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He kept his eye on a brewing altercation at one of the nearby tables. “People can reveal things without realizing it. And I’m familiar with the tedious process of applying for guardianship. I had to do it with my gran.” He made a wry face. “She’s never fully forgiven me. Margaret can carry a grudge with the best of them.”
“It’s called conservatorship in California.”
An admission. His conclusions must be close. “How old is your brother?”
A pause stretched, long enough for him to believe she wasn’t going to answer. Finally, she replied, “Thirty-seven.”
He didn’t allow his surprise to show in his expression. An adult dependent, then. The trust likely assisted with his expenses.
“Gran is a ‘vigorous’ ninety. Her words. She still lives at home, although I’ve arranged for care providers daily. She also drives, which I’m trying to talk her out of, but she sees it as vital to her independence, even if one of the providers could take her to yoga, bingo, and margarita nights. The state of Georgia will likely take that decision away from both of us. Her eyesight and memory are failing. I stepped in to protect the assets she still had.” The memory darkened his mood, and deliberately he built another fajita.
“You were worried about her spending?”
The question was unwelcome, but no more invasive than a protective detail Reese didn’t want. “My sister was staying with her to help. Her assistance coincided with several large withdrawals from Gran’s accounts and the disappearance of some valuable possessions. I stepped in before Eden completely bankrupted her. She will also never forgive me.” That bothered him far less than Margaret’s anger. His sister’s indignation would dissolve the next time she was broke, or needed bail money, whichever came first.
“Did she try to contest your guardianship?”
“Not through the courts.” Her rap sheet wouldn’t have aided her claim of responsibility. Emotional blackmail was more her style.
“Sounds like your grandmother is lucky to have you.”
His mouth twisted when he imagined Gran’s response to that. “Who do you think is contesting your petition?”
A dollop of sour cream dropped from her quesadilla. She reached up a finger to catch it midfall. Wiped it on her napkin. “The attorney won’t be certain until he sees the paperwork, but he suggested maybe the trustee, Ben’s doctor, or a friend. I don’t have any close relatives in the country. A couple of cousins who’ve spent their lives overseas. I haven’t seen them since my parents’ funeral when I was a teen.” Her expression went stormy. “If it’s Rivers, I missed my opportunity to take it up with him earlier. Although the trust’s parameters requires the trustee and conservator to approve expenditures jointly. A checks and balances sort of thing.”
She took another bite of her food. Chewed reflectively. “So maybe not the attorney. Although he did question whether I really wanted the responsibility. I wouldn’t expect deception from the guy, though. Slap a white beard and red suit on him, and he’d make the perfect store Santa. But maybe he thinks he’ll have more freedom without someone with a vested interest questioning his judgment.”
“It’d be a crapshoot, though, wouldn’t it? The court would approve an interim guardian—conservator,” he corrected himself. “If no relatives are available, or if two are battling it out, the judge often turns to the Department of Social Services. They probably already have.”
Reese gave a slight nod. “There’s someone from the department currently filling in since Julia’s death until my application is approved. I think my aunt’s erratic work schedule offered Rivers wide latitude when she served in that role. It sounded like she’d increased her involvement significantly at the end. Maybe he didn’t appreciate that and found the replacement more inclined to rubber-stamp his decisions.”
A passing car slowed far more than necessary as it went by, the lone occupant rubbernecking the diners. The red Ford Fusion bore two rusted-out wheel wells on the driver’s side, alarge dent on the passenger’s door, and a sagging rear bumper. One of the earliest models, Hayes guessed. The man behind the wheel had the jittery mannerisms of someone propelled by nerves. Or an addict in need of his next fix.
The waiter stopped by their table. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“The check and a take-out container.”
Hayes eyed Reese’s plate. She’d managed only two of the pieces, leaving most of the meal intact. “I can cover the bill.”
“You’re here on Raiker’s dime, correct? And although I wouldn’t mind sticking him with the cost for inflicting an unwanted babysitter on me, he’s taken an incomprehensible personal interest. While I’m not exactly grateful for that…” Her voice tapered off and she looked away. “I didn’t know Thorne had escaped. Would the police even have notified me? I didn’t realize he’d been close, maybe watching me until Raiker stopped by today.”
“Adam has been communicating with the task force since Thorne escaped from the maximum security psychiatric hospital. The San Bernadino Sheriff’s Office called in USMS. The marshals are the federal government’s primary agency for fugitive apprehension. We spoke to SB Deputy Mendes. Adam was the one who realized one of those camera shots of Thorne put the man near your building, though. He offered to facilitate the contact with you.” From the corner of his eye, he tracked the red car that had reappeared at the corner, approaching from the opposite direction this time. Abruptly, he stood. “We have to go.”
“What? Why?”
The waiter placed a white Styrofoam container on the table, but Hayes took the check holder from him, opened it, and put a couple of bills inside before handing it back. “Leave the food.”
Miraculously, she grabbed her bag without protest and rose, keeping pace with him as they headed back toward the parkinglot. He took the street side, looking for the Fusion. It was at the corner and appeared ready to turn a block before their destination. Hayes purposefully readjusted his stride and slowed Reese’s with a touch to her arm. The light turned, and so did the driver. “Okay, let’s move.”
“Do you think that red car followed us to the Gaslamp Quarter?”
“No.” They hadn’t acquired a tail on the way here. He’d been careful. Although a rolling surveillance involving multiple cars and drivers was more difficult to detect, that didn’t seem like something Thorne could coordinate. He didn’t even have a driver’s license, although that hadn’t stopped him from stealing vehicles while on his murderous spree along the eastern and southeastern seaboard.
They reached the lot with the same ancient attendant. Hayes stopped and let the pack slide down his arm, unzipping it and withdrawing the laptop. Opening it, he went through the same security protocols he’d run earlier. When he’d deemed it safe, he returned it to her, loaded up the backpack, placed it in the SUV, and retrieved his weapon. “Let’s go.”
Reese peered into her side mirror and watched in silence for several blocks before releasing a breath and relaxing into her seat. “False alarm, thankfully.”
“He’s behind us. Two blocks. In back of the navy Suburban.”