The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(59)

Nina leans over my arm and sloshes a drink toward Matteo. “You guys look waaaay too serious. This is a party.” She executes a cute little wiggle in the seat next to me. “And, MG, your friend Lawrence was so good tonight. Your costume was divine!”

Matteo’s eyebrows draw together, and I realize he’s put two and two together. “Your friend . . . Lawrence.” I can literally see comprehension dawning.

I sip my beer and try to look innocent.

Matteo sighs. “Well, I don’t have time to talk to him, er, her, right now. Probably tomorrow by the time this all gets wrapped up, but I’ll tell Rideout I located him. Her. Lawrence.” He motions to his phone, picks up his water, and salutes the table. “My apologies, ladies. I didn’t want to crash the party, just stopped by to say hello. MG, I’ll catch you later?”

I spin to face him, relief and curiosity warring for dominance in my heart. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, that was work.” He stands, straightening his tie. His eyes slide past me, and I can tell he doesn’t want to say anything in front of our audience. So I follow him out the door and to the parking lot.

It smells like a summer night just before a storm; a wet heaviness hangs in the air, and the clouds seem charged.

Matteo vibrates with an anxious energy. “There’s a ship off schedule that just pulled into the dock outside the warehouse. It could be nothing, but patrol has been watching specifically for something like this.”

“But you think it’s something?”

He shrugs. “I’m not sure. Detective Rideout and Agent Sosa think we’re chasing our own tail and wasting resources monitoring this warehouse. The drug operations know it’s under surveillance, so Sosa thinks they’d never continue to use it.” Matteo runs a hand down his face.

I chew my lip. “I can see her point.” I hesitate. “But . . . the dock. The warehouse. The rabbit, then the boat. It’s all the progression in the book. I think the ship thing is our best bet at following the Hooded Falcon. At least until we figure out the printing press angle. If you stop watching the warehouse, what happens if we miss the next clue? What happens if we miss the White Rabbit himself?”

“That’s what I’m thinking too.” He tucks the phone back in his pocket. “I’ll call you if I find anything.”

I cross my arms. “What if you miss it? The clue, I mean. You would have missed the white rabbit without my help.”

He shoots me a look. “You’re not coming.”

Oh yes. I am.

“I didn’t say I’m coming with you. I just asked what if you miss a clue.” I watch enough true crime TV to know that he can’t take a civilian along, but if I just happen to feel like strolling in the warehouse district of LA at night, well, then he couldn’t stop me from exercising my basic rights.

He studies me, sensing a trap. His phone buzzes again, and he starts walking to his car, pushing the unlock button on his fob. The lights flash on a dark sedan that I gather is his undercover car. “I’ll call you once I’m there and see what’s going on.”

“You should probably get going. Toodles.” I wave at him and turn, making a show of walking back toward Hamburger Mary’s.

“Michael-Grace . . .” Matteo can tell something’s up.

“What? I already said I know I’m not going with you.”

Of course I’m going. Just not with him. I’m the Captain freaking Janeway of my own destiny, and if he thinks I’m going to let him or that jerk Detective Rideout screw with my crime scene, with the masked avenger masquerading as my favorite hero, when it’s me who tipped them off in the first place? Not to even mention the fact that Rideout thinks it’s me working with the Golden Arrow? Forget Captain Janeway. Trekkies unite and all due respect, but she has to play by Starfleet’s rules. I shove aside the niggling thought that I should play by the rules. I need to be a rulebreaker. A vigilante hero of my very own. I am the Han frickin’ Solo of my destiny now.





CHAPTER 18

It takes me a moment to debate. If I stay, I could catch L before the police talk to him. If I leave, I won’t get a chance to talk to Lawrence until after my midnight stroll in East LA. I don’t have time to dither, and Matteo is already at his car. My come-to-Jesus meeting with L is going to have to wait.

I yank my phone out of my purse as I run, ricocheting off any number of men, women, queens, and the rainbow in between as I go. Normally I’d apologize. Right now I have to get to my Millennium Falcon and get to a nunnery—er, warehouse.

I’m texting and running, a huge no-no, but manage to get one sent off to Lawrence.

Something big came up, had to go. You were wonderful. Need to talk after your show, will text you later.

I’m startled when the phone buzzes not a few moments later. Usually L is MIA during a show. L’s message makes me laugh out loud. Well you wouldn’t want it to be small, would you? Have fun, I know I would.

Oh, L. Only he could make me truly belly laugh in the middle of chasing a police detective chasing a masked avenger chasing criminals unknown. L better still love me after I explain the mess I’ve gotten him into.

I skid in my heels on the pavement as I run down the poorly lit aisle toward the Hurtling Turd, now thusly dubbed the Millennium Turd. I am, after all, Han Solo. I catch sight of a set of taillights pulling out of the parking lot and breathe a huge sigh of relief. The lights belong to a dark new-model sedan, and I’d bet dollars to doughnuts that Matteo is behind the wheel.