I’d passed by it many times and didn’t even know it existed. It was a perfect hideout. The gateway was wide enough to allow one car to exit and one car to enter. A female security guard approached us as soon as we pulled up to the gate. “May I help you?” she asked. “We’re guests of Miss Galilea Kristos,” David told her. “And your name, sir?” “David Chios.” “One moment while I verify, please.” The guard walked back to the security booth. From the car, I could see her talking on the phone. A minute later, the gate rolled open, and she waved us in. The houses in the neighborhood were fashioned in Old Spanish style, complete with terra-cotta shingles, balconies lined with potted flowers overlooking the street, and blooming bougainvillea plants spread across the yards. David brought the car to a stop at a canary-yellow house with white trim and a brick-red roof. Dr. Gunn’s wife—Eileen—was waiting for us at the door. I tightened the sweatpants strings on my waist—the ones David wore earlier—and stepped out of the car.
