“Why would I stay at a place that we planned to make our home?” Wulf glared at Robertson who sat in the back seat beside him. Agent Samuels was driving the unmarked Suburban, and confirmed to Juarez, who was in the front passenger seat, that he’d personally made an attempt to find them at Wulf’s home in Claremont while they were in search of him. He’d bought it after making lead in the LAPD Gang Unit. Yet, Wulf spent more time at work, and often even stayed with Brenda, which was before Shelly and Quincy moved in due to her bad hip.

“Like I said.” He stuck to his guns. “Mary Jane and I planned to settle down in my house. That was before Linda Curbelo paid some goons to kidnap her. My old partner has been assisting me with trying to get her back. Curbelo said no cops, no Feds, nothing.”

Robertson glared him up and down. They didn’t have to know Curbelo had sent him the package. He determined that they weren’t as dumb as they appeared, seeing that they also knew of her.

“So you’re telling us, when Ms. Portman-Grienke was taken in Mexico, Curbelo gave you a note to return to Los Angeles? No ransom?”

“Why would she need to ransom MJ? Peter is obsessed with her. They’re fucking with me, because I’m aware of something they don’t know.”

“What’s that?”

“Mary Jane only married Peter because he took her. She was his intern. She found out about the cancer in his facial products.” He paused, searching for any cue from the half-lie he’d just told. “Okay, so that lack of response on your end signifies that you guys don’t give a fuck about that. That you just want Mary Jane for—”

“The Grienke products are no longer on the market, Wulf,” Robertson growled.

Wulf laughed as Samuels sped down the 10 freeway.

“What’s so funny?” Ariel snipped out each word.

“You guys. Covering up everything, I see. Mary Jane would often feel so much guilt over not saving the women who were left stripping at The Petting Zoo. What did you all do? Erase their minds again, make them forget that fat fuck?”

Silence.

“You did. Mary Jane’s memory is coming back. Her true memory. That’s how I became aware that Peter wouldn’t let her go one evening when she was interning. She’d been brainwashed, then she’d been his good wife. Now she’s remembering shit. Just like the women I’m sure you’ve fixed. Fixed like fucking animals. You people are ridiculous!”

The ride was long and quiet. Wulf calculated how much money he had in his pocket. He almost laughed, recalling how Mary Jane bashed him for not wanting to hotwire Pastor Tobias’s truck a year back. He’d have to do that tonight and get away from these idiots.

Wulf spouted off the key code for the gated community where he lived. They began to pass by stucco homes of various shades of beige with neatly kept yards. Samuel pulled into the driveway, and Wulf got out. As he anticipated, Robertson followed him to the front door. He opened up the door and the fresh scent of Pine-Sol keyed him to the fact that his once-every-two-weeks cleaning lady had made a recent trip. Wulf started down the hall toward the alarm.

“Get the letter,” Robertson ordered.

“I am.” Wulf continued down the hall, mentally counting down the moment until the alarm would go off. He went into his home office, picked up a Dodgers’ baseball cap from the back of the chair and opened the French doors. He paced the length of the backyard and prayed his neighbors didn’t have Dolly out—their Pit bull. Wulf was over the wall and running around their lap pool when the alarm whistled into the sky.

In this neighborhood, cops would be surrounding his home by the time Samuel could circle the block. He hurried along the side of the house and unlatched the gate. Eyes narrowed, Wulf glanced down the street, searching for the best car to lift.