I held up a tired hand to forestall his oncoming barrage of questions. “They ambushed us. I suppose they had friends nearby. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to get any information out of them.” Before we had to tuck tail and run, I added in my head, but I figured Haruto wouldn’t find that terribly comforting. Nor did I mention how incredibly hard they were trying to kill us.
“I did get their licence plates,” Fletcher said, trying to inject some pep into her voice. “Martin the lab tech said it wouldn’t take him long to run them.”
“So what’s next?” Haruto asked, settling back in his chair with his hands clasped tightly together.
“We’ll set you up with a protection detail until this is all over,” I promised. “You’ll be okay.”
Fletcher had a thoughtful look on her face as she drummed her fingers against the wooden arm of her chair. “That book you’re restoring…” she began. “Is it valuable?”
“It’s certainly one of a kind,” Haruto said. He clutched his satchel closer to him. “I suppose it would have some monetary value, but manuscripts like these, they spend their time being passed from museum to archive, being studied, admired, learned from. They’re never sold.”
“But if someone wanted to sell it for a hefty profit, could they?” Fletcher pressed.
Haruto looked completely affronted by the idea. “I suppose so,” he answered in a rather snippy tone. “But anyone interested in buying it would certainly understand that something like this doesn’t belong in a private collection, but somewhere it can be shared amongst scholars.” He took a deep breath and forced his voice to steady. “Besides, no one knows we’re working on it yet. We haven’t made the project public.”
“That collector who found it does,” I pointed out. “Maybe someone on your team has loose lips.”
If we hadn’t offended Haruto before, we had now. His chest puffed up, his eyebrows plunged towards the bridge of his nose, and he drew in a breath to give me a piece of his mind, but before he could get a word out, Martin called me, my phone’s shrill ringtone cutting Haruto off.
“I’ve got a match for your licence plates,” Martin said. I could hear some kind of commotion in the background as if someone were having an argument.
“Yes, because someone’s got to do their job right,” he shouted, assumedly over his shoulder at his assistants. The arguing immediately cut off.
I smirked. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Don’t even get me started,” he grumbled. “Anyway, both vehicles are registered to a rental agency here in town. Let’s see… Johnson and Son Rentals. I’ve emailed you the file with the address.”
I checked my email, and sure enough, there it was. “Thanks, Martin. Good work, as always.”
“You’re welcome. Now, I’ve got to go before my assistants kill each other.
The line went dead, and I glanced at the address in the file. It was only ten minutes away from the station. “Martin gave us a lead on your stalkers,” I said to Haruto. “I’m going to introduce you to Chief Inspector Dunnel who’s in charge of assigning protection detail. Then Fletcher and I will take a poke around this rental agency.”
Haruto nodded a couple of times, swallowing nervously as my words dragged him back into the reality of his situation. I stood, every muscle protesting, and motioned for him to follow me across the station to Dunnel’s office. He was on the phone, so I knocked lightly and then waited for him to hang up and wave us inside.
“Chief, this is Haruto Sato from the stalking case. I was hoping you could set him up with a protection detail.”
“Of course. Please, sit down.” Dunnel pointed towards the chair across from him. Haruto glanced at me for permission, and I nodded for him to go ahead. He entered Dunnel’s office as if he were walking on eggshells and perched on the edge of the chair. I flashed him a thumb’s up and turned to go. “Where are you off to?” Dunnel asked before I’d taken a step.
“Rental agency,” I said. “That’s where the vehicles that attacked us are registered.”
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Dunnel said.
“Never do,” I replied, and he gave me a glare that could wither grass.
Fletcher already had her coat on and was ready to go when I returned to my desk. She bounced a set of keys in her hand as she grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. I scowled at her as I stuffed my arms into my duster. “Yes, fine. You can drive.”
The grin widened. “This is really bugging you, isn’t it?”
“What?” I snapped as I stormed towards the door. “I like to drive. Is that a crime?”
“Is it because you have control issues?” Fletcher asked, barely holding in her laughter.
I pushed the door open and refused to hold it for her. “Would you focus? We have two high-pressure cases on our hands.”
“You didn’t answer the question,” Fletcher pointed out, and I made a face at her. She just laughed and took the lead as we threaded our way through the parking lot, clicking a button on her keys so the taillights on her vehicle would flash.
Fletcher’s car was a small, sporty thing, a black Renault, all sleek lines and polished exterior. “Damn, impressive,” I said, running a hand along the top of the boot.
“It has terrible fuel economy, and I blew all my money on it, but I love it.” She patted the mirror as she unlocked it, a smile on her face.
I had to fold my long legs into the small car and then pushed the seat back all the way. The scent of leather enveloped me as I shut the door, and the chair seemed to hug me as I sank into it. Fletcher revved the engine rather unnecessarily, and the car began to rumble and purr beneath me in a smooth, quietly powerful way that I couldn’t help but be jealous
