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CHAPTER TEN

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

FRIDAY, MARCH 17, 2023

7:00 A.M.

Cami had flown into L.A. early on Monday morning with an appointment scheduled for that afternoon and three each on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday. Thursday she had devoted entirely to the Dozo dinner. But on Friday afternoon, by the time the last appointment ended, her tail feathers were dragging due to lack of sleep, and she was looking forward to the next day’s midmorning flight that would have her back home in Cornville by early Saturday afternoon.

On the way to her first appointment in Pasadena that morning, Cami’s boyfriend, Mateo Vega, had called as she made her way through crawling traffic on the 110.

“How was the dinner?” he asked.

Mateo was the only person with whom Cami had shared both her qualms and her hopes for the meeting with Dozo. Pulling those accounts into High Noon’s cybersecurity fold would mean a huge win for High Noon’s reputation, to say nothing of its bottom line.

“It was great,” she answered. “I’ve already sent them a request for the information necessary to give them an official proposal. I think we’re going to sign them.”

“Congrats,” Mateo said, “but why didn’t you call me once it was over?”

Cami flushed. “We didn’t break up until after eleven, and I knew you had to be at work early today. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” Mateo said. “You’re welcome to wake me up anytime.”

Mateo had come to work for High Noon after languishing in a Washington state prison for years for a crime he hadn’t committed. Not only had Ali and B. given him a job, they had been instrumental in having his conviction overturned and his record expunged. He and Lance Tucker often joked about being High Noon’s resident jailbirds.

Cami’s position at High Noon had already been well established when Mateo came on board, but he had worked there for several years now, living in a small bungalow in Cottonwood that he shared with his widowed mother, Olivia.

Mateo was five years older than Cami. He’d been in prison the whole time she was in college and while she was starting out at High Noon. In terms of romantic entanglements, however, they were both relative newbies. When Mateo began showing up at Cami’s Krav Maga sessions at a gym near work, she had mistakenly assumed he was interested in Krav Maga. In actual fact, he’d been far more interested in her than Krav Maga, but once she realized she shared those same feelings, the gym had functioned as cover for their blossoming but work-related romance.

They had managed to keep their relationship a secret for several months, but recently it had come to light. It turns out their gym hideaway was located in the same strip mall as the hair and nail salon frequented by fellow High Noon employee Shirley Malone. After noticing Cami’s and Mateo’s vehicles parked side by side at the gym parking lot on several occasions, Shirley had come to work and blown the whistle on them. The revelation had engendered all kinds of teasing, but the first time the two lovebirds had publicly acknowledged their relationship had been at the company’s Valentine’s Day potluck a few weeks earlier. At the event, instead of showing up with her usual Chinese fare, Cami had delivered a tray of homemade tamales that she had prepared under Olivia Vega’s patient tutelage.

Even though everyone at work now knew they were in a relationship, Cami’s parents remained in the dark. They were both Chinese and proud of it. They were also both tenured university professors. They had never approved of their daughter’s leaving California in favor of going to a small town in Arizona of all places, nor did they like the idea of her being totally preoccupied with her work. Cami had no doubt that her parents would both go ballistic when they learned that not only was her boyfriend Hispanic, he was also an ex-con.

“How are things in the lab?” she asked. “And how did it feel to be running the show?”

Stu Ramey, B.’s second-in-command, was usually in charge of the lab, but he was currently off on leave, looking after his Aunt Julia who had suffered a catastrophic stroke and was currently in a brick-and-mortar hospice facility in Payson. With B., Lance, and Cami all out of town, Mateo had been left at High Noon’s helm for the first time ever.

“All right,” Mateo said. “There was an attempted breach in the UK last night, but with Oscar’s help, we were able to stomp it out in short order.”

Oscar was the name of the company’s new High Noon–specific AI. For years, whenever the services of an AI had been required, the company had relied on Stu Ramey’s Frigg. Now that the company had an AI of its own, they used Oscar exclusively for High Noon–related purposes. Those that were of a more dubious nature—gaining unauthorized access to homicide investigations, for example—went through Frigg. Oscar was definitely a white hat. Frigg was more or less a gray hat rather than a black or white one.

“Good work,” Cami said.

“But you probably haven’t heard about what’s going on with Stu.”

“Tell me,” Cami said.

Mateo briefly brought her up-to-date about Aunt Julia’s death.

“Poor Stu,” Cami said. “How’s he coping?”

“Not that well. Ali’s driving over to Payson to give him a hand. But what’s the rest of your day like?” Mateo wondered.

“Two more appointments after this first one. Then I’m going to go back to the hotel, have a quiet dinner, do a workout in the fitness center, and hit the hay early. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“What time do you fly in tomorrow?”

“If I can make that first shuttle from Sky Harbor, I should be home in Cornville by one thirty or two. But I’ve just now arrived at my destination and am pulling into the parking lot.”

“Okay, then,” Mateo said. “I’ll let you go. Have a good one.”

The appointments had all gone well, but Cami was grateful to head back to the hotel reasonably early. The previous night, in an effort to be a good hostess, Cami had eaten far more rich food at the dinner than she usually consumed. That had probably contributed to her difficulty in falling asleep. It also meant that she hadn’t felt hungry all day long and hadn’t bothered to eat.

It wasn’t until evening when she was back at the Lancaster that she suddenly realized she was famished. After going up to her room and dropping off her stuff, she went down to the hotel dining room. It was certainly nice enough, but not nearly as posh as the conference room extravaganza she and Chef Robert had created in honor of the Dozo dinner.

Cami had barely sat down and was beginning to peruse the menu when Chef Robert himself appeared at her table. “How’d we do?” he asked.

“Terrific,” she answered. “The guy who mattered loved every morsel. Meantime, the guys who didn’t matter, the ones who were just along for the ride, griped about everything—in Japanese, of course. They’d be mortified if they knew I heard every derogatory comment.”

“You speak Japanese?” Chef Robert asked.

“I certainly do,” Cami replied with a smile, “along with French, Chinese, German, and now, thanks to my boyfriend and his mother, a smattering of Spanish.”

Unlike Cami’s parents, Olivia Vega wasn’t at all opposed to Cami and Mateo’s burgeoning romance.

Chef Robert laughed aloud at that. “So what is our lady’s dining pleasure this evening?” he asked, changing the subject. “And what language will she be using?”

“I’ll be using American English,” Cami replied, “and even though it’s not on the dinner menu, I’d really appreciate having a grilled cheese sandwich accompanied by a Caesar salad.”

“You’ve got it,” Chef Robert said. “And what to drink?”

“Plain water,” she answered.

“All right, then,” Chef Robert said. “Coming right up, and your dinner tonight is on the house.”

Except for the waitstaff, the dining room had been totally empty when Cami arrived, but shortly after Robert returned to his kitchen, a couple entered. The man, middle-aged and stocky, was accompanied by a much younger woman with long black hair. She was movie-star gorgeous but didn’t seem at all happy. As the hostess escorted them to their table, Cami noticed that the man was studying her. Instantly she was on full alert.

Years earlier, she had been kidnapped and held captive by the disgruntled tenant of one of High Noon’s business park offices. She had managed to escape, but only by propelling herself out of the back of a moving vehicle. Physically, Cami had come away from that near-death experience with a broken leg and plenty of scrapes and bruises, as well as a profound sense of situational awareness. On this trip in particular, her danger warning lights had been flashing relentlessly.

During her stay in L.A., especially while driving to appointments, she’d felt as though she was being watched. She hadn’t spotted anyone actually tailing her, but even taking evasive maneuvers hadn’t reduced her growing sense of unease. Back at the hotel, once the valet had delivered her rental car to the parking garage, she had gone so far as to don a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt so she could clamber under the vehicle, a Honda Pilot, to see if she could spot a GPS tracker of some kind. Her careful search had come up empty.

As soon as the couple entered the dining room, Cami was once again on needles and pins. When seated in restaurants, she made it a point to position herself with her back to a wall while facing the entrance, allowing her to keep track of everyone coming and going. That’s how she had spotted the couple in the first place, but with the man now seated with his back to her, she was able to study him from behind. The suit he wore was expensive and had obviously been made to order, since it fit his massive shoulders perfectly. Nonetheless, as he sat down, she caught the telltale bulge that told her there was a concealed weapon under that well-tailored jacket.

The presence of a concealed weapon raised her concern level to a new high and made her study him in even greater detail. He had a natural belligerence about him. He wasn’t particularly tall—five ten or so—but powerfully built. He had a full head of hair—straight and black with no hint of gray. At his age, that probably meant his hair color was a dye job. His swarthy complexion and blunt facial features suggested he might be of Eastern European descent rather than Hispanic.

When the server came to take the couple’s order, she addressed the young woman, asking what she wanted, but the man answered her inquiry, ordering for both of them. When their food came, the man downed his with gusto, while the young woman merely picked at hers. The idle chitchat that passed between them during their meal was done in a language Cami didn’t recognize.

As for Cami’s own meal? She forced herself to choke it down, all the while trying to convince herself that she was letting her imagination get the best of her. After all, other than that first glance in her direction, the man had shown no further interest in her. By the time her sandwich and salad were half gone, Cami had more or less succeeded in convincing herself that she’d made the whole thing up. With that, she signed the ticket for her dinner to her room and headed upstairs.

When Cami was on the road and wanting to stay in shape, she usually made use of hotel fitness facilities. Up in her room, she decided that she wasn’t going to let the guy in the dining room keep her from doing her customary workout. With that in mind, a little after eight and wearing a track suit, Cami made her way down to the Lancaster’s second-floor fitness center, one Cami especially liked. The angled mirrors hung on the walls just under the dropped ceiling, making it possible for her to be facing forward and jogging on a treadmill, while still keeping the entire room in clear view.

In public gyms, Cami preferred using the treadmill nearest the entrance. Tonight, however, that one was already occupied by a gray-haired, somewhat overweight woman trudging along with the grim determination of someone on a death march. Otherwise the room was empty, and Cami settled for the next treadmill over. She was going through her warm-up routine when the woman noticed she was there.

“I’m getting my ten,” she announced. “My ten thousand steps, that is. My name’s Grace. What’s yours?”

Cami often visited hotel fitness centers during dinnertime so she could have them to herself. Not tonight.

“Camille Lee,” she answered, “but people usually call me Cami.”

“Are you from around here?” Grace asked.

Cami was from California originally, but her answer to the question clarified for her that things had changed. “I’m from Arizona,” she said. “Sedona.”

“That’s the place with all the red rocks, isn’t it?” Grace asked.

Cami smiled. “It certainly is.”

She stepped onto her treadmill, but instead of turning it up to her usual jogging pace, she set it much lower, staying in sync with her neighbor.

“I always wanted to go to Arizona,” Grace continued, “but Hank wasn’t big on travel.”

“Hank?” Cami asked.

“My husband,” Grace replied. “My late husband, that is,” she corrected. “He always told me there’d be plenty of time for us to travel once he stopped working. Except he was wrong about that because he never stopped working. He had a massive stroke and died right there at his desk, the SOB.”

Cami had been about to express her condolences, but she stifled the words.

“The ME brought me his personal effects,” Grace went on, “including his cell phone, which was in his pocket when he croaked out. He’d always been very private about that phone. I didn’t know his password, of course, but I tried his birthday, and I was right. That’s when I discovered that he’d been screwing around on me for years with one woman after another. He never wanted to travel with me, but he sure as hell liked to travel with all his lady friends. Business trips, my ass!”

Obviously Grace wasn’t someone who minced her words. During the pause that followed, Cami struggled to find an appropriate comment, but Grace soon picked up her story again.

“He was always griping about my putting on weight, so after he died, I started working out, just to spite him. I’ve lost thirty pounds so far by eating right and exercising, but I’m traveling, too. I board a cruise ship tomorrow afternoon in San Pedro for a round-the-world cruise, first class all the way. I’ll be on board for eighty-nine days total in my own private cabin. That’s the first thing I bought when his group insurance paid off—my cruise ticket.”

Cami stopped listening right then because, at that moment, the door to the fitness center opened, and the man from the dining room, alone this time, stepped inside.