex slave.”

Megan glared at her over the top of her
Star
magazine. “How can you say something awful like that about your adorable niece?”

“It’s a fact of life.” Kate gestured to the cover of the magazine. “It’s right there. ‘Teen Kidnapped by Hillbillies Reveals Ten-Year Ordeal as Sex Slave.’ ”

Megan put the magazine down on a stack of publications that
included
People
,
Us
, and the
National Enquirer
, all of which Kate had brought. Reading trashy gossip magazines and making fun of the celebrities was a traditional part of O’Hare family picnics. It was something they’d picked up from the mothers on the military bases when they were growing up.

“There are no hillbillies in Calabasas, and even if there were, nobody is going to kidnap my kids,” Megan said. “You know why? Because my sister is an FBI agent, and my dad, an ex-marine who can kill a man sixteen different ways with an eyebrow tweezer, lives in the house.”

“He lives in the garage,” Kate said.

“It’s a
casita
,” Megan said.

“What would Dad be doing with an eyebrow tweezer?”

“It’s mine and it might be the only weapon handy when the hillbillies attack,” Megan said. “We aren’t taking down the Facebook page. The family loves it.”

“So make it private,” Kate said.

“It already is,” Megan said. “Family and friends only.”

“How many are there?”

Her sister reached for a handful of Doritos from one of the three big salad bowls of different chips in the center of the table. “One thousand three hundred and twelve.”

“We don’t have one thousand three hundred and twelve family and friends,” Kate said.

“That includes family of family and friends of friends,” Megan said.

Roger called out from the pool. “Easy on the Doritos, honey. You’ll want to save room for my world famous cheeseburgers.”

His burgers were simply ground beef patties sprinkled with Lawry’s Seasoned Salt and topped with a slice of Kraft processed
American cheese. It wasn’t like it was a recipe that his great-grandmother had smuggled over from the old country on a scrap of paper stuffed in her cleavage or a unique blend of spices that he’d refined over years of backyard barbecuing. But everybody in the family, Kate included, dutifully ooohed and aaahed over the burgers anyway.

“Fine, you can keep your Facebook page,” Kate said. “But you have to remove all the pictures of me.”

“I can’t,” Megan said. “They’re family photos that you happen to be in. Everybody loves them. You are one part of a lot of great memories that we enjoy sharing. It’s how we stay connected as a family. Well, all of us but you.”

“Then photoshop my part out,” Kate said. “Or at least erase my braces and zits.”

“Oh, grow up, that was almost twenty years ago,” Megan said. “Besides, you’ve never cared much what people think of how you look. So something else must be in play here.”

“Thank you, Dr. Phil.”

Megan studied her. “When was the last time you had a chitty-chitty-bang-bang?”

“Drove a flying car?”

Megan glanced over at her kids to make sure they weren’t listening. “You know what I mean. How long has it been since you danced the horizontal mambo?”

Kate did know what Megan meant, but she was stalling for time. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because you’re afraid of somebody seeing how geeky and awkward you were when you were a kid and finding you less attractive now as a result.”

Megan was three years younger than Kate and had never been
geeky or awkward, so she didn’t care about how she looked in old pictures. After birthing two kids she was carrying a few extra pounds but she wore the weight well, probably because she didn’t give a damn about it, and half of beauty is attitude anyway. Or so they say in
Us Weekly
.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kate said.

“You want to know how often I have sex?”

“No!” Kate said.

“Three times a week,” Megan said. “Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. How about you?”

“None of your business.”

“So it’s been at least six months,” Megan said. “You need a love life. Heck, you need a life.”

“I have one,” Kate said.

“What you had was chasing Nick Fox. That’s a case, not a life. Now it’s time to reassess your goals and look ahead. Where do you want to be in five years? Who do you want to be? How many orgasms do you want to be having?”

“You plan your orgasms five years in advance?”

“You know how I got all of this?” Megan gestured to the house, the kids, and Jack Russell taking a crap on the lawn.

“Unprotected sex,” Kate said.

Megan was twenty-four years old and six months pregnant when she married Roger, an accountant she’d met on a blind date.

Megan ignored the comment. “I imagined it. I saw myself as a wife and mother. And here it is, a dream come true. What’s yours?”

Kate gave her a look and said, “Daniel Craig, a tropical island, a quart of Oreo cookie ice cream, and a pair of handcuffs.”

“Who’s wearing the cuffs?” Megan asked.

Kate ate another chip and let the question go unanswered.

Megan wagged a finger at her. “Your big problem is that you spend all of your time on the job, where the only men you meet are cops and crooks.”

That comment worried Kate. She’d heard it before. It was Megan’s excuse for creating an account under Kate’s name at eHarmony and setting her up for dates.

“I’m serious about arresting you for identity theft if you sign me up for another online dating service,” Kate said.

“I’ve been going to the gym twice a week, and as it happens I’ve met a terrific guy there. He’s a pilot for one of the big airlines, flying international routes.”

“You can stop right there.”

“He’s perfect for you. A man in uniform, only without a gun or a mailbag.”

“I don’t need you setting me up on blind dates.”

“It’s not blind, I’ve had a very good look at him. He’s in his early thirties, has a fantastic body and a killer smile. He’s so sexy and charming, I’m half tempted to leave Roger for him.”

“Fine, you take him,” Kate said.

They heard the clang of the wrought-iron gate closing on the side yard, and a moment later Jake O’Hare, their father, strode into the backyard. He was dressed in a golf shirt and slacks, and still wearing his cleats. He was square-jawed, square-shouldered, barrel-chested, and big-boned. His gray hair was buzzed to military specifications. He moved with a slight limp, the result of an injury he’d sustained on a mission that he still insisted was classified. It was his limp that Kate imitated when she used the disabled elevator at the San Francisco Federal Building.

“Dad, what have I told you about wearing your golf shoes around the house?” Megan said as Kate rose up to greet her father.

“I’m aerating the grass,” Jake said, giving Kate a hug. “What brings you out here?”

“I brought the kids their Christmas presents,” Kate said.

“Guns, of course,” Megan said.

“Water cannons,” Kate said.

“It’s June,” Jake said. “You’re a little early.”

“These were the gifts I was going to bring last Christmas, but then things got crazy at work,” Kate said. “I had a strong lead on a case that I had to chase down. That’s over now, so I’m catching up on some things that kind of fell through cracks during the investigation.”

“That’s right, you finally caught Nick Fox. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Kate said.

Jake gestured to her glass. “You feel like having something stronger than that Hawaiian Punch?”

“That’d be nice,” Kate said.

“We’re making my famous hamburgers in a half hour,” Roger yelled from the pool.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Kate said, and followed her father around the side yard to the front of the house, where there were two matching detached garages, one on either side of the driveway. Both had red-tiled roofs, of course. She’d parked her white Ford Crown Victoria, the police interceptor model, between the two garages. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“From what?” Jake said.

“From that,” Kate said. “I don’t know how you can take it here.”

“It’s a good life,” Jake said.

“You live in the garage.”

“It’s a
casita
.”

“It’s a detached garage that they put a bathroom and kitchenette in,” Kate said. “It still has the garage doors.”

“They’re nonworking. It’s a garage door façade. We had to keep it to maintain conformity,” Jake said. “The architectural committee in this neighborhood is stricter than the Taliban. But I still like it here.”

“How can you?”

“It’s sunny all the time. The streets are cleaner than Disneyland. We’re right above the golf course and I get to be with my family. I get to tickle the grandkids and read ’em bedtime stories.”

“Yeah, but there’s Roger.”

“He’s a good man,” Jake said.

“He’s unbelievably dull.”

“Nobody’s asking him to open for Tony Bennett, just to be there for his wife and kids, and he is, more than I ever was for you and Megan.”

“You don’t have to be there to be there,” Kate said.

“Yes, honey, you do.” Jake went into his
casita
and came out a moment later with two cold Buds. Kate leaned against her car.

“So you’re paying penance,” Kate said. “That’s why you’re here.”

“I told you, I like it here.”

“You spent decades traveling to exotic locales, fighting wars. How can you like this?”

“I’m still fighting wars. We’ve got a real problem here with morning glories invading the common areas. I’m leading the landscaping committee’s offensive to repel the invasion.”

“You’re depressing me, Dad.”

He laughed and took a drink. “A new assignment will come along for you soon.”

“I got one. It sucks.”

“Not all of them can be Nick Fox.”

“So everyone keeps telling me. To which I say, why not?”

They were quiet for a moment, looking at the view of the smog-covered valley and the community’s front gate. There was a tiny guardhouse that looked like a miniature golf version of Megan’s McMansion. The guard always greeted Kate when she arrived like they were colleagues, both servants of justice wearing badges, except hers wasn’t a patch.

Her father took another drink of his beer. “I led a covert mission once to assist a ragtag group of rebels in liberating their country from a crazy, crack-addicted dictator and his corrupt army. I spent months in that jungle, fighting soldiers and mosquitos the size of Corollas. But we did it. Twenty years later, I was sent on another covert mission to help rebels liberate their country. Turned out to be the same damn country, same damn jungle. Different dictator.”

Kate finished her beer and thought about what he said. “What’s your point?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” he said. “I just felt like telling the story. Maybe you’ll find some deeper meaning in it later. If you do, give me a call and let me know what it was.”

“How many ways could you kill a man with an eyebrow tweezer?”

“Sixteen,” Jake said.

Kate looked at him in surprise. She’d thought her sister was just being a smart-ass, a quality they both shared. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Will you teach me?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a father if I didn’t,” he said.