Ultimate Weapon (McClouds & Friends #6)(40)

A terrible suspicion dawned. Oh, that evil, evil son of a bitch. Suspicion grew instantly into certainty. He would suffer for this.

“I don’t know! They were working in that restaurant, and the cops come in and say they are dealing drugs out of the kitchen!” Rosalia’s voice vibrated with outrage. “Drugs! It’s a dirty lie! My boys don’t deal drugs! They’re good boys! Roberto was going to get married next month, and Francisco, he was enrolled in night school at the community college! He’s going to be a pharmacist! They are good boys, both of them! I have to go, right now! I am sorry.”

Tam’s heart sank. “From this, I gather you won’t be able to come in for a while,” she said.

Rosalia threw up her hands. “I don’t know! How can I know when I can come again? I tell you, I am sorry! This problem, I have to fix it! I don’t know how long it will—”

“Yes, I know,” Tam said, through clenched teeth. “I understand perfectly. Hold on, Rosalia. Don’t run out just yet. Let me get something for you.” Tam tried to put Rachel down, but the kid stuck to her like she was smeared with superglue, so Tam wiggled into the pantry closet with Rachel still clutching her neck. She shoved cereals and cans carelessly out of the way and pried a board out of the wall to reveal a hidden safe. She tapped in the codes until it swung open and grabbed a few packets of emergency cash. Enough to help the hardworking Rosalia out with whatever came up, but not so much that it would frighten her.

It was the least she could do, since she was terribly afraid that Rosalia’s problems were Tam’s own goddamn fault anyhow.

She came out into the kitchen again. Rosalia waited, clutching her purse with white-knuckled hands. Tam held out the wads of cash.

“Take this,” she said brusquely. “It might help. Bail, and all.”

Rosalia took it and hefted it gingerly, her eyes big. “This…this is clean money?” she asked timidly.

Hmph. Rosalia was no fool. She had a nose for anything outlaw, despite the language barrier. “Clean enough,” she assured the older woman. “I didn’t steal it. I earned it with my jewelry business. I even paid taxes on it, wonder of wonders. Go on, get out of here, and go see to your boys. I’ll call you to see how it’s going.”

Rosalia shoved the money into her purse and grabbed Tam in a tight, impetuous hug. Tam stiffened, unprepared for it, but Rosalia didn’t care. She just chucked her on the chin, gave the whimpering Rachel a fervent kiss, and scurried down the stairs.

Her exit was another upset to Rachel’s already precarious emotional balance. It touched off a brand-new screaming, flailing fit. The kid had supernatural endurance and vocal technique that would put a Wagnerian opera diva to shame. An hour went by, and her wails were still so loud Tam didn’t even hear her alarm. Only the red strobing light over the doors informed her that there was a breach of security.

She’d installed the system so she could keep an eye on her domain while rocking out at high volume on headphones, never thinking she’d need it for dealing with a three-year-old’s high decibel tantrums. Life was funny that way.

She carried the shrieking child over to the security monitor and stared at it, a sour, sinking feeling in her belly. A police cruiser idled outside the apparently falling-down barn that camoflauged the entrance to her driveway. Two men were inside. One lifted a cell phone to his ear and talked into it, scowling. A bad sign, that they had found her at all. Someone had blown her cover. Her teeth gritted.

That filthy rat bastard. Fucking with her. Again.

She chewed her lip, barely hearing Rachel’s shrieks. If she ignored them, they would get huffy, go away, and come back in force. A siege she definitely did not need. That was a game she could not win.

She hit the button that activated the intercom hidden in a hollow tree right next to the police cruiser and typed one-handed, changing the audio settings so their responses would be loud enough to hear over Rachel’s noise. “Good evening, officers,” she said into the mike. “What can I do for you?”

The guy behind the wheel, the beefier one, jumped hearing her voice and Rachel’s coming out of nowhere. His window buzzed down, and he leaned out the window, scowling. “Ms. Steele? Is that you?”

So they knew her name, too. Worse and worse. “Yes, I’m Tam Steele,” she said. “May I ask what this is about?”

“May we come up to the house?” the man asked. “We’d like to speak to you.”

Shit, shit, shit. “May I ask what it’s about?” she asked again.

“Ms. Steele, may we come up to the house and speak to you?” the man repeated doggedly.

She mouthed a vicious curse against Val Janos’s ancestors back to the seventh generation and hit the buttons that would open up the barn passage. So much for her clever, costly camo job. It would be a public sideshow from now on. She might as well call Seth’s workmen to come and dismantle the f*cking thing. What a pain in the ass.

Maybe she could sell it. Right. At an assassin’s garage sale.

She used the few minutes of grace that she had before they reached the house to dress the wiggling, shrieking Rachel in a coat and shoes, and she was waiting for them with the toddler wailing on her hip as the cruiser pulled up to the garage. A grizzled, burly older man and a skinny younger one got out, looking avidly around.

“Good evening, officers,” she said. “What can I do for you?”