The other kids—Peyton Mackie, Lark Sobieski, Noah Holloway, and Cody Grier—were question marks. They’d never been in trouble with the law. There were a couple of medical issues going on with—
“Terry?”
Coates turned. His brother stood at the controls of the speedboat.
“We’re ready to rock.”
“Outstanding,” he said.
Coates prepared to cast off from the dock. As he untied the boat’s mooring lines, his phone beeped with an incoming text.
6 POB.
The message was from Kyle Ritter, driving the limo. Six passengers on board. They were headed to the assembly point.
Coates glanced again across the bay. At the southern tip of San Francisco, barely visible, was Hunters Point Naval Shipyard. Beyond it was the barren scrubland of Candlestick Point, where the speedboat would rendezvous with Autumn’s party.
The boat fired up. The engine sounded like a throaty lion.
Coates hoped the twist he’d designed into Autumn’s scenario wasn’t too far out of bounds. Nothing was dangerous, simply— unpredictable.
Happy Birthday from Red Rattler. That little gift was going to light her up like a roman candle. Set her whole weekend on fire.
He tossed the mooring lines aboard the boat, and his phone rang. He glanced at the display and answered with deliberate, jaunty assurance.
“Mr. Reiniger. Autumn’s group is on the way. I just received confirmation.”
“Good. Keep the rest of the weekend to schedule this tightly and I’ll be pleased,” Reiniger said.
Schedule? Reiniger kept changing it. Edge had scrambled to meet this morning’s last-minute request to pick up the kids, and with a limo, no less. It was lucky they could spare a team member to drive.
“I’m boarding a flight,” Reiniger said. “I’ll be five hours en route, then I’m headed directly to a meeting. But phone me this evening. I want a status update.”
“Will do.”
Coates put a hand over his ear. It was windy, and people were approaching on the dock, laughing, swinging a picnic basket between them.
“Remember,” Reiniger said, “Autumn may act assertive, but inside she’s scared. If she tries to hide from her fears, make her hold her ground. Don’t let her retreat.”
“So she defeats the Bad Cowboy and crosses the Rubicon.”
“And be sure her boyfriend comes off in a good light.”
Reiniger ended the call. Coates stared at the phone, feeling vaguely uneasy. His brother said, “Terry?”
He looked up. The man and woman carrying the picnic basket had stopped beside the speedboat. They were wearing floppy hats and sunglasses. They had semiautomatic pistols in their hands.
Coates reached automatically to his hip for the Oakland PD service weapon he no longer carried.
“Don’t.” The man raised his pistol and centered it on Coates’s chest. “Hands behind your head.”
The limo pulled off the freeway into a sketchy industrial area of warehouses and machine shops. Autumn saw cracked asphalt, rusting cars, trash, men in dirty clothes. They passed a vast parking depot for empty big rigs: truck after truck after truck.
“So not five-star,” she said.
Kyle glanced in the rearview mirror. “This ain’t the destination.”
His voice twanged around the limo. It had an unpleasant echo. I’m driving, and that’s that. Peyton took another swig of champagne. Grier turned up the stereo. Sinatra, “Come Fly with Me”— he was taking the Rat Pack theme to extremes.
Autumn knew the contours of the game. Terry Coates had outlined it and sent her forms to fill out, on everything from medical conditions to nut allergies. She’d had to sign on every dotted line. She hadn’t been told that adulthood would involve so much paperwork. She didn’t like it.
But she did like the crime spree scenario: She was the head of an international criminal enterprise that trafficked in pleasure. She was on the run after breaking out of prison. Running with her were Lark, her enforcer; Grier, her consigliere; and Dustin, her deputy and prime piece of beef. They would attempt to escape Peyton and Noah, the federal agents hunting her down.
And she wasn’t just going to escape from federal custody. She was going to take down the enemies who had betrayed her and sent her to prison. She was going to destroy their centers of power, rob them blind, and collect booty. Loot, swag, pillage. Because it was her birthday.
She felt nervous and excited and—hungry. She couldn’t wait to get going.
But she didn’t know why the scenario had to start in such a dismal neighborhood. The Hummer sped by a huge parking lot, a sloping black prairie of asphalt, and she saw stadium lights. Candlestick Park came into view. It was a grimy concrete Frisbee plastered with billboards for the ’49ers. An endless line of aqua blue Porta-Potties bordered the whole empty, sagging affair.
Then Autumn spotted golden fields dotted with stubby pines and caught the sparkle of sunlight off the bay. Kyle swung the Hummer through a gate. He gunned it through a long, empty parking lot and stopped sideways across four slots. The engine coughed and hacked until he shut it down.
He turned. “Okay, kiddies. We’re here. Sack up.”
Dustin squinted against the sunlight. “This is Candlestick Point?”
Kyle got out, opened the passenger door, and beckoned the group out. Noah held out his hand for Lark. She shook her head. “Opposite teams, Noah. I let you grab my hand, next thing you’re slapping a pair of cuffs on me.”
“You take that risk.” Smiling, he gripped her hand and got out.
Peyton followed, tugging Grier along. “Hey, I’m a U.S. Marshal. If anybody plays with handcuffs, it’ll be me.” She tucked a finger under Grier’s belt. “And I’m talking to you.”
Grier popped the collar of his shirt. “You won’t get me. I pay people off. That’s my job. If I can’t, I run.”
Kyle looked like he was trying to keep a straight face. “If you like shackling prisoners, Miss Mackie, shouldn’t you be wearing a police uniform?”
She smiled, patently coy. “You like handcuffs?”
He smirked and poked up the brim of his cap. “Knots are more my style.”
Autumn pushed Peyton forward and climbed out. “Move, Mackie.” Before you start doing a pole dance.
Candlestick Point State Recreation Area was virtually deserted. The grass was unmown. The trees were gnarled by the wind. On the sand at the water’s edge, a man was performing tai chi. In the distance an elderly couple ambled along, pushing a baby stroller that held their tiny white poodle.
Past the glittering water, on a spit of land that protruded into the bay, giant loading gantries and cranes stood idle at the abandoned Hunters Point Naval Shipyard. On the bay, a container ship steamed toward Oakland, its wake as white and frothy as cake icing. The wind battered Autumn’s hair away from her face. She pulled on a Marine Corps utility cap and smoothed down her gold cashmere sweater.
She inhaled the strong sea air and shivered. All at once she felt great.
Dustin came up behind her and nuzzled her neck. “Last kiss before battle?”