papers and found Weir’s case files in a cardboard box marked WEIR, MARK L. Which was a totally logical place to find them. But the mysterious flash drive was another matter. Barber said it would be on top of his desk. It wasn’t, and his pencil drawer had seven flash drives without so much as a label in sight. I couldn’t loiter all evening. I had a stakeout to attend, which sadly involved neither steaks nor vampires.
I weighed the pros and cons of taking all the flash drives with me and checking them out later. The pros won. Mentally scheduling another B & E for tomorrow night to return them, I started stuffing flash drives into my pockets. That led to the realization that mocha lattes and cheeseburgers weren’t doing me any favors. Which, in turn, led to an angry growl echoing against the walls of my empty stomach. I was starving.
As I hopped up and down, trying to cram the last two flash drives into my pockets, I ran a mental list of all the fast food joints I could hit between here and the warehouse we were staking out.
“You’re about as inconspicuous as a monster truck at an exotic car show.”
I started and whirled around to see Garrett standing in the doorway. “Holy crap, Swopes,” I said, placing a hand over my heart. “What are you doing here?”
He strolled in, eyeing the moonlit surroundings before returning his attention to yours truly. “Your uncle sent me,” he said, his voice flat. “Any evidence you obtain without that warrant will be useless in court.”
Ah, we were back to being mortal enemies. Coolness wafted off him. I’d have to be on guard in his presence, ever wary of his traitorous tendencies. I’d have to eat, sleep, and potty with one eye open.
“Do the words
“They would if I gave a crap.” I picked up the box and headed for the door. “I just need to know what I’m up against, Swopes.”
“Besides mental illness?”
Dang, we were even back to the volatile insults. It felt good to be home.
“I’m not out to prove my investigative prowess, Swopes, or how ginormous my dick is by making a name for myself. I’m helping my clients. It’s what I do,” I said as I edged past him. “It’s what I’ve been doing for years now, long before you came along.”
Garrett followed me out the front door. “What’s the code?” he asked to reset the alarm.
I yelled the numbers over my shoulder — apparently so everyone in the neighborhood could hear — then put the box in the back of my Jeep. He walked up behind me.
“I have to stop for sustenance along the way. I’ll meet you at the warehouse,” I said.
After closing the back door for me and making sure it was locked, he said, “We’re not far from your place. Why don’t we drop off your car, and you can ride over with me.”
I put the key in to unlock my door. “I’m hungry.”
“You can eat on the way.”
An annoyed sigh slipped through my lips as my hand hovered over the door handle. “Is Uncle Bob paying you to babysit me now?”
“We have four dead bodies, Davidson. He’s … concerned.”
“Ubie?” I asked with a snort.
“I’ll follow you to your place.”
“Whatever makes your balloon red, Swopes,” I said, climbing into Misery and slamming the door. He didn’t seem any happier about Charley-sitting than Charley did herself. Somewhere deep inside, she felt bad about that. Not.
“Mmm. Tacos are good.” I looked over at Swopes as we pulled in beside Uncle Bob’s unmarked police car, a bland, dark blue sedan. “I just hope I don’t spill any more salsa on your nice vinyl seats.”
Garrett’s jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth. It was funny. “They’re leather,” he said, his voice tightly controlled.
“Oops. Well, they’re real nice.”
He threw the truck into park, and I hopped out before the tension could escalate into random acts of violence, ducked back in for my monster cup of diet soda, then dashed over to Uncle Bob’s car. Aka the Safety Zone.
We were parked a fair distance away from the warehouse; a wide field of ragweed and mesquite lay between us and the rusting metal building. It looked like a cross between an airplane hangar and a mechanic’s shop and sat perched smack-dab in the middle of nowhere. Not a single neighbor for miles. A fact I found most interesting.
Uncle Bob sat in his car, staring out of a nifty pair of binoculars from behind his steering wheel. I leaned over his windshield, peered into the binocular lenses, and smiled. He pulled the specs away from his eyes and frowned at me.
“What?” I mouthed before bouncing around to the passenger’s side and climbing inside the warm interior. Death by starvation had been staved off another day, thanks to Macho Taco. Life was good.
“Who’s that?” I asked, pointing to a second unmarked police car strategically parked a few yards away. Totally camouflaged by darkness. Except for one small, teensy-tiny, minuscule blunder. His parking lights were on. I took a shot and guessed the guy hadn’t graduated at the top of his class.
“That’s Officer Taft,” Uncle Bob said.
“No,” I breathed.
“He volunteered.”
“No.”
“He’s a good egg, that one.”
I rolled my eyes and eased lower into the seat as Garrett opened the back door to get in, shining the minisearchlight directly on me.
“Close the door,” I whispered with a furtive urgency.
Uncle Bob frowned. Again. I didn’t know why. It wasn’t like he needed the practice.
“Taft has a fan,” I explained. “An adorable little girl has been stalking him. I think her name is Hell Spawn of Satan.”
Uncle Bob chuckled. “What the Hell Spawn of Satan are you wearing?”
What Ubie was so indelicately referring to was the outfit I’d changed into, carefully picking out my most comfortable black-on-black attire and meticulously applying black greasepaint to my face to complement a desert- at-midnight look. Naturally, I had to struggle through several costume changes as Garrett sat out in his leather- seated truck waiting for me. I sure hoped my time-consuming endeavor didn’t annoy him.
“I’m blending,” I said.
“With what? Evil?”
“Laugh it up, Uncle Bob,” I said before pausing to take a noisy slurp of my soda. “Just wait until someone has to go traipsing through the desert for a closer look. You’ll appreciate my forethought.”
Garrett chose that moment to join the conversation. “I appreciate your forethought,” he said, his tone distant, as if his mind were elsewhere. “Not as much as your fore-
I twisted around in my seat to face him. “My fore-parts, as you so ineloquently put it, have names.” I pointed to my right breast. “This is Danger.” Then my left. “And this is Will Robinson. I would appreciate it if you addressed them accordingly.”
After a long pause in which he took the time to blink several times, he asked, “You named your breasts?”
I turned my back to him with a shrug. “I named my ovaries, too, but they don’t get out as much. Did you ever think that this whole operation was blown when they tortured Carlos Rivera?” I asked Uncle Bob. “If these guys are anywhere near intelligent, they would have cleared out any incriminating evidence the moment they figured out what Rivera did.”
“True,” Uncle Bob said. “But there’s only one way to be certain.”
“Why don’t you just get a warrant, gather a small army, and storm the place?”
“Based on what probable cause? Anonymous tips aren’t enough to obtain a search warrant, pumpkin. We need that flash drive.”
He had a point. Not a particularly pointy one, but a point nonetheless. And he called me pumpkin. I slurped as loud as kinesthetically possible in response. It would help if we knew what we were looking for. I sighed to emphasize my impatience-slash-boredom. Stakeouts were nothing if not boring. I felt it my civic duty as a certified
