By Paths Coincident

Chapter 19

The little dot on the computer generated map of Portland that represented Eliot Spencer had not moved for almost two hours. It just sat there, smack in the middle of the Lan Shu Garden, as though it were no longer attached to a person, for instance.

Hardison had taken the precaution of getting Parker to tag Eliot's boots before he departed to meet his cousin. So sue him. If things went all pear-shaped with that reunion, who knew what fool thing Eliot would hare off to do. But if Eliot had figured it out . . . Damn it, Eliot.

Hardison was beginning to fidget, paying less and less attention to the things he was pretending to be doing while they waited for Eliot to return.

"I found us a client," Parker said in his ear.

Hardison levitated a good three inches off the seat of his chair. "Parker! Give a guy a little warning!"

"Is that Eliot?" Parker asked, ignoring Hardison's reaction and pointing at the dot on the screen.

"It had better be," Hardison growled. His growl was far less convincing than Eliot's, but far more sincere.

"Well, I think Eliot needs somebody to hit, so I got us a job," Parker repeated.

She had a point. Whatever the outcome of his meeting with Jacob Stone, Eliot was likely to arrive back at the Brew Pub in the worst possible mood. Distracting him with a new villain sounded like a really good plan. Much better than Hardison's own idea of offering to let Eliot tutor them in more self defense.

"What kind of a job?" Hardison asked.

"Cattle rustling in Canada," Parker said. "We need to buy Eliot a horse."

"But we already been over that," Hardison exclaimed in horror. "We don't know nothin' about horses, and we're not gonna get Eliot's cousin to help."

"Well then," Parker made typey fingers, "ask Google."

* * * * *

Leaving the Lan Shu Garden, still holding the envelope with its impossible weight, Eliot pulled out his phone to call Hardison. By the time he had reached his car, Hardison had located Jake's bank, acquired his account numbers and passwords, found his mailing address, and sent that data, encrypted, to Eliot. Fortunately, if Eliot had to deal with any bank personnel who were familiar with Jake, his appearance would raise no questions. Tying his hair back and jamming a cap on his head would reduce the most obvious difference between the two of them. Eliot needed to get the information to Jake as soon as possible.

Forty-five minutes later, the key to a new safe-deposit box was on its way by registered mail to Jacob Stone, and Eliot no longer held the incriminating evidence burning in his hands. Perhaps when his cousin understood the nature of Eliot's need to converse with him, Jake might have enough sense of self-preservation at least to get in touch long enough to make sure he knew everything he needed in order to stay safe. With a feeling combining slight relief and a gaping emptiness, Eliot turned his car toward home.

He arrived at the Brew Pub during the dinner hour rush and decided that cooking on a large scale and at a frenzied pace was exactly what he needed at the moment. His staff welcomed him with nearly tearful relief since two of their number had called in with the flu at the last minute. Soon he was scrubbed up, hair tied back in a bandana, wearing an apron and taking out his frustrations on garlic and shallots.

It was 10 p.m. by the time the crowd had thinned enough for his remaining crew to handle. Eliot had filled in wherever an extra pair of hands was needed from food prep to waiting tables to dish washing. He had hiked mountain ranges that had left him less worn out. Since that had been the point of the exercise in the first place, he wasn't complaining, but he made a mental note to suggest that Hardison raise everybody's salary.