Blinding flashes of red and blue lights shredded the night’s darkness. Several police cars were parked at odd angles across the highway, blocking the two lanes that led up to Santa Reina.
A bumper-to-bumper stream of cars and trucks filled the other two lanes, inching down the hill toward San Diego. Impatient drivers honked. People were everywhere, on foot and leaning from open car windows, yelling. Distant sirens wailed.
The whole bizarre scene was like something out of a low-budget disaster movie.
Flanked by his sons, Max stood on the pavement. The noise pounded in his chest. He shouted again to a policeman in a neon-lime vest. “My family is up there!”
“Sir, I repeat.” Though he stood only two feet away, the officer had to shout as well. “No one is allowed through except emergency personnel. Santa Reina is being evacuated.”
“I’m not going to Santa Reina! I’m going south at Estudillo Corners. I’m going home! My wife is there!”
The officer shook his head and waved at a motorist to keep moving.
Max swore. They’d gotten nowhere near to where he’d hoped. The roadblock had stopped them too soon.
“Dad.” Danny pulled at Max’s arm until he lowered the cell phone he didn’t realize he’d put to his ear again. “It won’t work.”
“Maybe they’re close enough now.”
“Then they’d call us. Lexi would call me first thing.”
He cursed once more. Yes, Lexi would call Danny. The twins’ abil-ity to communicate was so eerie, she might not even need a phone.
Erik riffled through his wallet, muttering to himself. He moved toward the policeman.
Max and Danny followed.
“Officer, I’m with the press. I can’t find my card, but here’s my driver’s license—”
“You’re that guy from TV.”
“Yeah. Erik Beaumont. Can I get through? My cameraman is up there somewhere. I need to . . .” His voice trailed off.
Max held his breath. Gone was the confident, charming TV personality. Danny had told him how Erik froze up on the air earlier as he listened to the reporter relay news of the evacuation.
“Sure, Mr. Beaumont,” the officer said. “There’s a command center about three miles up the road. There’s an area for the press. Where’s your car?”
Erik pointed to Max’s black BMW parked on the shoulder.
“Give us a minute to clear a path for you.” The policeman glanced toward Max and Danny. “News guy only.”
Erik inhaled sharply. “My mom’s up there, my sister, my grandparents. They’re in a house southeast of town. The property backs up to Vallecitos Canyon.” He paused. “This is my dad and my brother.”
The man gazed at Erik for a long moment. Then he gave a short nod.
They strode to the car. Danny said he would drive and opened the back door for Max.
He hesitated, but Danny was already in the driver’s seat, and Erik got into the passenger side, no doubt up front to smooth the way with his television face. Max climbed in the back and slammed the door shut.
It hit him then, a sudden realization that he’d been demoted to old man whose sons had to protect him.
“Erik,” he growled. “What exactly did you hear from your reporter when you were on the air?”
Danny and Erik exchanged a look, unreadable in the dark. Still, Max caught its meaning. He and Claire did the same thing behind his father’s back.
“Tell me what you know. What did he say that made you freeze?”
Erik didn’t respond immediately. “It was a she. Mindy. She and Greg were on the scene.” He referred to the cameraman. “Down near El Marino.”
“And?”
“And . . .” He looked over his shoulder at Max. “She said they were evacuating Santa Reina because Vallecitos Canyon and the Kuphaalls north of it were burning.”
In his mind’s eye, Max saw the layout of canyons and mountain ranges and the Hacienda Hideaway. His throat closed.
“And she said that was not for on-air disclosure, because there were a handful of residents in the area who’d had absolutely no warning.” Erik turned back toward the front. “Which explains why I froze up. Putz.”