Chapter 85 Jordan
EIGHTY-FIVE
JORDAN
Anybody else see a cruiser from Madera County Sheriff’s heading east on Sunset Boulevard with its flashers on?
—LAPD radio transmission
It was fully dark in the hills and the map directions ended at a closed gate. Behind it, the driveway swooped downhill to a garage with an empty vintage black Mustang parked in front. From the corner of the house, Jordan could see, it looked like a 1950s Hollywood party pad.
The gate had spikes on top and was set in a white brick wall tall enough that Jordan wasn’t getting over it without a ladder.
Even if he could take a running jump and get his hands on top, he didn’t want to risk grabbing an anti-theft deterrent like broken glass. It had happened to one of his deputies.
And he also didn’t have a warrant.
He could have buzzed for entry, but he didn’t want to alert the occupants. And anyway, if Cara Campbell was indeed meeting Dylan Danvers to record part two of the interview he had promised his listeners, she was safe for the moment.
Looking uphill, he saw that if he followed the perimeter, the high ground on the shoulder of the hill would give him a view inside the compound. He was just about to start picking his way through the tinder-dry grass and scrubby cedar trees when he saw movement high above.
At the edge of some kind of platform, two figures were silhouetted by an aquamarine glow. One of them he recognized right away as Campbell. The other one—taller, also slender—was probably Danvers.
What were they doing up there?
Jordan got back in his vehicle and drove uphill.