“He had a one-thirty tee time on the north course,” he said.
“Can you tell exactly which hole he’s on right now?”
The door to the pro shop swung open.
“No, but he should be getting—” Dan glanced up, his tan paling. He caught himself, smiled broadly, now looking past Kalyn and Will. “Javier!” he said. “How’d we do today?”
“Seventy-seven.”
Will heard pride and a faint accent in the man’s even voice. Javier Estrada walked up and stood beside Kalyn, decked out in knickers, Payne Stewart–style, the sides of his white-collared shirt darkened with sweat stains. He was fanning himself with a golf cap.
Will wandered away from the counter and Kalyn discreetly followed, hanging on to his arm as if they were just perusing the clubs and golf bags.
“Seventy-seven?” Dan said. “No. I don’t think I believe that.”
“That thing you showed me? The wrist turn thing? You are a beautiful genius.”
“Well, I’m happy for you, Jav. That’s good stuff. Good stuff.”
“I’d have shot seventy-five except for that par five on the back.”
“Fifteen?”
“I four-putted. That green was much slower than the others.”
“You know,” Dan said, leaning forward confidentially, “yours isn’t the first complaint I’ve heard about that green today. Between you and me, one of the groundskeepers overwatered it.”
“Who? Which groundskeeper?”
“Brian.”
“Brian cost me my personal best.”
“We still on for a lesson Monday afternoon?”
“Absolutely. Give me a bucket of balls. I need to straighten out something on my sand wedge before I head home.”
Kalyn pulled her Buick around to the side of the clubhouse so that they had a view of the driving range. The sun was setting, turning the rock formations pink, the fairways gold.
“I have to admit,” Will said, “seeing him here, dressed up like a golfing dandy—it kind of undercuts the badass, Alpha mystique.”
“Your cell on?” Kalyn asked.
“Yeah.”
“Program my number.” She gave it to him. “The moment he starts packing up to leave, call me.” She grabbed her purse, opened the door.
“Where are you going?” She got out, left Will sitting in the hot silence, fifty feet back from the range.
With his smooth, fluid swing, Javier was putting most of his balls on the nearest green. After awhile, he took out his driver, set up a tee. He settled into his stance, stood there shifting his hips, staring down at the ball, nodding his head. He did this for fifteen seconds, then brought the club back and swung. Will heard the impact of the huge titanium club face meeting the ball. Javier followed through, froze, then looked up, watching as the ball arced toward the back of the range.
Sitting there, watching this kidnapping, drug-running murderer, Will felt surprisingly calm. It’s because you don’t really think you’ll go through with what you’re about to do. Javier drove the last ball and slid his driver into the golf bag.
Will opened his cell, called Kalyn. “He’s hoisting his bag onto his shoulder right now.”
“Wait there. I’m coming back to you.”
Will closed the cell, Javier walking toward him now. Will could hear the crunch of his golf spikes on the pavement. Javier passed by his window. Smell of cologne and sweat. He wore RayBan sunglasses, and Will didn’t like not knowing where the man was looking. Glancing in the side mirror, he watched until Javier disappeared around the clubhouse. Then he stared through the windshield, but he couldn’t concentrate, kept watching the side mirror.
Calm down. Calm down. Calm—
Someone knocked on the driver’s side window. He flinched. It was Kalyn. Will unlocked the door and she opened it and climbed in behind the wheel.
“What’d you do?” he asked.
She cranked the engine, shifted into reverse. “You’ll see.”
NINETEEN
The new Escalade slowed as it neared the entrance to the Boulders, right turn signal blinking.
“What’d you do?” Will asked again.
Kalyn cut her eyes at him, grinned wickedly. The Escalade pulled out onto N. Tom Darlington Road. They followed.
“Do me a favor,” Kalyn said. “Reach in my purse and pull out the Glock. You’ve held a gun before, right?”
“Yeah, at Webelos camp about twenty years ago.” Will lifted out a small black semiautomatic handgun. “Loaded?” he asked.
“Yep. Now very gently, pull back on the slide. You see a round?”
He saw the copper-tipped brass casing. “Yeah.”
“You can put it back.” Will looked up through the windshield, saw Javier’s SUV fifty yards ahead, but something was clearly wrong with it, the Escalade drifting toward the shoulder.
“Why’s he swerving?”
Kalyn smiled again.
“Oh God,” he said. “You didn’t.”
After another half mile, Javier pulled over onto the shoulder. The way it dipped forward and to the right, Will could tell the vehicle’s right front tire was flat. Kalyn slowed down, and twenty yards past the front bumper of the Escalade, she veered over onto the shoulder.
She turned off the engine, said, “You ready for this?”
“No.”
“Listen. You just do exactly what I say, and it’ll be fine.” Will looked in the side mirror, saw Javier’s door swing open. “When we come back,” Kalyn said, “I want you to drive. Javier’s gonna be beside you. I’m gonna be in back with the gun.” Kalyn reached into her purse and pulled out the Glock. Will saw Javier squatting down by the deflated tire, sunglasses in one hand, running the palm of his other across the rubber tread.
Kalyn holstered the Glock in a shoulder rig, which was concealed by her jacket.
“There’s no turning back once he’s in the car, Will. You understand that, right?”
Will took a breath, opened the door, and stepped outside.
Traffic was light, and with this stretch of road still five miles outside of Scottsdale, the landscape was predominantly sunlit desert as far as Will could see. He steadied his hands as they approached the Escalade, trying to process everything that had happened in the last two hours, marveling at how fast it had come to this.
Kalyn ran her tongue against the roof of her mouth, moistening it so she could speak. He had to buy it, or they could forget the whole thing. She rubbed her hands against her wool skirt.