The man Violet Rook had spent nine days looking for was standing beneath a plastic palm tree eating frozen yogurt.

She watched him from the second-floor balcony of Stardust Plaza, one boot hooked behind the other against the brass rail, purple-black hair falling across one eye. Below her, Friday night rolled through Sunset City’s biggest shopping mall in a wash of neon, hairspray and money. Teenagers crowded the arcade. Families circled the food court carrying orange trays. Water climbed three stories through the central fountain and fell back through blue light. Glass elevators moved silently behind it, packed with shoppers.

Rook looked at the Polaroid in her hand, then at the man beneath the palm tree.

Gary Pritchard. Thirty-four. Five eleven. One hundred and seventy pounds. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Broken nose. Arrested for armed robbery. Released on a hundred-and-twenty-thousand-dollar bond after his mother put her house against it.

Then Gary had decided court was optional.

Eight thousand dollars to bring him back alive.

Rook folded the photograph and slipped it inside her battered leather jacket. “Found you.”

Gary licked frozen yogurt from his spoon.

He looked almost insultingly relaxed.

That bothered her.

People who knew Violet Rook was looking for them tended not to spend Friday night beneath fluorescent lighting with several thousand witnesses.

She had tracked him through three motels, two girlfriends, a brother in Riverside, a poker game above a laundromat and a storage unit registered to a dead uncle. Yesterday she had finally found the weakness.

Gary liked his daughter.

His ex-wife had refused to tell Rook anything. Her new boyfriend had been less disciplined.

Every second Friday, Gary’s twelve-year-old daughter came to Stardust Plaza with her friends.

Rook checked her watch.

7:16 p.m.

Gary had been there nineteen minutes.

No daughter.

No friends.

Just Gary.

Rook didn’t move.

She watched.

Gary finished the yogurt and dropped the cup into a bin. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, checked his watch and looked directly up at her.

Rook’s expression didn’t change.

Gary smiled. “Well, shit.”

He walked away.

Didn’t run.

Walked.

Rook pushed off the rail and followed.

Stardust Plaza was four levels of 1980s excess built around an atrium large enough to swallow a city block. Pink and turquoise neon traced the balconies. A cinema occupied the western end. Delaney’s department store anchored the east. There were record shops, jewelers, fashion boutiques, a video store, an enormous arcade called Starcade and enough chrome to blind God.

Gary stepped onto the escalator.

Rook took the stairs beside it.

He glanced across at her. “Violet Rook?”

“Gary Pritchard?”

“Depends.”

“It doesn’t.”

“You’re prettier than they said.”

“They lied about you too.”

Gary laughed.

They reached the ground floor together.

He kept walking.

Rook stayed six feet behind him. “You know how this works.”

“Sure do.”

“Good. Saves time.”

“You put the bracelets on me, take me downtown, collect your eight grand.”

“That’s the short version.”

Gary stopped beside the fountain and turned.

He didn’t look frightened.

That bothered her more.

Rook’s eyes traveled over him. Denim jacket. White T-shirt. Jeans. Sneakers. No obvious weapon. No bulge at the waist. His hands were empty.

Gary spread them. “Go ahead.”

Rook didn’t.

Gary raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“You’ve spent nine days running.”

“Yeah.”

“Now you’re volunteering.”

“Maybe I got tired.”

“No.”

“Maybe I found Jesus.”

“He’d give you back.”

Gary grinned.

Rook looked around.

People everywhere.

Nothing obvious.

Then she noticed a man on the third-floor balcony.

Forties. Mustache. Cheap sports coat. Watching them.

He saw Rook looking and turned away.

Interesting.

Gary lowered his voice. “Eight thousand isn’t much money.”

“It’s enough.”

“What if I could make it forty?”

Rook looked back at him.

There it was.

“Go on.”

Gary smiled. “Thought that might get your attention.”

“Don’t confuse attention with interest.”

Gary nodded toward the escalators. “Third floor. Guy in the brown coat.”

Rook didn’t look.

She already knew.

“Who is he?”

“Not him.”

“Then we’re wasting time.”

“He works for him.”

“Who?”

Gary smiled.

Rook waited.

He enjoyed it for three seconds.

Then she grabbed his right hand, folded two fingers backward and pushed him face-first against the fountain rail.

Gary gasped. “Jesus!”

“Found him too?”

“All right!”

Rook increased the pressure.

Gary winced. “Bobby Quade.”

She stopped.

That name was worth hearing.

Rook released his fingers.

Gary turned around rubbing his hand. “You know him.”

“Everybody in my business knows Bobby Quade.”

“And what’s he worth?”

“Forty thousand.”

“Forty-two.”

Rook’s eyes narrowed.

Gary smiled. “See? Now we’re talking.”

Bobby Quade had been running for fourteen months. Armed robbery. Kidnapping. Attempted murder. Two skipped bonds in two states and one bondsman in Nevada who had added ten thousand dollars of his own money after Quade put his brother in hospital.

Half the bounty hunters west of Denver had chased him.

Two had found him.

One came home with a fractured skull.

The other hadn’t come home.

Rook had spent three months looking for Quade herself before deciding the trail had gone cold.

Forty-two thousand dollars.

And according to Gary Pritchard, Bobby Quade was somewhere inside Stardust Plaza.

Rook looked at him. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is Quade here?”

“Meeting somebody.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“Where?”

“Don’t know.”

Rook stared at him.

Gary shrugged. “If I knew everything, I wouldn’t need you.”

“You don’t need me. You’re my bounty.”

“Exactly.”

Rook reached behind her jacket.

Gary stepped back. “Wait.”

The handcuffs came out.

Gary looked at them. “What about Quade?”

“I’ll come back.”

“He’ll be gone.”

“Not my problem.”

“Forty-two thousand dollars is absolutely your problem.”

Rook took his wrist.

Gary pulled away. “You take me out those doors, you lose him.”

She caught him again.

Gary lowered his voice. “I can take you to him.”

That stopped her.

Gary saw it. “He doesn’t know I know he’s here. Brown Coat does. That’s Tommy Lyle. Quade uses him for errands.”

“Tommy Lyle?”

“Yeah.”

That at least sounded familiar. Small-time burglar. Occasional wheelman. Exactly the sort of man Bobby Quade would use because nobody remembered him.

Rook looked toward the third floor.

Lyle was gone.

She looked back at Gary. “Where’s Quade?”

“I tell you, you let me walk.”

“No.”

“Then we’re done.”

Rook put one cuff around his wrist.

Gary stared at it. “What are you doing?”

“Negotiating.”

She closed the other cuff around her own wrist.

Gary looked from the steel bracelet to Rook. “That’s your plan?”

“For now.”

“This is insane.”

“People keep telling me that.”

“You can’t catch Quade attached to me.”

“Then keep up.”

She started walking.

Gary had no choice but to follow.

“You haven’t agreed to anything.”

“Correct.”

“So why am I helping you?”

“Because if you don’t, I take you outside.”

“And if I do?”

Rook looked at him. “You get to stay in the mall longer.”

“That is a terrible deal.”

“Best one you’ve got.”

They took the escalator up.

Rook watched reflections rather than faces.

Chrome shopfronts. Dark television screens. Mirrored pillars.

People behaved differently when they thought nobody was watching.

On the second floor, a young couple kissed beside a photo booth. Two girls argued over earrings. A security guard flirted with the woman working at a pretzel stand.

On the third, Tommy Lyle reappeared in the reflection of a record-shop window.

He was following them.

Rook kept walking.

Gary leaned closer. “He’s behind us.”

“I know.”

“He knows you?”

“Probably.”

“You famous?”

“Unfortunately.”

They passed the entrance to Starcade.

Electronic noise spilled across the concourse. Pac-Man chirped. Defender screamed. A row of boys hammered buttons beneath pulsing blue lights.

Gary looked toward it. “In.”

“Why?”

“Trust me.”

Rook stopped.

Gary looked at the cuff between them. “All right. Don’t trust me. But go in.”

Rook glanced at the record-store window.

Lyle had stopped.

Watching.

She pulled Gary into the arcade.

The place was packed.

Teenagers everywhere.

Perfect cover.

Terrible visibility.

Rook hated it.

Gary led her between machines toward the back wall.

Rook tugged the cuff. “Where?”

“Keep going.”

“Gary.”

“Almost there.”

They passed a row of racing cabinets.

Then Rook saw him.

A man stood at a Tempest machine with his back to them.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair curling over the collar of a pale summer jacket.

He wasn’t playing.

The screen flashed unattended.

Gary stopped.

Rook stopped with him.

The man turned.

Bobby Quade.

Older than his photographs.

Harder too.

A scar ran from the corner of his mouth toward his jaw that hadn’t existed fourteen months earlier.

His eyes went first to Gary.

Then Rook.

Then the handcuff connecting them.

Quade smiled. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Gary leaned closer to Rook. “That’s him.”

“No shit.”

Quade walked toward them.

Rook didn’t reach for her revolver.

Not with forty teenagers around them.

Quade stopped ten feet away. “Violet Rook.”

“I’m having one of those nights.”

“I’ve heard about you.”

“Should’ve listened.”

Quade smiled.

Gary moved slightly behind her.

Quade noticed. “You sold me out, Gary?”

Gary said nothing.

Quade shook his head. “That hurts.”

“You were gonna kill me.”

“I hadn’t decided.”

“You had Tommy following me.”

“Tommy follows everybody.”

Rook looked at Quade. “Hands where I can see them.”

Quade laughed.

Nobody else in the arcade noticed. To them, three adults were having an argument beside Donkey Kong.

Quade looked at the cuff. “How much is Gary worth?”

“Eight.”

“I’ll give you ten.”

Gary stared at Rook. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Quade continued. “Take the cuff off. Walk away. Ten thousand dollars.”

Rook looked at him. “You’re worth forty-two.”

Quade’s smile faded.

Rook gave him one of her own. “Forty-two beats ten.”

“You’d have to catch me first.”

“Found you.”

Quade moved.

Fast.

He kicked a stool into Rook’s legs and ran.

Gary went after him involuntarily as Rook sprinted, the cuff jerking him forward.

Gary stumbled. “Jesus Christ!”

Quade shoved through the arcade crowd.

Rook followed.

Teenagers scattered.

Someone shouted.

Quade vaulted the low rail at the entrance and hit the concourse.

Rook reached it seconds later.

Gary tried to go around.

Rook went over.

The chain snapped tight.

Gary came over too.

They crashed together onto the polished floor.

Gary rolled onto his back. “Your technique sucks.”

Rook got up. “Shut up.”

Quade was already on the escalator.

Going down.

Rook started after him.

Gary grabbed her jacket. “Wait. Look.”

Tommy Lyle was moving toward the bottom of the escalator.

Not toward Quade.

Away from him.

Rook watched.

Lyle looked frightened.

Quade shouted something.

Lyle ran.

Gary frowned. “He’s leaving Quade.”

“No.”

“What?”

Rook pointed. “He’s carrying something.”

Lyle’s sports coat hung unevenly on one side.

Heavy.

Quade wasn’t escaping from Rook.

He was chasing Lyle.

Rook smiled. “Interesting.”

They went down.

Lyle reached the ground floor and sprinted toward Delaney’s.

Quade followed.

Rook and Gary followed Quade.

Four people moving through Friday-night shoppers, each chasing the next.

Gary started laughing.

Rook looked at him. “What’s funny?”

“This is ridiculous.”

“You started it.”

Lyle disappeared into Delaney’s.

Quade followed.

Rook dragged Gary through the doors.

The department store was fifteen minutes from closing. Employees straightened displays. Customers queued at registers. A woman sprayed perfume onto paper strips.

No sign of either man.

Rook slowed.

Gary looked around. “We lost them.”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

Rook pointed.

A rack of dresses rocked gently.

They moved deeper into the store.

Rook watched the floor.

One overturned shoebox.

A coat hanger crushed beneath a display.

Then nothing.

She stopped.

Gary whispered, “What?”

Rook listened.

An elevator bell sounded.

She looked across the store.

The indicator above the service elevator changed.

Three.

Two.

One.

The doors opened.

Empty.

Gary frowned. “Nobody.”

“Exactly.”

Rook walked toward it.

A small smear of blood marked the control panel.

Fresh.

She pressed three.

The doors closed.

Gary looked at her. “Could’ve been a customer.”

“Customers use the glass elevators.”

“How do you know?”

“Because people like being seen.”

The elevator rose.

The doors opened onto housewares.

Almost deserted.

Rook stepped out.

A trail of blood crossed the white tile.

Gary saw it. “Okay. That’s probably not a customer.”

They followed it.

It ended behind a display of television sets.

Tommy Lyle sat against the wall.

His shirt was soaked red.

The sports coat was gone.

So was whatever had been inside it.

Gary crouched beside him. “Tommy?”

Lyle’s eyes found him.

Then Rook.

“Quade.”

Rook knelt. “Where?”

Lyle coughed. “Roof.”

“What did you have?”

Lyle smiled weakly. “Money.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

Gary looked at Rook. “There’s always money.”

Lyle’s hand caught Rook’s sleeve. “He’ll kill you.”

Rook stood. “Everybody’s very concerned about me tonight.”

A store announcement chimed overhead.

Stardust Plaza would be closing in ten minutes.

Rook looked toward the ceiling.

Gary followed her eyes. “Roof?”

“Roof.”

They found the emergency stairwell behind bedding.

Rook opened the door.

Concrete stairs climbed above them.

She listened.

Nothing.

Gary looked upward. “You’re going up?”

“Yes.”

“Attached to me?”

“Yes.”

“This gets worse every time you answer.”

They climbed.

At the next landing Rook stopped.

A cigarette lay on the concrete.

Still burning.

She touched the filter.

Dry.

Gary whispered, “Quade?”

“Maybe.”

A shadow moved beneath the door above.

Rook pulled Gary backward.

The door exploded open.

Quade came through shoulder-first.

He hit Rook hard enough to throw all three of them against the rail.

Gary screamed as the cuff twisted his wrist.

Quade punched Rook.

She blocked the second and drove her knee into his stomach.

He grabbed her hair and slammed her into the wall.

Gary hit Quade from behind.

Quade elbowed him in the face.

Gary dropped.

The cuff dragged Rook down with him.

Quade ran upward.

Rook got to her knees.

Gary’s nose poured blood.

She looked at him. “Still want the head start?”

He spat blood. “Very much.”

“Get up.”

They reached the roof.

Night wind hit them.

Sunset City spread in every direction, a carpet of sodium lights, neon and traffic beneath the black California sky. The Stardust Plaza sign burned pink above the freeway. Far below, the parking lots were beginning to empty.

Quade stood fifty yards away.

He held Lyle’s sports coat in one hand.

Rook could see bundles of cash inside it.

A lot of bundles.

Gary stared. “Holy shit.”

Quade backed toward the far side of the roof.

Rook drew her revolver. “That’s far enough.”

Quade stopped.

He looked at the gun.

Then at Rook.

Then at Gary.

“You can’t take us both.”

Gary looked at her.

Rook said nothing.

Quade smiled. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Gary’s face changed.

He understood.

Eight thousand dollars stood on her left.

Forty-two thousand stood ahead of her.

One pair of handcuffs.

Quade spread his arms. “Come on, Rook. You’re a businesswoman.”

Gary looked at her. “Don’t.”

Quade laughed. “He really thought you were helping him.”

Rook looked at Gary. “I never said that.”

Gary stared at her.

Rook lowered the revolver.

Quade’s smile widened. “There she is.”

Rook reached into her jacket.

Gary tensed.

She produced the handcuff key.

Unlocked herself.

Gary stared at the open cuff hanging from his wrist.

Quade nodded. “Smart girl.”

Rook pointed toward the stairwell. “Go.”

Gary didn’t move. “Rook—”

“Go.”

He looked at Quade.

Then at her.

“You’re letting me walk?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Gary understood a second too late.

Rook snapped the loose cuff around the steel roof rail.

Gary stared at it.

Then at her.

“You bitch.”

“Stay.”

Rook walked toward Quade.

Quade’s smile vanished.

He dropped the coat.

Ran.

Rook ran after him.

Quade headed for the western edge of the roof.

There was nowhere to go.

Then Rook saw the maintenance bridge connecting the mall to the cinema block.

Narrow steel.

No rail on one side.

Quade hit it at full speed.

Rook followed.

Behind her, Gary shouted something she didn’t hear.

Wind tore across the gap.

Quade reached the other side.

Rook was halfway across when he turned.

Gun.

She dropped.

The shot cracked over her head.

Quade fired again.

Sparks jumped from steel.

Rook rolled behind an air-conditioning unit.

Quade ran.

She came up and fired once.

Not at him.

At the door ahead.

The round hit the crash bar.

Quade stopped.

Just long enough.

Rook crossed the remaining distance and hit him from behind.

They went through a stack of plastic crates.

Quade rolled.

Rook lost the revolver.

He kicked it away.

Then he smiled. “Now what?”

Rook hit him.

Quade took it.

Hit her back.

Hard.

Rook staggered.

He hit her again.

She tasted blood.

Quade grabbed her jacket and drove her against the wall. “You know what happened to the last bounty hunter who found me?”

Rook drove her thumb into the scar beside his mouth.

Quade screamed.

She head-butted him.

He staggered backward.

Rook kicked his knee.

He dropped.

She kicked him again.

Quade caught her ankle and pulled.

Rook hit the roof.

He climbed on top of her.

Hands around her throat.

Rook clawed at his face.

Nothing.

The world narrowed.

Then she saw it.

Her belt chain.

She ripped it free, looped it around Quade’s wrist and pulled sideways.

His grip broke.

Rook rolled.

Quade came up.

She wrapped the chain around his neck from behind and drove a boot between his shoulder blades.

Quade fought.

Rook pulled.

He reached backward for her face.

She pulled harder.

His strength began to go.

Rook leaned close to his ear. “Forty-two thousand dollars.”

Quade collapsed.

Rook held him another second.

Then released.

He coughed against the roof.

She rolled him onto his stomach and bound his wrists with the chain.

For a while, neither moved.

Rook sat beside him breathing hard.

Blood ran from her lip.

Her jacket was torn.

One silver ring was missing.

She looked across the roof toward Stardust Plaza.

Gary was still attached to the rail.

Rook smiled.

Two bounties.

She stood and kicked Quade’s boot. “Get up.”

Quade groaned.

Rook pulled the chain. “Alive pays better.”

By the time she dragged Quade back across the bridge, Stardust Plaza was closing.

The last shoppers were leaving. Security gates rattled down across storefronts. Neon signs clicked off one by one.

Gary sat beside the roof rail.

He looked at Quade.

Then at Rook.

“You actually got him.”

Rook unlocked the cuff from the rail.

Gary stood slowly. “So what happens now?”

Rook looked at the two men.

Gary smiled cautiously. “You still can’t take us both.”

She looked past him.

The roof access door opened.

Two mall security guards stepped out.

They froze.

One looked at Quade.

One looked at Gary.

Both looked at Rook.

The older guard stared at the scene. “Ma’am, what the hell is going on?”

Rook pointed at Gary. “Hold him.”

The guards looked at each other.

Gary laughed. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Rook handed the cuff chain to the older guard. “He runs, hit him.”

The guard frowned. “With what?”

“Surprise me.”

She grabbed Quade by the collar and started toward the stairs.

Gary called after her. “Where are you going?”

“Parking lot.”

“You’re leaving me with mall cops?”

“For five minutes.”

“You said you’d give me a head start!”

Rook stopped and looked back. “No. You said I’d give you a head start.”

Gary thought about it.

His shoulders dropped. “That’s cold.”

Rook continued down the stairs. “That’s eight thousand dollars.”

The El Camino waited beneath a dead parking-lot light.

Black until the neon caught it.

Then purple.

Quade looked at the car. “You’re putting me in that?”

Rook opened the passenger door. “You’re worth forty-two grand. You can ride up front.”

He looked at her.

She looked at him.

Quade got in.

Rook shut the door and locked it.

Five minutes later she returned with Gary.

He stopped beside the El Camino.

There was only one passenger seat.

Gary looked at Quade sitting in it.

Then at Rook.

“Where am I supposed to go?”

Rook lowered the tailgate.

Gary stared at the open bed. “No.”

Rook pointed.

“Absolutely not.”

She pointed again.

Gary sighed. “Rook.”

“Gary.”

He climbed into the back.

Rook secured his cuff to a steel tie-down behind the cab.

Gary sat against the side and glared at her. “You know, for about thirty seconds tonight I genuinely liked you.”

Rook closed the tailgate. “You’ll recover.”

She climbed behind the wheel.

Quade sat beside her, wrists bound, face bruised, murder in his eyes.

Rook started the engine.

The El Camino came alive with a deep V8 bark.

Quade looked at her. “You think this is over?”

Rook pulled out of the parking space. “For me?”

Quade waited.

Rook turned onto Stardust Boulevard. “For tonight.”

Sunset City slid past in neon strips.

Behind them, Stardust Plaza glowed against the night, pink letters reflected across acres of parked cars. Gary sat in the bed with the wind tearing at his jacket. Quade stared silently through the windshield.

Rook drove one-handed.

She had started Friday night with an eight-thousand-dollar bounty.

She was finishing it with fifty.

Not bad.

At the next red light, Gary hammered on the rear window.

Rook ignored him.

He hammered again.

She slid the glass open two inches. “What?”

Gary leaned toward it. “You forgot the money.”

Rook looked at Quade.

Quade looked straight ahead.

The sports coat.

The bundles on the roof.

Rook closed her eyes.

Gary grinned through the glass. “Want me to tell you exactly where you left forty thousand dollars?”

Rook looked at the red light.

Then at Gary in the mirror.

“What’s it worth to you?”

His grin disappeared.

Rook smiled.

The light turned green.

She made a U-turn.

The El Camino roared back toward Stardust Plaza.