Mission Canyon Read Online Free Page A

barely described Jesse’s feelings toward Mako Technologies.
    He said, ‘‘Brand was following somebody to the museum. He’s trying to get in touch.’’
    ‘‘Why would he risk coming back here?’’
    ‘‘Think about it.’’
    I thought. Stupidity. Love. ‘‘Money.’’
    ‘‘That’s my guess.’’
    ‘‘You think he has unfinished business with Mako?’’
    ‘‘Yeah. That means so do I.’’
    He drove slowly, looking at people on the sidewalk. Light washed across his face and shoulders, gold and red pouring over his skin, flashing in his eyes.
    ‘‘He stared me in the face, Ev. Straight at me, and he didn’t react. He didn’t know who the hell I was.’’
    He claimed he’d put it all behind him. No good looking back, he’d said. Life’s a crapshoot. Eyes front, ’cause the future’s the only place you can go.
    Acceptance, they call this.
    He was a remarkable person, accomplished and savvy, a first-class smart-ass who made me laugh and kept me honest. He took everything the world threw at him and hit it back, hard and clean, straight down the line. The year before, he had saved my life. He was handsome, and brave, and I loved him. I was going to marry him in nine weeks.
    And right then, hearing the pain in his voice, I knew. It wasn’t true. He accepted nothing as long as Brand remained free. Everything had just changed—for him, and for me.
    I said, ‘‘Turn around.’’
    ‘‘Why?’’
    ‘‘Go back to the museum. It’s time to start finishing some business.’’
    He let me out and I climbed the museum steps, knowing that Clipboard would never let me back in. She stood guarding the door, clicking her ballpoint pen as though tapping out Morse code: Supremes invading. Send air support.
    ‘‘Simmer down. I’m just looking,’’ I said.
    I stared past her shoulder into the foyer. I didn’t see George Rudenski. But I did see Steve McQueen finishing a plate of canapés. I rapped on the door and waved at him. He came outside, licking his fingers.
    ‘‘Back for round two with Mari Diamond? This will be rich,’’ he said.
    ‘‘I need your help. Could you tell George Rudenski that Evan Delaney wants to speak to him?’’
    ‘‘Oh?’’ He jammed his hands into his jeans pockets and stepped too close. ‘‘And he’ll break away from this shindig on your say-so?’’
    ‘‘Tell him it’s about Franklin Brand.’’
    His suavity flickered. He gazed past me down the steps, where Jesse was maneuvering out of the car.
    ‘‘Why don’t you tell me about it? I’m Kenny Rudenski. ’’
    Swing and a miss, strike three. First Zorro, then the Brand look-alike, now this.
    ‘‘Sure,’’ I said, ‘‘when you get your father.’’
    His gaze ran over me. ‘‘You’re a pushy thing. Lucky for you, I like that.’’
    He went inside and I jogged back down the stairs. Jesse was locking the car.
    He said, ‘‘Do you know who that was?’’
    ‘‘I’m sorry. I blew it.’’
    Kenny Rudenski was the Mako executive who had bleated loudest about Brand’s innocence after the accident. I remembered a newspaper quote in which he speculated that Jesse and Isaac had been drinking before the crash. This was going to be unpleasant.
    ‘‘Forget it,’’ Jesse said. ‘‘George will be stand-up.’’ He nodded toward the museum. ‘‘And we’ve got flak at twelve o’clock.’’
    George Rudenski was walking down the steps, as straight as a flagpole. Behind him came Kenny, scurrying to catch up, and at Kenny’s side was a woman in her late thirties. With her crimson suit and shocking fall of silver hair, she looked like a banked fire that could flare up at any moment. She was Harley Dawson, Mako’s attorney.
    I said, ‘‘I’m on it.’’
    I aimed myself toward George, ignoring the others. ‘‘Sorry to pull you away.’’
    He nodded and shook Jesse’s hand. ‘‘What’s this about Brand?’’
    I said, ‘‘I just chased him down the street.’’
    He stilled.