Ambush (Michael Bennett #11)(46)

“It probably doesn’t. But I need to be sure.”

He pressed his fingertips to his temples like he’d just gotten a headache. “You will be the death of me.”

“Is that a no?”

“More of a hell no.”

“Okay then.” I stood.

“Ah, for—” He dropped his hands. “Sit your ass back down. You told me when you applied for this job you wanted a little quiet.”

I remained standing. “Maybe I wasn’t meant for quiet.”

“Everyone but DJs and stuntmen needs downtime.”

“And Marines.”

He muttered a string of words I was pretty sure weren’t in the dictionary, then took a breath and sat up, propping his elbows on the desk. “Explain it to me.”

I dropped back in the chair. “I just want to poke around a little. Ask a few questions. Make sure I’m wrong.”

“Iraq and Kane. I’m not tracking.”

“It’s probably nothing.”

“You’re still on vacation. Helluva way to spend it.”

I waited, unsure whether to give him my pearly whites or puppy dog eyes. I would go outside the lines if I had to, but this job would be easier with official backing.

We had a stare down for thirty seconds. I blinked first. I got to my feet a second time. “I’ll be back in the office next week, when my vacation is officially over.”

“Goddammit, Parnell.” He unlocked a drawer in his desk and reached inside. “Helluva way to run a railroad.”

He held out a key fob and an extra set of keys. “Your new chariot. If you’re going to go all Sherlock Holmes on me, you might as well drive it instead of that deathmobile you call a car.”

I raised an eyebrow. “We got new vehicles?”

“Homeland decided it was time to drag us into the twenty-first century. New SUVs for everyone. More horsepower, cellular, and a satellite linkup. And your K9’s digs are pretty cushy, too.”

My fingers itched to take the keys. “I’m not on duty yet.”

“The detailing ain’t done yet, either. Fair trade. You’ll be undercover. Seems to me it’s a good idea to get used to the vehicle before you’re officially chasing bad guys. Move your Land Cruiser to a corner spot until you can come back for it. Or better yet, hide it in that pile of junk by the garage. We got an image to uphold.”

I took both the keys and the implied approval. “Thanks, boss.”

He grimaced. “Pick up your work laptop on your way out. Now get out of here. Both of you. And don’t let me see you in the news.”



Outside, the heat bore down like a bad mood. The sun had burnished our famous Colorado blue sky into a dull hollow, like an upturned fry pan.

I drove around to the far side of headquarters and across a series of tracks to the garage. One of the mechanics, Mason Reese, saw me coming and waved me in. Here was where they serviced not just our police cars, but also the crew trucks, our little putt-putts, the high-rail vehicles, and assorted other track maintenance equipment.

“Hey,” he said when Clyde and I got out. “Your truck’s not done.”

“Good to see you, Mason.” We shook hands. “Boss told me to go ahead and take it. Give it a test run for a couple of days.”

He thought about this, then shrugged. “Okay.”

Mason gave the sense that all human activity was mysterious and better left unexplored.

“You mind if I leave my Land Cruiser here for the next day or so?”

He swiped his nose with the back of his hand. Shrugged. “Okay.”

“Would you take a look at it first? I need to check something.”

“Can’t service personal vehicles.”

“I’d never ask. I just want you to look at the undercarriage, see if you spot anything unusual.”

His eyes finally met mine. “You mean like, is there a leprechaun hiding behind the muffler?”

I’d never heard him string together so many words, and I wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. “Or something. Do you mind?”

Another shrug, slightly more elaborate than the first two. He told me to wait. He disappeared into the bowels of the garage, then returned with an inspection mirror. This one came with a light, which he switched on. He began moving along the vehicle, making a tsking noise with his tongue. He clearly thought I was one sandwich short of a picnic. But he was the one who’d brought up leprechauns. He went around the rear of the Cruiser to the far side, then stopped, squinted, and went back a step.

“Hmm,” he said. Mason-speak for, Wow, there’s something really strange and unusual here.

I joined him on the far side, and we both bent low. Mason pointed to a small black box. “Tracking device.”

He yanked the thing free, and we stood up to inspect it.

“Magnetic case,” he explained. He slid the device free of its housing. “They can track you anywhere on their phone or computer.”

Mason was positively gushing, but it was as I had suspected.

He held it up. “Put it back?”

“Um, no.” I pondered my options, then held out my hand. “I’ll take care of it. Where’s my new truck?”

“Out near the gate.”

“Would you mind driving it over here? I don’t want to be seen getting in.”