Pike let Cole move farther away. The farther Cole moved, the quieter it became, and quiet was good.

Pike listened for almost a minute before he heard a pebble dance through the trees on the slope somewhere in front of him. A soft cough followed the pebble.

Pike eased between the trees, and found Vincent in the rocks behind two dying walnut trees less than twenty yards from the road. Pike thought he was dead, but Vincent moved, then slowly struggled to his feet. Vincent was thin, but built strong, with a lean face and pockmarks and circles under his eyes. He didn’t look crazy, but what kind of person tortures and kills for lunatic drug traffickers?

Pike saw that Vincent was holding a gun, but waited to see what he would do. The man had a chest wound, but it was low and to the side. Pike had seen men fight on and win with their bodies turned inside out.

Then Vincent saw him, and his eyes sharpened like a couple of tacks.

“Look at this, boys. We got him.”

Pike wondered who he was talking to.

“You Pike?”

Pike nodded.

“Wasn’t you shot me. That other guy. You wanna call me an ambulance?”

“No.”

“No? I’m bleedin’ here, man. Get me some help.”

Pike shook his head.

Vincent stared for a moment. He hadn’t wanted the ambulance, and would have left before it arrived. He had hoped to catch Pike reaching for his phone or making the call. He wanted the edge.

Vincent said, “You never answered my question.”

“What question was that?”

“Down south. You think we faced off before?”

“No.”

“How you know that for sure?”

“You’d be dead.”

“That’s funny. The boys told me the same thing about you.”

Pike said, “Who are you talking about?”

Vincent brought up his gun. Vincent was fast, but didn’t quite make it.

Pike shot him three times in the chest, a tight little group the size of a clover. Pike walked over, picked up his gun, then shouted for Cole.

“He’s down. Higher than you, twenty yards in from the road.”

Pike searched the body before putting away his .357.

Cole called from below.

“You good?”

“Good. I’m going to Dru.”

Dru. Pike said her real name, quietly and to himself.

“Rose.”

Pike jogged back across Mulholland, and found Rose Platt squatting beside Rainey. He tried to understand what he felt about her, but he mostly felt nothing.

Rose stood when she saw him, and Pike slowed to a walk. She still had the eyes. Smart, and complicated, and completely alive. Maybe that’s what drew him to her. The life in her eyes.

She said, “He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

Rose picked up Rainey’s pistol, stepped over his body, and opened the Prius.

“Rose.”

She smiled, the smart eyes glittering.

“You’re not going to do anything.”

Pike stopped, hoping she wouldn’t push it.

“Put down the gun.”

“I can’t give up that kind of money. I lived like a rat for that money. Don’t you see? It’s mine.”

“Three hundred thousand isn’t that much.”

She cocked her head, and something played in her eyes that left them angry.

“If only you knew.”

She turned back for the car, and Pike started toward her.

“Rose.”

Her gun came up, and Pike went for his weapon, but two shots snapped past him even before his gun cleared its holster.

Pike saw the bullets hit her, how her shirt puckered and rippled. He saw her eyes flutter, and her mouth open as if she didn’t know what had happened. She reached up to touch something that wasn’t there, then fell.

Pike did not go to her. He turned and saw Elvis Cole, still holding his gun. Pike saw the tears spill down Cole’s face. Pike watched his friend cry, and neither of them moved.