Cait parked the Jeep down a dirt track so she could see where Christy Mossman’s driveway met Sandario Road.
She turned to Jack. “Now we wait.”
He sampled his fast-food coffee. Tossed the liquid out the window. “Like motor oil.”
Cait sniffed at the contents of a paper bag. “It’s stakeout fare, not fine dining.”
“True dat.”
She cracked her window a few inches. The nighttime cold had retreated but the desert remained in winter stasis. The willows and palo verde trees looked barren and lifeless.
They both snapped alert at the sound of a vehicle speeding down the Mossman driveway. It was Christy Mossman. She paused before turning north on Sandario Road.
“She’s got her SUV back. So where’s Fleming?” Cait turned the ignition key. She gave Mossman a head start before following the woman, who turned onto Half Mile Road and headed for Tucson.
Cait kept the sport utility in sight on the sinuous route through Tucson Mountain Park and along Speedway Boulevard. At the I-10 onramp, Mossman got on the freeway and exited at Ina Road, which she took to the Tohono Chul Gardens near Oracle Road.
Cait pulled into the parking lot as their quarry left her big SUV and headed for the entrance. They followed as Mossman, clad in a frilly top, shorts and sequined sandals, strolled into a restaurant on the garden grounds. Cait and Jack entered after a safe interval.
Mossman was seated at a table in the center of a large open-air patio. They sat on a bench near the entry, pretending to study the menu. Cait looked around for any sign of Rod Stone.
Instead of grabbing a table, the pair drifted along the patio perimeter, examining artwork for sale and keeping an eye on the woman. She drank wine, gobbled a salad and Mexican combo plate and texted on her phone. Finally she paid her bill and headed out.
Mossman meandered into the gardens past displays of Sonoran desert flora, stopping now and then. Cait and Jack followed, keeping their distance and ducking their heads when she slowed.
“She keeps looking back.” Jack adjusted his sunglasses. “I don’t like this.”
“She’s never seen us before, but it makes me nervous. Is she looking for Rod Stone?”
The woman set out on an undulating loop trail that traveled to the far edge of garden property, away from areas frequented by most visitors.
They let her get some distance away. “Those flimsy sandals must be hard to hike in. She could stub a toe on a rock.” Cait put a hand over her forehead and squinted. “She could be walking off that big meal, but my guess is she’s meeting you know who. Why didn’t he just go to the restaurant? He must be super paranoid.”
The trail led down into a gully, out of sight of the restaurant, gift shop, and visitors’ center. As Jack started up the other side of the wash, he slid on a loose rock and fell forward with his hands on the ground.
A bullet whined past his ear and thudded into a patch of prickly pear.
“Get down.” He pivoted and towed Cait to the bottom of the gulch, where they scuttled behind a large jojoba bush tucked against the arroyo wall.
“Rod Stone followed us. Of course my damn gun’s locked in the Jeep,” Jack fumed.
“She knew we were following. Led us out here to be picked off.” Cait sat on her heels, motionless despite ants crawling on her shoes.
A handful of pebbles trickled down from the top of the incline above them. They held their breaths and waited.
Minutes passed. The only sound was distant traffic on the main roads. Cait shifted to ease cramping in her back and thighs. Put a hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“How long’s he going to stick around? We could be in big trouble.” He peered upward through jojoba branches.
A scuffing sound proceeded by a curse made them swivel their heads. Christy Mossman was back. She skittered down the steep trail, stopped and poked pebbles out of her sandals before passing by their hiding place.
Cait simmered with anger. She picked up a rock and was about to brain the woman with it. Jack put a hand on her arm and whispered. “Don’t. We’ll deal with her later. Stay down. He might still be around.”
After ten minutes, Jack finally stood up. “I feel like an idiot. He must have seen us watching her driveway. He was probably hiding in her SUV when she left home. He wanted her to lead us to the restaurant and down this trail. I’m supposed to be the streetwise detective, looking out for such things.”
“Don’t second guess yourself. At least he didn’t shoot us.”
“From now on, I’m carrying my gun everywhere.” He clenched his jaw.
“We’re alive. That’s what counts.” Cait said. “But he might be waiting for us in the parking lot.”
“Stay behind me.” Jack started up the path. He crouched when he neared the top. “Looks clear. But watch out.”
Cait was relieved when they reached the busy areas of the botanical park. “Bet you they’re gone.”
At the parking lot, Jack exhaled loudly. “No Toyota.”
Cait looked around, hands on hips. “He gambled on us following her vehicle. We were set up.”
Jack massaged the side of his neck. “I’m tired of being put through the ringer. Are you up for some night surveillance?”
“What do you have in mind?” Cait could tell Jack was anxious to get his mojo back.
Two hours later they walked out of Shorty’s Infoware in a half-vacant strip mall off Golf Links Boulevard near Davis Monthan Air Force Base.
“Being a snoop is expensive,” Cait said. “Did you see the scope for over seven thou?”
“That was a military-caliber device they use in special ops. The range and clarity is incredible. You can see Washington’s face on a dollar bill a mile away at night. Hell, you could read a novel long-distance with that thing. But we‘ll be fine with our choices.” Jack placed their purchases, a $400 Night View scope and a $300 Silent Stalk audio-visual drone, on the floor by the back seat. He unfolded a map of Tucson and studied the area around Mossman’s house. “We need to get within 1,000 feet of her place. Question is whether Stone’s still there.”
Cait sat in the driver’s seat and browsed the internet on her phone. “How convenient. A house next to hers is for sale. And it’s vacant, judging by the photos.”
“Dynamite. Let’s check it out.” Jack folded the map while Cait aimed the Jeep toward Speedway Boulevard.
The setting sun limned the Tucson Mountains with gold and bathed the land in apricot as they drove to the sale house on a two-acre lot adjacent to Christy Mossman’s home.
“Nice and secluded,” Jack said. “Park facing the street in case we need to run for it.”