Chapter Twenty-Two
The corner of S.W. Avalon and 35th streets was a steady exchange of commuters, some crossing against the light at a quick pace, others leisurely strolling the parameter of the West Seattle Golf Course, and a few pushing battered shopping carts in and out of traffic. Yellow cabs darted around lumbering busses. Business suits and designer jeans dodged outstretched hands extending from the sleeves of frayed sweaters and faded tee shirts.
Half a block away in a shaded parking space at the Pecos Pit Bar-B-Que restaurant, Shane watched with binoculars, studying the activity and looking for Patty Mead. She was late and it unnerved him. He’d give her two more minutes, then they were leaving.
“She there yet?” Jacob asked, peering over the dash.
“Not yet.”
Shane swept the lenses over street corners and along the sidewalks, stopping suddenly to adjust the focus. “Wait. I think I got her.” He leaned forward and brought Mead into focus. “Yep. That’s her.”
Mead was moving through the crowd almost at a trot as she crossed the intersection, making her way to the trash receptacle on the far corner. She waited there, slightly out of breath and nervously glancing at strangers.
“We’ll give her a minute or two and see if she talks to herself,” said Shane.
Jacob squinted as he looked through the windshield, trying to see her. “You want to know if she’s crazy?”
A grin spread below the binoculars. “That would be good to know,” he said, chuckling, “but it could also mean she’s wired and talking to someone we can’t see. Then we’d know it’s a trap.”
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