Mission Canyon Read Free

forehead. I told my feet to move. I said, ‘‘You’re not exactly prom-queen material yourself.’’
    She froze. ‘‘You did not just say that.’’
    ‘‘Sure I did. I’m too old to take cheap shots from snotty socialites. Excuse me.’’
    ‘‘Don’t you walk away.’’ She thrust out an arm, blocking my path. ‘‘What’s your name?’’
    ‘‘Diana Ross.’’
    Her nostrils dilated. Her jaw didn’t move. ‘‘Who is this woman?’’
    She looked to her companion for support, but his face was bright with amusement.
    ‘‘She’s our Baby Love.’’ Smiling at me. ‘‘And I’m Steve McQueen.’’ He gestured to her. ‘‘This is Maria Callas.’’
    ‘‘Charmed,’’ I said. ‘‘Will Maria be singing tonight, or just hissing at the guests?’’
    His laugh was full of appetite. ‘‘Dueling divas. I love it.’’
    And he did. He wanted some of what I was dishing out to her. He could have worn a sign saying, SPANK ME.
    But Mari Diamond’s fingers were white on her wineglass. ‘‘If you’re from Diamond Mindworks, you’re out of a job.’’
    She turned and swished away. Raising her hand, she snapped her fingers, signaling somebody. I saw Clipboard standing at the edge of the crowd, her tiny glasses shining as she scanned the room. Mari Diamond was beckoning to her.
    Damn. I dove into the crowd. I was almost out of time.
    And I saw, in the center of the gallery, a masked character in a black cape and gaucho hat. He was grinning broadly, looking carefree, indifferent about the people he’d bilked, the elderly investors and hourly-wage workers whose life savings he had squandered. I took the summons from my purse.
    An older man stepped up to shake his hand. His hair looked like an upturned white scrub brush. If his suit was a costume, he had come as an undertaker.
    I knew him. Everybody in the room knew him. He was the big man here, and not just because he was a head taller than most people. He was George Rudenski, the CEO of Mako Technologies, main sponsor of tonight’s benefit. But I didn’t have time for protocol; I had to butt in on him. Mari Diamond was talking to Clipboard, pointing in my direction. I had to do this right now.
    Steve McQueen grabbed my arm. ‘‘What’s your rush? Those guys are old farts. Come talk to me.’’
    ‘‘Another time.’’ I swung out of his grip.
    I approached Zorro. ‘‘Cal? Is that you under that mask?’’
    Pressing a hand to his chest, he bowed and said, ‘‘Señorita, Zorro never reveals his identity.’’
    George Rudenski looked at me. I had interviewed him for an article on cybersecurity that I wrote for California Lawyer magazine, and he was trying to place me. His eyes were penetrating.
    ‘‘Forgive me. Are you with Mako?’’ he said.
    ‘‘No, I’m with the Supremes.’’
    For all I cared, he could out me as a freelance legal journalist, or itinerant lawyer, or for planning to wear white at my wedding. But he knew my connection to Jesse, and if he mentioned it the game would be up.
    He gave me a concentrated stare. ‘‘Evan.’’
    I was out of time. I raised the summons toward the man in the mask.
    ‘‘Are you Cal Diamond?’’
    That’s when I heard, near the entrance, a whipcrack. I looked up. Strutting through the door was another Zorro.
    Laughter bubbled through the room. The first Zorro set hands on hips, consternated at the sight of his double. I felt sweat breaking out on my forehead.
    A woman’s voice called out, ‘‘There she is.’’
    Clipboard was butting through the crowd, with a security guard right behind her. She shook her finger at me.
    ‘‘You. You’re in big trouble.’’
    Looking back, I see how many of the pieces were present, even then. But they were scattered, camouflaged, like leaves swirling across the ground on the wind, and at the time I didn’t know what I was seeing. It was the last moment before events started assembling themselves into the nightmare.
    Near the entrance, a man let