Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

map appeared on the screen. After a few fumbles he managed to attach a portable printer to the computer. He printed out the map, studied it, and checked his watch. Assuming anyone was home, he’d have to allow at least an hour for the round trip and interview.
    He’d be late for dinner with Kennedy.
    Sizemore left a message for Kennedy at the desk and headed out.He only got lost twice on the way to K. J. Chandler’s house. Phoenix was growing so fast that maps were out-of-date before they were even printed. L.A. had been like that once, but no more. The state taxed everything that moved, and if it didn’t move the state taxed it twice as much.
    The more Sizemore saw of Phoenix the more he liked it.
    By seven o’clock he was driving down a suburban street lined on both sides by that rarity in Phoenix—thirty-year-old houses. Unlike older homes in L.A., the landscaping on these hadn’t overwhelmed the yards. One hundred and sixteen degrees in the summer was a real effective way to shut down plant growth.
    Reverting to old training, Sizemore didn’t stop at the address. He simply drove by it, looking at other house numbers as though he hadn’t yet found his destination.
    Without seeming to, he got a good look at the Chandler house. The first thing he noticed was a sign right in the front yard telling the world that this place was protected. At least he didn’t have to get out and examine the doors and windows to be certain that they were wired to an alarm system. Not that it really mattered. Nothing kept out real pros. The best you could do was slow them down.
    None of the other houses he’d passed had anything more than faded NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH signs on every block.
    “Interesting,” Sizemore said to himself. “Wonder what she’s hiding? Or maybe Chandler is the kind of female who hears about a rapist on the evening news and is sure he’s coming to her window next even though the rapist is working a county fifty miles away.” He shook his head. “Women. I’ll never understand them.”
    Sizemore turned right, went over a few blocks, and came back at the address from a different direction. The exterior of the house had told him that Ms. Chandler wasn’t going to be as quick to cooperate as the hotel manager. He wouldn’t try knocking on the door except as the last resort before a black-bag job.
    Halfway up the block from the house, with the residence behind him, he parked and watched the house in the rearview mirror. Hedebated the risks of using the ceremonial badge he’d been presented with at his retirement. Representing himself as an FBI agent could get him in a world of hurt—but only if he was caught.
    Another car turned onto the street. American make. A few years old. Basic model.
    It fairly screamed government issue.
    The car stopped in front of the Chandler place. Sizemore watched Sam Groves get out and go to the door. No doubt about the identity, even in failing light. Groves had a my-balls-clang way of moving that irritated the hell out of Sizemore.
    Two seconds later Sam was inside the house.
    Bingo.
    Sizemore drove off, planning the ways he would search various official and unofficial records for K. J. Chandler.
    But first he’d take the time to rub his smart-ass daughter’s nose in the fact that he’d found out about the CI while she was putting on makeup to go out with that shitheel Peyton.

Chapter 46
    Glendale
    Friday
    8:00 P.M .
    As soon as Kate shut the door behind Sam, she automatically began locking up. He watched her with brooding eyes and an intensity that would have made her nervous if she’d been looking at him.
    He was sure looking at her. He noticed everything about her. She was wearing an emerald-green bathrobe. Her feet were bare, her hair loose. She smelled of something that was almost lemon, almost spice. He saw every nick and scrape on her hands from the parking lot, saw the faint bruise along her cheekbone, and the scratch along the vulnerable line of her neck. In the space of a breath he felt again the rage that had shaken him when he realized she was seconds away from being killed.
    “You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “Maybe you should see a doctor.”
    She turned and leaned against the door, wishing she’d worn heavy sweats instead of the slippery robe that revealed too much skin. But she was damned if she would pull the neckline higher and the hemline lower, fidgeting over her clothes like a girl on her first date.
    Besides, Sam looked tired,