Page 427 of Devil’s Disciples

“Did I say I was meeting anyone?”

“I assumed a nice-looking girl like you would be meeting someone for coffee. What time was that? Two am?”

“Seven minutes after one,” I said dryly.

He laughed. “Seven?”

“Yeah. Seven. After one.”

“You sure about that?”

“Sure enough to say it.” I pointed at a digital clock I’d retrofitted to the dash. “This said 1:07. I looked at it right after I saw the flashing lights.”

“So, you saw the lights, but you didn’t see the occupants faces?”

I scowled. I nodded toward the mass of cop cars that were parked a hundred yards away. “See those flashing lights?”

He glanced toward the commotion. “Sure do.”

“Can you describe the cops standing over there?”

“Point taken,” he said.

“Do you have a business card?” I asked.

He reached into his pocket. “I do.”

He handed me the card through the window. “What’s your name?”

“I’d rather not say. I try to stay out of databases and such.” I held the card under the glow of the digital clock and studied it. “Well, Detective Watson, if I think of anything I’ll have my people get with your people.”

He laughed. “You have people?”

“No.” I flashed a smile. “But it sounds cool, huh?”

“That it does.” He shoved his pad into his pocket. “Have a nice night.”

He stood with his arms crossed and waited for me to turn around. Instead of doing so and giving him a full view of my license plate, I backed all the way up the road in reverse. When I reached the first access road to the adjoining neighborhood, I was well out of sight, so I turned around.

A quick check of the rearview mirror revealed him walking away, toward the flashing lights.

Going there was an undoubted risk. I was an avid risk-taker, as long as there was promise of reward.

Detective Marc Watson’s business card was my reward.

158

Goose

My stomach was doing back flips. I’d been to the bathroom half a dozen times, physically sick over the thought of Ally returning to the bank. If anything happened to her, I’d be emotionally—and physically—incapacitated.

Four of us paced the floor while Cash attempted to drill the lock on one of the boxes. We’d taken ten-minute shifts drilling and had yet to get through the first lock. A ding from the elevator sent a chill of hope along my spine.

I spun around.

Wearing white undershirt, jeans, and her new sneakers, she emerged from the elevator. Relief washed over me. She looked adorable.

Cash looked up. “Did you get it?”