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Mercedes.
    “There were three people onboard. A married couple, George and Elaine King, it was their car; with a male passenger in the rear. You know the name, George King?”
    Pike shook his head, so Bud explained.
    “A real estate developer, squeaky clean, no wants, warrants, or priors. George was bleeding, so Larkin got out to help. The second man was hurt, too, but he left the scene on foot. Then George pulled himself together enough to drive away, but Larkin got their plate. Next day, the Kings told the police a different story—they say they were alone. A couple of days later, agents from the Justice Department contacted Larkin with a sketch artist. A couple of hundred pictures later, Larkin ID’d the missing man as one Alexander Liman Meesh, an indicted murderer the feds believed to be living in Bogotá, Colombia. I have an NCIC file on him I can give you.”
    Pike glanced at the limo again.
    “How did a traffic accident become a federal investigation?”
    Kline moved between Pike and the limo, but no longer seemed upset that Pike hadn’t signed the papers.
    “The red flag was King. The DOJ told us they’ve been investigating him for laundering cash through his real estate company. They believe Meesh returned to the States with cartel money to invest with King.”
    Bud nodded, arching his eyebrows.
    “Upwards of a hundred mil.”
    Kline darkened even more, then glanced at the girl’s father.
    “The government needs Larkin to link King with a known criminal. With her testimony, they believe they can get an indictment and force him to open his books. Her father and I were against it. We’ve been against her involvement since the beginning, and look at this mess.”
    “So King wants her dead?”
    Bud said, “King is a money man. He has no criminal background, no history of violence, no connection with anyone in the business short of Meesh. The Justice people think Meesh is trying to protect the cash he’s invested in King’s projects. If King is indicted, his projects will be frozen along with his assets, so Meesh doesn’t want King indicted. King might not even know that Meesh is after the girl. King might not even know where the money actually comes from.”
    “Anyone asked the Kings?”
    “They’ve fled. Their office says they’re away on a scheduled vacation, but no one at Justice believes it.”
    Conner Barkley raked at his hair again.
    “It’s a nightmare. This entire mess is a nightmare, and now we’re—”
    Bud interrupted him.
    “Conner—would you give me a minute with Joe? We’ll meet you at the car. Gordon, please—”
    Barkley frowned like he didn’t understand he was being asked to leave, but Kline touched his arm and they left. Bud waited until they were gone, then sighed.
    “These people are going through hell.”
    Pike said, “I’m not a bodyguard.”
    “Joe, listen, the first time they came for her, the kid was at home. That place they have, the Barkleys, it’s a fortress—four acres in Beverly Hills north of Sunset, full-on security, a staff. These people are rich.”
    “I get that.”
    Bud opened the cordovan briefcase and took out several grainy pictures. The pictures showed three hazy figures in dark clothes moving past a swimming pool at night, then in a courtyard, then outside a set of French doors.
    “These were taken by their security cams. You can make out the faces in this one and this one, but we haven’t been able to identify them yet. They grabbed a housekeeper, trying to find Larkin. They beat her bad—choked her out and broke three of her teeth and her nose.”
    The housekeeper was in one of the pictures. Her eyes looked like eggplants. Her lip was split so badly you could see her gums. Pike figured whoever beat her had enjoyed it. Had probably kept hitting her even after she was unconscious.
    “How close did they get?”
    “They made a clean break when the police showed. That first time, the attempt on her life came as a surprise, but then she went