LAKE SHORE DRIVE
CHAPTER 18
Robles was up with the sun, drinking coffee and checking his gear. He’d only gotten two hours of sleep, but it would do. Thirty minutes later, he was walking across a soccer field, stiff with morning frost. Robles hefted the bag slung across his shoulders and grunted. The sky was just starting to lighten over the lake, and he could see the cold bil ow as he breathed. A woman and her dog materialized, maybe twenty yards away, jogging slowly down one side of the field. Robles kept his head down as their paths crossed. The jogger moved off the field and disappeared beneath an overpass. Robles waited five minutes. The jogger didn’t return and the field was empty. He moved up a smal incline and down the other side, to a sheltered stretch of ground. Spread out before him were eight lanes of highway, flowing north and south. Lake Shore Drive, dark and quiet, maybe forty-five minutes from rush hour.
Robles zipped open his duffel and pul ed out a tripod. A couple of cars cruised by, headlights stil on, heading toward the Loop. Robles took out a Nikon D300 SLR camera, fitted it to the tripod, and screwed on a zoom lens. Then he zipped up the bag and stashed it behind a stand of trees to his left. Robles looked through the viewfinder and adjusted the focus. A woman and a smal child popped into view. Robles glanced up. They were coming straight at him, driving an SUV down a nice, long stretch of road. Robles looked back through the viewfinder and counted off the seconds in his head. One, two, three… The woman was smiling and drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. Four, five, six… Robles could just make out the top of the kid’s head above the dashboard. Seven, eight… He looked up again. The SUV blew past in a puff of morning mist. Robles smiled. Perfect. He lensed a few more cars. Got timings for al eight lanes, but focused mostly on the traffic coming toward him. When he was done, Robles snapped a few general photos, wide-angle stuff, just in case anyone happened by and wondered why he was there. A photo documentary project. Then Robles crouched back among the trees and waited. For the traffic to build. And his cel phone to buzz.
CHAPTER 19
I woke up and smel ed the coffee. Literal y. There was someone in my house, and they were making a pot of joe. Whoever it was, at least they had the good sense to use my stash of El Diablo beans. Now if they’d only bring me a cup.
The second time I woke, the smel was stronger and the intruder closer, as in over my bed, cup in hand, smiling. Simply dream and ye shal receive.
“You’re here,” I said.
“I let myself in.” Rachel Swenson put my coffee on the night table, leaned in, and kissed me. I’d gotten home at a little after four. I looked at the clock on my nightstand. It read 6:50.
“You staying or going?” I said.
“Going. I’ve got an early meeting.”
“I’m thinking they can get along without you.”
Rachel’s smile was fragrant, even as she shook her head no. I ran my hand down her hip and imagined the slightest bit of maybe. That, of course, was the time Rodriguez picked to cal.
“Hel o,” I said.
“You sound like hel.”
“Fuck you. I just woke up.”
The detective chuckled. “You ready to go?”
“Go where?”
“Lawson wants to meet us this morning at the Southport L. They finished processing the scene, but she’s going up for another look.”
“I told Hubert Russel I’d meet him for coffee.”
“You bringing him in on this?”
“Could be. Why don’t you tag along? Save me the trouble of explaining things twice.”
“Explaining what?”
“Filter on Milwaukee. You know where it is?”
“Sure.”
“Eight a.m. We can talk then.”
I hung up. Rachel sat down beside me and I held her for a good thirty seconds. If I were smart, we never would have moved.
“Sounds like we both have ful days,” she said, leaning back and studying my face.
I hadn’t had time yesterday for anything except a quick phone cal, tel ing her I was involved in the thing at Southport and would explain later. Later, apparently, was now.
“What do you know?” I said, dropping my head back to the pil ow.
“Wel, I’m guessing you were the eyewitness the police are talking about in the Southport shooting.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“I’m shocked.”
“I bet you are.”
“Fil me in.”
“I can tel you I’m now attached to the task force working the case.”
A frown. “Both shootings?”
I propped myself up on one elbow. “Yeah, they’re connected. Hey, you know Katherine Lawson?”
Rachel Swenson was probably the smartest person I knew. Certainly the best looking. She was also a sitting judge for the Northern District of Il inois, which meant she knew the feds. Lots of them.
“Sure. Katherine’s a bit of a star with the Bureau. You working this with her?”
“I get the feeling I am. Myself and Rodriguez.”
“That should be interesting.”
I wanted to pursue how and why Rachel found Agent Lawson so interesting. I also wanted to seriously get Her Honor into bed. Unfortunately, it was getting late for both of us.
“Let’s make a date,” I said.
“Dinner?”
“Tonight. No matter what.”
“You cooking?”
“You feeling brave?”
“Seven o’clock, Kel y.”
“Bring your appetite, woman.”
I finished my coffee and swung my feet to the floor. Rachel touched me on the shoulder. “How deep are you in this thing?”
I heard the twinge in her voice and thought about the night before-my starring role as the duck in a shooting gal ery.
“It’s a task force, Rach. Probably just sit around a smal office drinking bad coffee.”
I hustled into the bathroom. Rachel fol owed.
“You don’t need to lie, Michael.”
She was leaning against the edge of the door frame. Some part of my brain registered her legs, which were great. The rest of me was in ful avoidance mode.
“What do you want to hear?” I began to run water in the sink.
“Real y?”
“Go ahead.” I bent down and splashed some water around.
“Law school, Michael? Northwestern, Chicago? You’d love it, you’d be done before you know it, and you’d be a
