The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(80)
“What if he has a protégé? L, I’ve been thinking. Rideout’s dad worked with this guy. Munez got Rideout’s dad out of some serious charges. Then Rideout trained with him for years until he retired. Maybe Munez is the original, but my hunch says that we’re dealing with a younger cop, still on the force, and someone in Matteo’s inner circle. Someone who took his ideas and runs the same operation. Maybe this is what the Golden Arrow is trying to tell us.”
“That’s a lot to prove, MG.”
I give up and throw my phone—still stuck loading the fourth and fifth pictures on Google Images—into my lap. I’ll have to try again later. “Yes, thank you for your assessment. Now let’s go before Matteo comes out. He already suspects that I have the journal, and if he sees me with you, well, I’ll be off the case for sure.” His warning said as much. If he finds proof that I’ve taken the journal the police are looking for, I’ll probably be arrested for impeding an investigation. I catch L’s startled look at my mention of the journal. “I’ll tell you about the journal on our way. We need to get to the warehouse by eleven p.m.”
Lawrence shifts the car into drive, though we can’t move forward yet. We have to wait for several people to meander across the road toward the party at an infuriatingly slow speed. Too late, I recognize Agent Sosa and her husband walking through the parking lot. I will her not to notice me, but my car’s wheezing exhaust system is pretty noticeable in the sea of luxury automobiles. She catches my eye. I can’t look away, even as they make their slow way in our direction.
Agent Sosa stops just outside my window. It seems intentional and threatening, even though I’ve done nothing to this woman but be polite tonight. “Leaving so soon, Ms. Martin?”
“Business to attend to,” I answer through my open window. I make a move to roll it up. Having it down was a big mistake.
Her eyes slide to Lawrence, then back to me. Lawrence does his usual “haters gonna hate” ignore-them routine. I wish I could be as good at it as him. Instead, I reach across the middle of my car and grasp his hand with mine. I’m fighting off a strong case of the heebie-jeebies along with a ball of anxiety that would make Black Lightning nervous. I’m positive he can feel my hand shaking, and he squeezes back.
Her sour smile has turned into something of a Cheshire grin, and it doesn’t sit well with me either. “Well, it was nice to see you again. Maybe we’ll see you and your friend around. Lawrence, isn’t it? I thought someone inside was asking about him. Have a nice night. I’m sure we’ll be seeing both of you soon.” She and her husband continue around the car, but I’m frozen in my seat.
“L, did she just use your name?”
“Yes. Shit. She doesn’t seem friendly.”
“She knows Matteo is looking for you.” Dread seeps into my pores like one of Lawrence’s ridiculous gel facial masks. This gets more real, more dangerous by the minute. “We need to go. She knows who you are. I’m with you, and I’ll bet my spandex that she’s going to tell Matteo. You could get arrested for evading police, and I could be arrested for obstructing justice. On so many counts.” I think of the journal in my pocket. My heart sinks, and I fight a wave of nausea. But my job right now is to keep Matteo safe, keep L safe, and solve this crime so I can beg forgiveness. No way out but through. Sometimes you just have to go into the fight and throw a lot of elbows. “L, I need your help to put this whole puzzle together before someone I love gets hurt.”
I know the comics. I know enough about the crime scenes to get me started. I’m going to have to be very careful not to get caught, but if anyone can catch the Golden Arrow at his own game, it is me. This is do or die, life or death.
Lawrence regards me, then revs the engine of my little car. “Game on, bitches.”
We park two blocks away from the warehouse in an alley behind a dumpster, per Lawrence’s insistence. Sometimes even Han took suggestions from Leia.
“I should have been more specific about Operation Janeway’s uniform requirements.” I push my black wig off my forehead and glare through the curls at Lawrence, who seems to be monitoring everything while still walking down a dark alley without tripping. There is no sign of a wiggle in his walk. This is game face for Lawrence, and if I’m right, he’s carrying at least one gun on his person.
“I look like a castoff from Saturday Night Fever,” I grumble. Truth be told, I rather love the maroon leather jumpsuit I’m rocking, and the knee-high brown boots are very Kill Bill. Better for a little B and E than my lace dress by a mile.
“I wish. I’d kill for some bling and a good pair of bell-bottoms right now,” Lawrence answers. Beside me he looks right out of The Matrix in his black pants, black sparkle T-shirt with a hot pink “L” on it, trench coat, and Blade Runner black boots. “You don’t want them to instantly recognize you on surveillance, do you?”
I glance around. “Who is them?”
Lawrence shrugs. “The police. Your boyfriend. The drug dealers.”
We’re standing just outside the alcove. It looks less mysterious and sexy tonight and more . . . trashy, filthy, and it smells like urine. I miss Matteo’s strong presence and his Kevlar vest.
“So tell me again why we’re here.” Lawrence glances around.