Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) by James Best (top romance novels txt) 📗

Wilson said, “Flooding in the Delta and Central Valley has doubled the population of the city, despite a simultaneous mass exodus of residents. Problem is, people can’t get out as fast as they come in. Evacuees have booked every hotel, motel, B&B, and inn. Most of the time with multiple families per room. Homes are crowded with relatives and friends, which of course makes the water crisis even more severe. Oh yeah, there’s a lucrative black market to escape by private boat, but the Coast Guard has already listed over one hundred dead from capsizing. The seas are extremely rough and whitecapped, even along the shoreline. Plus, after paying an outrageous fee, these pirates drop you off at Bodega Bay, which has no rooms, no cars, and the restaurants are running out of food. People are camped in the town square. Cold, wet, and hungry.”

“What about Modesto?” Baldwin asked impatiently.

Wilson appeared chagrined. “Sorry, guess I’m overly concerned with our situation. Modesto.” She took a deep breath. “Death toll in the thousands. It’s heartrending. Most of the evacuees are heading east, into the Sierras, to escape the valley flooding.”

“No, most are trying to get to San Jose,” Smith corrected. “The smart ones go against the grain and head east, to high ground.”

“That’s not what the news said,” Wilson protested.

“They weren’t reporting facts, they were nudging people away from San Jose.”

“You do not know that,” Ashley said defiantly.

“I know people … and I know how the government thinks … and acts. San Jose is already bunched up, worse than here. It’s become the jumping-off point for people heading south. Bumper-to-bumper traffic on US 101 makes heading south an absurd proposition. It’s taking five to six hours to get to Salinas, only sixty miles away. Which, by the way, you want to blow to smithereens. Salinas is packed tighter than a sardine can. No other major town to the south until Paso Robles, a hundred miles further. I suspect it’s booked solid as well. If you’ve been caught in Modesto at this late date, there’s no escape to the west. The smart move is to the east. The lucky may even make it to Nevada.”

Ashley asked the question on everyone’s mind. “What about us?”

“Us?” Smith said. “I want to think about it some more, but I suspect we’re best off staying right here. In fact, at the moment, I can’t think of anything else to do.”

“I can think of something,” Baldwin said.

She walked to a corner by the front window and made a call.

Chapter 45

Evarts parked his truck at Rincon to watch the turbulent sea. The dreariness of a constant shroud of dark clouds had made him feel listless, but this view of his favorite surfing spot rejuvenated him. It was why he would never move away from the California coastline. The ocean, in any condition, recharged his psyche. It didn’t matter if the sea was glassy or wind chopped, waves big or small—just the sight of the ocean somehow both calmed and energized him. Now, it was all rain and whitecaps, and the huge brutish waves crashed against the shore with no rhyme or rhythm. Just utter chaos. Most people would find the inclement disorder unsettling. He loved it. He needed it.

His spirit may have been revived by the sea, but his body felt bone weary. He restarted the Raptor and pulled back into heavy traffic. He headed directly home to get some much-needed sleep. On the slow drive down from Lompoc, he had talked to his wife on the phone. She wouldn’t make her Los Angeles keynote address, nor get home soon. Unless her makeshift plan worked. A neighbor owned a twin turboprop Beechcraft King. Normally, the neighbor would consider a run up the coast a fun excuse to fly, but flight plan approval stretched to many days due to weather conditions and the volume of general aviation requests. His wife would let him know if anything changed, but it appeared that he would be sleeping alone for the next several days. He asked her not to take any unnecessary risks. The weather would eventually clear, and normal life would resume. No need to hurry the course of natural events.

As he drove up State Street, he reviewed what he might have left undone. He didn’t worry about his city. He had exceptional subordinates who would alert him to any local issues or sins of omission. But his temporary role as head of county law enforcement concerned him. Sheriff Lopez had an excellent staff as well, but the territory was new to him. He also had expanded duties in Solvang and Lompoc due to their loss of leadership. He worried about street gangs around the state who might try to take advantage of thin police protection or try to fill the void in Santa Maria. He concluded that his phone calls over the last hour had accomplished as much as possible, and right now, what would most benefit the community would be for him to get a good night’s sleep.

Evarts’s tires sloshed through the gravel in his rain-soaked driveway. Cloud cover and misty rain muted the late afternoon light, but it was still early enough that he wondered if he should wait until dark before going to bed. That thought lasted an entire nanosecond. As soon as he walked through the door, he would head straight for bed. He corrected himself. When he got inside, he would make a quick tour of the entire house to check for water seepage or leaks. After he finished, he would fall into bed.

It didn’t take long to assure himself that the house remained tight against the rain. In a near stupor, he stumbled into bed, but no sooner had he fallen asleep than his phone rang.

Damn it all.

He struggled to swing his legs out of bed and sat on the edge. Where was his phone? His pants. They were lying on the