Page 426 of Devil’s Disciples

I glanced in my purse.

Cash’s wallet sat inside, right where it’d been since I took it from him at the beginning of the night.

I planned to waste thirty minutes or so and return to the shop with a wild tale. The “risk” I’d taken to retrieve the wallet would cause Cash to give me the respect I deserved. In his eyes, I’d be saving him from a trip to prison.

In reality, I was relaxing with a cup of coffee while the crew pulled the lockbox locks. In time, I’d tell everyone the truth. Everyone except Cash, that is.

It had been years since I had as much fun as I had running from the cops. Nothing beats the adrenaline rush from outrunning a police officer in a high-speed chase. Thinking two or three steps ahead while speeding at rate so fast that a quarter of a mile passes in five seconds takes nerves of steel.

As I sipped my coffee, I filled with guilt. Not for taking Cash’s wallet. I felt I needed to drive by the scene of the crime and see what was going on. The men were going to ask me what I’d seen. Lying to them wasn’t something I was willing to do. At least not any more than I must to play the prank on Cash.

With some hesitation, I went to my car, took off my sweater, and began driving north.

Before I reached the exit, I could see the flashing lights. The entire parking lot was filled with police officers, police cruisers, and a few crime scene vans. Many more than what was needed to collect evidence, that’s for sure.

I took the Carmel Creek Road exit, and immediately turned on Carmel Mountain Road. I grinned at the thought of driving on the very same road only an hour prior at over 140 miles an hour.

I crept along at fifteen miles an hour until I reached the back of the bank. The lot was filled with haphazardly parked cop cars, all sitting at odd angles with their lights flashing.

An odd sense of satisfaction washed over me. The thought of being at the crime scene of a crime I committed, and the police having no idea that I was the one they were after was strangely gratifying.

Satisfied that I would be able to safely say I’d returned to the scene of the crime without lying, I came to a stop and took one last look at the chaos before leaving. While struggling to get the gear shifter in reverse, a nice-looking plain-clothes officer approached my car.

Just as the gear shifter clunked into gear, he motioned for me to roll my window down.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked.

“No, just looking,” I responded. “What happened?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” he said.

I nodded. “I see.”

“Do you have reason to be here?” he asked.

“It’s not a military installation, is it?” I asked.

“No, ma’am.”

“Government facility?”

“No, ma’am.”

“So, it’s not off-limits?” I asked.

“No, ma’am, I guess not. It is an active crime scene.”

I weighed my options. Getting a little more information from him, if possible, could really help us on planning future jobs. I rolled the dice. “I was going to Del Mar heights earlier for a cup of coffee, and I saw a black SUV being chased by a police car.” I gestured behind me. “Right over there.”

“Did you get a look at the occupants of the vehicle?” He pulled a notepad from his pocket. “Their facial features?”

“No. I was on the highway, headed north.”

“What business did you have in Del Mar Heights?” he asked.

“I just told you, I was getting coffee.”

“Who did you meet?”