The Shadow Hunter

that’s where Abby is,” Hickle breathed.
    “Or where she will be, eventually. She lives in a condo tower called the Wilshire Royal.” Travis gave the cross street and the address. “Her unit is ten-fifteen. It’s at the front of the building, fourth window from the right, facing Wilshire.”
    “How do I get inside?”
    “You don’t.”
    Travis explained in detail. Hickle listened, nodding now and then to signal either agreement or understanding.
    “Got it?” Travis asked when he was through.
    “I got it. Now how about Kris?”
    “I told you, she’ll come later.”
    “When?”
    “I’ll be in touch. Once you’ve nailed Abby, hole up somewhere safe. Get access to your e-mail account at a library or someplace and log on once a day. I’ll contact you as soon as I can. Trust me.”
    “I’m still not sure I should.”
    “But you have to. Right now, Raymond, I’m the only friend you’ve got.”
    Hickle gave him a cool, perceptive stare. “I bet Kris and Abby think you’re their friend too. Don’t they?”
    Travis didn’t answer.

40
    The Emergency Department at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center had been recently renovated and expanded, and to Abby it felt more like a hotel than a hospital. Then again, at a hotel she would not have been sitting on a wheeled mechanical bed that doubled as an examination table, reading a poster about flu season while holding an ice pack to her head.
    Wyatt had dropped her off at the entrance. She’d declined his offer to accompany her inside, knowing that it was best for both of them if they weren’t seen together. The nurse at the semicircular admitting desk had listened to Abby’s story of a blow to the head delivered by a racquetball partner’s errant swing. If the nurse wondered why anybody would be playing racquetball at midnight, or where the partner had gone, or why Abby wasn’t wearing workout clothes, she didn’t ask. Obviously she assumed the story was a lie, and that Abby’s boyfriend or husband had struck her.
    The ER was not excessively crowded, even on a Friday night. It didn’t take long for a physician to perform an initial baseline evaluation, which included an eye exam and tests of her reflexes, as well as gentle probing of the goose egg on her head. “Any vomiting?” he asked. “Amnesia? Drowsiness? Headache?”
    She answered no, yes, no, yes but it was getting better.
    He gave her a nonaspirin painkiller and an ice pack. His diagnosis was an uncomplicated concussion, full recovery anticipated. He wanted her held overnight for observation. She could sleep, but a nurse would wake her periodically to monitor her alertness. She would be moved out of the ER shortly. “Meanwhile, relax,” he said, adding that someone else would drop by to check on her before she was moved upstairs. A domestic violence counselor, Abby figured.
    Now she waited restlessly, shifting on the bed and swinging her legs. Really, she wasn’t sleepy at all. There was too much adrenaline roaring through her system after her near-death experience. And there was fear. Travis still hadn’t called.
    Gazing around the room, she saw what resembled a TV hovering at the end of a mechanical arm alongside the bed. Closer inspection established that it really was a TV—a color TV, in fact. She wondered if it got cable. “Next vacation,” she decided, “I’m booking a room here.”
    She was debating whether or not to turn on the TV and search for a news update when her purse began to chirp. It took her a moment to understand that a call was coming in on her cell phone. Fumbling one-handed with the purse, she got out the phone and answered the call on the fifth ring. “Yes?” she gasped, praying to hear Travis’s voice.
    “Abby—it’s me.”
    A knot of tension unraveled in her gut, and she let herself breathe deeply for the first time in more than an hour. “Paul. Are you okay?”
    “Just fine. You?”
    “Never better,” she lied. “What happened in Malibu? How’s Kris?”
    “Not a scratch on her. We had a close call, though.”
    “On the phone I heard gunshots.”
    “Yes, our friend mounted an assault with his shotgun. Fortunately we were riding in a shielded car from the TPS fleet.Even so, he found a weak spot in the armor. The driver suffered superficial wounds, but he’ll be all right.”
    “And you?” She knew she had asked him already, but she needed to hear his answer again.
    Travis chuckled. “The only damage was to my pride. I got wet. Soaked