“Also,” Osh said, unable to help himself, “I wanted to address the fact that you give new meaning to the term smoking hot.”
Reluctantly, Garrett laughed, and the tension in the air evaporated. I was beginning to wonder if that wasn’t Osh’s superpower.
“Are we ready?” I asked them. We did have a job to do.
They both offered hesitant nods, before Garrett asked, his mouth half full of carne adovada, “What are we doing again?”
Osh took one last bite of his burrito and nodded his approval of Garrett’s question.
“We aren’t doing anything. You two are flirting.”
“Sweet,” Osh said.
It amazed me how he could look like a high school student one second and, well, an older high school student the next. Kid looked like a kid. I almost felt bad about pimping him out, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
I texted Cookie, and she met us in the parking lot, her all-black attire and black ski cap not at all suspicious considering she normally looked like a Jackson Pollock.
“Great choice,” I said. All that was missing was black face paint.
“You think?” Her nervousness was charming. She gave Garrett and Osh a quick hug. “I’ve never pulled off a heist before. Oh, and I have black face paint if we need some.”
Every ounce of strength. That’s what it took not to giggle. “Well, it’s not really a heist, and we haven’t actually pulled anything off, yet.”
“Right, right.” She drew in a deep, calming breath.
We started toward Misery while Osh and Garrett climbed into Garrett’s truck.
“And just so you know, I’ll have your six through this whole thing.”
“Good to know, Cook.”
“Or, say, your seven thirty. Whatever you need.”
Every ounce of strength. “So, what did you tell Uncle Bob?” I asked, unlocking Misery’s secrets. And her doors.
“That we were going to a movie.”
I bit my lip, then asked, “And he bought that?”
“Of course, only his exact words were, ‘Tell that niece of mine if she gets you arrested, I’ll make sure she never sees the light of day.’”
“So, he totally bought it. Awesome.”
We hopped in Misery and headed to a little place I liked to call Pari’s Plausible Deniability.
“Want to tell me what happened tonight?” she asked.
“Oh, right, well, I had green chile chicken enchiladas, and Garrett—”
“Okay, fine. You don’t want to talk about it, you don’t want to talk about it. But just so you know, when my best friend comes back from a mission to capture a god naked with her hair on fire—”
“My hair was on fire?”
“—I’m going to ask questions.”
After a quick hair check, I took a left on San Mateo and headed north. “I’m sorry, Cook. I was going to tell you. It didn’t go as planned.”
“I assumed that. Did you learn anything, at least?”
“I learned that Rey’azikeen is just as good at coitus as his alter ego.”
Cookie gasped, then her eyes glazed over and a tiny corner of her mouth twitched. I let her stew in her own thoughts.
About thirty seconds later, she leaned close and said, “Tell me everything.”
I laughed and, well, told her everything, enjoying every sharp intake of breath, every sigh of pleasure, every “Oh, my God” and “Oh, no, he didn’t.” I knew I could count on the Cook to make me feel better.
Speaking of which, while Cookie was in the throes of amazement, I asked her if I could call her Walter. As in Walter White. As in the Cook.
She didn’t answer. I took that as a yes.
As we got closer to our destination, Walter sat stewing again, only this time she stewed in a stock made of sautéed astonishment, pureed bewilderment, and raw, undiluted desire. After all we’d been through, I loved that I could still dazzle her. I was worried she’d grow tired of my tales and my life would become mundane in her eyes. But so far, so good.
“I know it’s here somewhere,” I said, trying to find the place.
Garrett was following me, and I couldn’t help but find it reminiscent of the blind leading the sexy-but-also-blind. Which would explain the phone call I received from that very man.
“Do you know where you’re going?”
“Duh.”
“We’ve made three U-turns.”
“I’m getting a lay of the land. You know, memorizing our escape route should we need to haul ass.”
“Charles, where are we going?”
“I’m not 100 percent positive. Walter wrote down the address, but she’s in a state of shock at the moment.”
“He burned off your clothes?” Walter asked. At least she was talking again.
“I just remember the place seemed cocky.”
If it were possible to actually ground out a sigh of annoyance, Garrett just did it. “How can a business be cocky? And who the fuck is Walter?”
“There it is!” I pointed with way more enthusiasm than I should have and pulled into the parking lot of a large, menacing-looking building with a smaller one in front. “Welcome to the law offices of Dick, Adcock, and Peterman. See? Cocky. They had to know what they were doing when they partnered up.”
“What we need is in a law office?”
“No. What we need is in the huge building behind the law office.”
We pulled around to the side of the law offices to make it look like we were visiting our lawyer—in the middle of the night—and not breaking into and entering the building behind it.
Nicolette Lemay, my nurse friend with the freakishly cool gift of clairvoyance, albeit selective, walked out of the shadows and toward us, scanning the area as she hurried across the lot. Which didn’t look suspicious at all.
She met me as I slid out of Misery. “Are we really doing this?” she asked, her nerves supercharged. “I may be a nurse, but I panic easily.”
I laughed. “No worries. I have a plan.”
Walter gaped at me from the passenger’s seat. “You have a plan? I thought this was Garrett’s plan. Or Osh’s plan. Or Pari’s plan.”
Speaking of whom, Pari pulled up in a little red Dodge Dart, got out, and walked up to my open window.
I greeted her with a nod, then looked back at Cookie. “What are you trying to say, Walter?”
“I’m trying to say that your plans never work.”
“What? My plans always work most of the time, unless they’re carried out on a Friday. My Friday plans never pan out.”
Walter got out of the Jeep and walked around. I was pretty sure she checked out Misery’s ass on the way.
“Hey, Pari,” she said.
“Hey, Walter.” Pari caught on fast. Faster than some people who shall not be named … Garrett.
We walked over to his truck. Garrett rolled down his window. “What are we doing?”
“Well, that depends. There are two night guards here, and I’m not sure which one is on duty. If it’s the female, Garrett’s on. If it’s the male, this whole thing will rest in your hands, Osh.”
“Ten-four, boss.” A master flirt, he jumped out of Garrett’s truck, a little too happy to oblige.
Garrett was a little more hesitant.
“If it helps,” I added, knowing it would, “she won Miss New Mexico when she was twenty-two.”
That brightened him right up. He climbed out of his monster truck—boys and their toys—and spoke softly to Osh a moment.
“I can’t believe you let her plan this,” Walter said to them, admonishing.
“Walter,” I said, my tone more admonishing. “Ye of little faith. Maybe you need to stay in the car.”
“No way. And why are you calling me Walter?”
“You said I could.”
After making introductions in which Pari’s heart went pitter-pat for Garrett and Nicolette’s did the same for Osh, we headed to the front entrance of the building and peered t
hrough the plate glass.
“I don’t remember agreeing to changing my name,” Walter said.
“Probably all the meth. It’s the female guard.” I turned back to them. “Swopes, you’re up.”
Osh seemed disappointed.
I patted his shoulder. “It’s okay. We still need you. I just had my nails done.”
Garrett looked inside. “I thought you said she won Miss New Mexico.”
“She did. I told you, when she was twenty-two.”
He deadpanned me. Hard. “And when was that? The fifties?”
“Swopes, she’s not that old. Now go do your thing.”
He grinned. “Just kidding. She’s cute. This’ll be fun.”
“You’re such a slut.”
He shrugged and nodded toward Osh. “Make it good.”
Osh’s grin turned downright evil.
“Not too good,” Garrett clarified, but Osh had already fired.
He swung, so very much harder than anyone had expected, hitting Garrett’s left eye and the bridge of his nose.
Garrett’s head jerked back, and he stumbled a couple of steps. Then he pressed his hands to his face and doubled over, cursing like a drunken sailor on leave. But it worked. Blood slipped between Garrett’s fingers.
He straightened and glared at Osh.
“What?” he asked, the picture of innocence.
Then Garrett glared at me. “This is the worst plan ever.”
“See?” Walter nodded. “Told you. Nobody ever listens to me.”
After offering Osh a bloody middle finger, he stumbled to the glass doors and knocked.
The rest of us hurried to the side of the building where we could watch to make sure Garrett got in.
When the guard opened the door, Garrett turned on the charm, spouting something about being mugged and his cell battery dying and could he borrow a phone and maybe use the restroom.
But I had to stop and think. “Do people get mugged in Albuquerque?” It didn’t feel right. “Do we say mugged? And if not, what do we say?”
Everyone ignored me as the female guard opened the doors, and her heart, wide. She could not escort him into the building fast enough.
He gave us a furtive thumbs-up and slipped inside.
“That’ll keep her busy,” I said, rubbing my hands in anticipation. “Time to break and enter this puppy.”
We walked around to the back entrance of the building, Walter getting more and more nervous. “I’m so bad at breaking and entering.”
“Walter, no one is judging you. Not on this. However, you will be graded on your floor routine.”
Nicolette was in heaven. I slowed to chat with her. “You seem to be having fun.”
“Yeah, I don’t get out much.” She leaned close and gestured toward Osh. “And he’s cute.”
“Yes, he is.”
Nicolette was amazing. Who was I to thwart true love? He might become my son-in-law if the events I’d seen in my one glimpse into the future panned out, but that was a long way off. He could do with a little grounding here on Earth. It would keep him honest.
“Just so you go into this with your eyes open,” I said to her, “he’s a former slave demon from hell and lives off human souls. Don’t kiss him on the mouth. Like ever.”
Her eyes rounded to saucers and her pulse sped up and she was so in. I could tell by her puppy dog expression. Also a tiny drop of drool dotted one corner of her lovely mouth.
Oh, yeah. She was a keeper.
“What about security?” Pari asked.
“I know a guy who knows a guy. It happens to be down at the moment. No cameras. No alarms. Nothing.”
“Which is why they’re paying full-time security guards,” Walter said.
“Exactamundo. Pari? You’re up.”
Pari scrambled up the steps to a loading dock and, after much ado and a few curse words, picked the lock on the back door. I could’ve picked the lock myself, but Pari was faster. My lock picking skills were akin to an ’86 Yugo in a race with a Bugatti Chiron.
We were like a special ops team. It gave me goose bumps.
We hurried inside, and then I laid out the plan.
“Okay, to save Pari’s life and preserve her freedom—but mostly to save her life—Nicolette is going to draw blood from everyone for an art project. Not much. Maybe like a gallon or two each.”
“A pint,” Nicolette suggested. “Half if we don’t want to risk anyone passing out when we make our daring getaway.” She was really good at this stuff.
Angel had popped in and stood nonchalantly behind Nicolette, interest evident in his glistening eyes, but the minute I explained my plan, he started to back away.
“Hey Angel. You’re just in time. We need a lookout.”
He gestured with a nod, but continued backing away. “I just remembered, I have anywhere else to be.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked him as he paled before my eyes. It amazed me the departed could do that.
“I don’t really like the sight of blood.”
I blinked. “Says the departed gangbanger with the gaping chest wound.”
He looked down. “That’s different.”
“Not really.” Before I could say anything else, he was gone. Little shit. That got me nowhere fast. Who would be our lookout?
I turned to Osh, but Nicolette stood pinching the bridge of her nose. She glanced back at me.
I pointed to the space Angel just vacated. “Angel doesn’t like the sight of blood.”
“Let me get this straight,” she said, suddenly annoyed.
I straightened in alarm. What’d I do now?
“We broke into a plasma center so I could draw blood from everyone for … an art project?”
“Yep.”
Walter furrowed her brows. “I thought you said we were stealing a blood collection van.”
“Nope. Too easy to track down.”
“And this is going to save Pari’s life?” Nicolette asked.
“And ignite her creativity. Two birds. One stone.”
She planted both her palms on a desk as though for strength. “You do realize I could have stolen the supplies from the hospital and done this at, say, your office? For example?”
I gaped at her. “Seriously? We didn’t need to risk felony charges and a life behind bars?”
She let a humorless smile thin her mouth and shook her head. Well, everyone in the room shook their heads, seeming a little frustrated with me. Everyone except Osh. He’d found a machine that made pretty sounds when he pushed the buttons on it.
“You said you couldn’t steal blood from the hospital.”
“I can’t. That doesn’t mean I can’t take a few supplies. It’s still illegal, but it can be done.”
“You could’ve said something thirty minutes ago,” I said under my breath.
“You didn’t let me in on the plan until now.”
“Told you,” Walter said, gloating. She was so not getting invited to the office Christmas party.
“Well, crap.” I glanced around. “Okay, so how about we just steal the supplies from here and go back to Pari’s?”
“That works,” Nicolette said, suddenly her perky self. She hurried to the supply room, which Pari also picked, and took everything she’d need to drain us all dry. If she were a serial killer, or a vampire, this would be a prime opportunity for her.
When we finished plundering the place, I dragged Osh out of a reclining chair in which he’d fallen asleep and we filed outside, no worse for the wear.
I sprinted to the front of the building and knocked on the glass doors. Both Garrett and the security guard looked up at me, Garrett confused and the security guard miffed.
They walked to the doors, and she unlocked them. Before she could say anything, I began the show.
“Garrett! Oh, my God!” I rushed forward and threw my arms around him. “What happened? Who did this?”
“I was mugged.”
“Do we say mugged in Albuquerque?”
“I’m so sorry. I’ll take you to the hospital.”
Disappointment lined the guard’s face. But it quickly transformed into confusion. “Wait, I thought you said your name was Reyes. Reyes Farrow.”
After I gaped at him for an eternity, an eternity in which he struggled to conceal mischievous grin, I turned back to her. “It is. It’s Reyes Garrett Farrow. Not Reyes Alexander Farrow.” I snorted and waved a dismissive hand. “That’s another guy altogether.”
She wrinkled her forehead in suspicion.
“Gotta go,” I said, hurrying him along. “Have to get this man to a hospital for multiple stab wounds.”
“He was stabbed?” she asked with a concerned gasp.
“Not yet, but the night is young.”
Garrett wrapped an arm around me, and I helped him to his truck, where Osh was sitting. In the driver’s seat. He started to order him out when I said, “We have to make this look good,” and led him to the passenger’s side.
“That was fast,” he said. “Did you get what you needed?”
“We did. We just got the supplies, because apparently that was an option, and Nicolette is going to draw our blood at Pari’s place.”
“The mighty Charles Davidson stole?”
“Hey,” I said, offended. “I’ve stolen before.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Also, I left a hundred on the desk with an apology note, but don’t worry, I disguised my handwriting.”
He deadpanned me. “Did you disguise your fingerprints?”
Crap.
12
If I were a Jedi,
there’s a 100% chance I’d use the Force inappropriately.
—TRUE FACT
“This is the weirdest idea you’ve ever had,” Pari said when we got back to her apartment. “I love it.”
I giggled. “I figured you would.”
Nicolette took a little blood from all of us, and Pari mixed it, along with a dash of CAM phosphor, into a paint that matched her office walls. She then, with the help of a black light, created a beautiful mural right on top of the blood splatters that were already there, because no amount of cleaning ridded a scene of forensic evidence like that. Ever. Not without replacing the wall, anyway.
Pari applied a few more strokes, then did a test. She turned off the black light and turned on the regular lights. The new paint blended into the old, barely noticeable. One would have to be hard-pressed to figure out where the old paint ended and the new paint began.
The Trouble With Twelfth Grave Page 11
