Night Watch (Kendra Michaels #4)

“So am I.” He grinned. “I’m a little peeved. Swooping in for last-minute heroics is my job.”


“Yeah, sure. Not likely. Well, maybe on occasion.” Kendra stood up and looked out at the shimmering, twinkling lights of the city. “Was she following me or them? Or did she somehow know about their plan in advance? She said something about things she’d heard about me.” She made a face. “It wasn’t complimentary. But right now, she’s the one I want to talk to.”

“And you’re sure she’s the same person we were chasing in Big Bear last night.”

“Positive. Designer riding boots aside. I recognized her voice from the 911 tape we heard at the Big Bear police station. It was definitely the same woman.”

“But no one you’ve ever met before?”

“Never. I’m sure of that even though I couldn’t see her face behind that helmet visor.”

Lynch stood up and came over to stand beside her. “But I’m sure that hasn’t stopped you from picking up some useful information about her. Am I right?”

Kendra shrugged. “I’m pretty sure she’s from California. Maybe up in the Central Valley around Bakersfield. She’s around thirty, but she’s already traveled a lot in Western Europe. Maybe even lived there for a while. She’s ex-military.”

Lynch’s lips quirked. “You couldn’t tell which branch?”

“Sorry. She was riding the same motorcycle as she was last night. She didn’t ride far, though. She’s either staying nearby or more likely she’s driving a truck or van that she uses to tote the motorcycle around.”

“Really?”

Kendra nodded.

“Okay, curiosity won’t be denied. I’m not letting one more second pass without some explanations. I’m assuming the geographic data came from her speech patterns.”

“Simple linguistics.”

“Not so simple, but go ahead.”

“Central Valley residents have a slight but unmistakable twang. It’s a carryover from the Dust Bowl migrant days. I’d say she’s from north of Bakersfield. She’s picked up a few vowel suppressions that are associated with exposure to Romance languages. It can be acquired from a relative or spouse, but more likely to come from longer-term travels.”

“Very good. But what about the military background? Was she wearing her dog tags?”

“No. When she came at the guy who had me, she had a distinct forward fighting stance. Front knee bent, weight evenly distributed on the balls of her feet. She probably had military training. She’s in great shape, but she’s no kid. There’s a maturity in her movements. She’s at least thirty, but almost surely under forty.”

“How about the motorcycle?”

“Her odor. Or her lack of odor. Anyone riding for any length of time on a warm, sunny day like today should be giving off a distinctive smell … Perspiration evaporated by the sun and wind leaves behind a stale scent. Add automobile exhaust fumes, and it’s a recognizable combo. I didn’t pick up anything like that from her although I recognized the sound of her motorcycle starting up on the street and leaving. She either lives close by or transported the bike here using another vehicle, probably one where she could hide it. That’s why the police weren’t able to find it on any of the roads out of Big Bear.”

Lynch smiled. “Excellent, as usual. This may be better than a composite sketch.”

“I’m not sure about that. It’s as close as I can come. But I’m thankful for her, whoever she is.”

“So am I.”

She turned to see that Lynch was staring intently at her and had moved even closer. Almost unbearably close.

He lowered his voice. “You scared the hell out of me today, you know that? When you called and told me you were going back to that place … I couldn’t get over there fast enough.”

“Not necessary. I’m a careful girl.”

“Not always. One of the most fascinating things about you is that you’ve made mistakes, and you’ve learned from every one. Yet there’s still that streak of recklessness in you that makes me wonder what would happen if we ever came together. I believe it could be … mind shattering.” He moved still nearer. “What do you think?”

She wasn’t thinking at all. She could only stare up at him and feel. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, Lynch. I don’t believe you do either.”

“Maybe. I’m acting purely on impulse. I’ve been doing that all day ever since you called me. But I do know where I’m going. And I know I’ll never get there if you don’t stay alive.” He reached out and took the wineglass from her hand and placed it on a planter at the rooftop’s edge.

“What are you doing? I wasn’t—”

He pulled her close and kissed her.

Hot. Wet. Erotic.

Full-impact. Just like everything else Lynch did.

She went still. Then she realized that she was kissing him, too.

Not enough …