When it came to personal space and safety, she’d upped her vigilance. The Tally Man could be anyone. That was the problem. He was a ghost to her. It was exhausting defending herself against a shadow.
The other issue that bugged her was Jarocki’s assertion that she’d helped the police all that she could, and it was time to back off and let them do their work. Jarocki was right but not in one respect. She could help the police more by giving them a concrete account of what had happened to her and Holli. The only way she knew how to do that was to retrace their route home from the Vegas trip.
She’d attempted the trip once, not long after she started seeing Jarocki, but had gotten only as far as Livermore. The moment she’d seen the signs for I-5 south, she’d panicked. She’d broken into a sweat, hyperventilated, and ended up at the side of the road, unable to go forward or go back. She’d finally called a tow truck to take her home.
She wasn’t ready then. She was now. It was important that she do this for Holli, Laurie Hernandez, and all the other victims—and for herself. Jarocki was always professing the need for her to do something constructive and positive. Going back to Vegas was it, for many reasons. In addition to helping the cops, she’d be facing an old demon, and that would help boost her self-confidence. Getting out of town would also put a lot of distance between her and the Tally Man, now that he was in the Bay Area. Retracing her steps was a good idea.
She played with Google Maps on her computer terminal in between shopper inquiries. She wasn’t supposed to use the computer for personal business, but there was a lot of downtime, despite the mall’s dubious reputation. Luckily, she was on shift with Jared and he wouldn’t say anything. He’d seen she was preoccupied and was happy to do patrols while she manned the kiosk.
She examined the possible routes to and from Vegas. Her journey to Vegas was easy to map. She and Holli had followed the freeways—I-580 to I-80, hang a left at Bakersfield, pick up CA 58 for Barstow, then follow I-15 all the way to Vegas. The drive had been dull, the equivalent of motoring elevator music. It had been her idea to shake things up for the return by avoiding the freeways, but she couldn’t remember the convoluted route they’d concocted. She’d been picked up by the Mono County Sheriffs between Bishop and Mammoth Lakes after she escaped, which meant she and Holli had been trying to come home via Yosemite. That narrowed their possible routes to only a couple of options. They’d either followed the roads up to Carson City or through Death Valley.
She zeroed in on the satellite image of the map. Somewhere along those roads, he’d held her. She didn’t know if she’d find him, but she would find his workshop. Anger and excitement quickened her heart rate.
Her radio crackled into life. It was Jared. He was breathy. She could hear he was running.
“Zo?, need help, thief, upper deck, coming your way, Niners hoodie.”
Jared’s shorthand was all she needed. She grabbed the radio. “On my way.”
She bolted for the escalators. Taking the steps two at a time, she propelled herself to the upper concourse in seconds. She staggered coming off at the top but recovered her footing in a couple strides and raced along the mall.
She didn’t have to yell for people to get out of the way. They cleared a path for her so they could take in the show.
It took her only a moment to pick out the perp in the 49ers hoodie, sprinting toward her through the crowd, with Jared in pursuit. They were two hundred yards away. The thief had thirty yards on Jared, but the security guard was closing in.
If Jared didn’t catch up to him, she’d stop him. The guy had boxed himself in. She stood between him and the exits on the upper concourse. If he doubled back, he’d run straight into Jared. She upped her pace, a hard thing to do in the bulky uniform.
The issue looked to be academic. Jared had caught up to the thief. He drove a hand into the guy’s back, sending him sprawling to the ground. As Jared lunged to grab him, the thief reached into his pocket and whipped out a knife. He slashed the air in a sweeping arc, catching Jared across the chest, leaving a long red streak. Jared slapped a hand over it and dropped to his knees.
“Son of a bitch,” Zo? snarled and ran on.
The perp leapt to his feet. It took him a second to realize he was sprinting toward her, then he ground to a halt. Zo? did the same. There was thirty feet between them. Shoppers ducked back into stores or pressed themselves against the railing.
She had an up-close look at him. He was no more than twenty and was taller than her, five-ten but skinny. She doubted he weighed 150 pounds. It made them evenly matched.
He flashed a look from her to the exits behind her, then back. She read his expression and knew what he was thinking: The exit is right there and she’s only a woman. I can take her.
He thrust the knife out. She’d expected a switchblade, but it was a cheap-looking steak knife with a four-inch blade. It didn’t make it any less lethal, however.