“Maybe. I won’t promise you anything. I can only focus on the achievable at this point—and for now, that’s finding you a safe house. Could you stay with family—your folks or siblings, maybe?”
The mention of her family took the sting out of her. She’d pushed them away since her abduction. Maybe this was the time to reach out, but she wasn’t about to put them in danger. He’d found her. He’d find her again. She wouldn’t do that to her parents.
“We aren’t in contact.”
She saw Ogawa about to say something but change his mind. “That’s fine. What about friends?”
A wave of embarrassment swept over her. There were no friends. Not anymore. Just like with her parents, she’d thrust them aside. It was just her against the world. She knew she’d done this to herself, and she suddenly felt sad for her pathetic little life. The Tally Man hadn’t been the only person who’d damaged her life. Suddenly she was the one who couldn’t make eye contact with anyone in the room.
“No, there’s no one.”
Ogawa sighed. “OK, let me talk to the groups that help us in these sorts of situations. I’m sure they’ll have someplace that you can use.”
“There’s no need,” Jarocki said. “I have a family place in Napa that Zo? can use for the duration.”
She turned to him and thanked him with real gratitude.
“It’s not much, but it’ll be safe. No one will think to look for you there.”
“That’s very generous,” Ogawa said. “We’ll keep you here tonight and move you in the morning. I know it might not seem like it, Zo?, but we will keep you safe.”
Marshall Beck let himself into Urban Paws. After his failed abduction of Zo?, he craved the quiet and stillness of the center. He went into the Assessment Annex, unlatched Brando’s cage door, and sat against the wall in his usual spot opposite the dog. Brando remained sitting, strong and stoic.
“I didn’t get her,” he said to the dog. “She’s a different woman. Far more accomplished than before. I had the upper hand, though—the element of surprise, superior strength, and skill. A neighbor ruined it for me tonight. It’s those little things you can’t control that ruin everything. That’s the problem with cities. Too many people. Too many variables. That’s why rural areas are better. I have control over the environment.”
He looked to Brando for a reaction. The dog gave him nothing. Or was he wrong about that? Did he see a flicker of disappointment in his eyes? Had Brando smelled the stink of failure on him? He knew he smelled it on himself.
“Yes, I’m making excuses. I’ll do better next time. And yes, there will be a next time.”
Brando gave him no encouragement. No wag of the tail. No whimper or bark. Beck liked that. The dog was a stern friend. No commiserations. Just silent faith.
He pushed himself to his feet. “Shall we go for our walk?”
He grabbed a slip leash off the wall. Brando padded over to him in anticipation, and he looped it over the dog’s neck. He walked the dog out of the center and onto the streets. There was a smattering of people. They gave the large pit bull a wide berth. They needn’t have bothered. Brando wasn’t dangerous. He just wasn’t intimidated by his environment. The dog trotted alongside him—so much so that the leash hung slack in his grasp to the point of being unnecessary. Brando was dominant but not aggressive. He wouldn’t lash out unless provoked, and only a fool would provoke him.
He walked Brando down to Union Square, then over to Chinatown and up to Nob Hill before returning to the center. It was a good walk. Brando behaved well and was a pleasure, as always. Yet, as Beck stood with the key out to slide into the center’s lock, he paused. He was unsatisfied. He’d set out to do something, and it had fallen apart. He wasn’t ready to call it a night. He couldn’t take a second run at Zo? right now. She’d be at the mercy of the doctors, then the cops. She was off-limits for the short term. Still, he wasn’t satisfied. He needed to end his day with an achievement.
He looked down at Brando and realized where they needed to go.
Beck put Brando in his Honda Pilot and drove out to Javier Mu?oz’s home in Hayward. The lights were on in the house, but Mu?oz’s Challenger wasn’t outside. He continued on to Mu?oz’s other haunts—a couple of houses in Hayward, a bar in Union City, and a strip club in San Francisco—but struck out at each one. He finally found the Challenger parked in Fremont, outside the warehouse that was the front for his dog-fighting operation.
He couldn’t believe Mu?oz had returned to the scene of the crime. He supposed once an asshole, always an asshole.
There were no other cars around, so this wasn’t a fight night. He wondered why the promoter was here. He turned the SUV around and parked a few blocks from the entrance to the warehouse.