The Trouble with Twelfth Grave (Charley Davidson #12)(66)
After making it to a shaded boulder, I dug the phone out of my cleavage.
I put it to my ear and asked, “Did you get all that?”
“Charley, damn it.”
I got that so often.
“What the hell?” she asked, clearly relieved I was still alive. “I didn’t know what to do. It’s been an hour since the gun went off.”
“Ten minutes.”
“Close enough!”
“Sorry, hon. But it was Taft. You knew I’d be okay, right?”
“No. How could I know you’d be okay? He fired a gun. Four times.”
“Yeah, I think he was enjoying that. Did you get the conversation?”
She let out a long sigh, then confirmed target was acquired. God, I loved technical speak.
“Every word. What do I do with it?”
I looked around, ignoring the sullen god lounging on top of the rocky protrusion I’d almost died behind, and tried to figure out how I was going to get a ride back to Albuquerque.
“At first, I was thinking Joplin, but I can’t risk all of that getting into the wrong hands. Send the whole thing to Kit with my apologies.”
“Your apologies? What did you do now?”
“Disobeyed a direct order.”
“Will she arrest you?”
“There is a strong likelihood, yes. Let her know I need Joplin to get the part about Elena killing her brother. The rest she can keep under wraps. Oh, and don’t be surprised if she raids the place and confiscates the recording.”
“I never am.”
“How much do you think a cab back to Albuquerque would cost?”
“It would be cheaper just to buy a new car. Something cool. Like a Porsche.”
Now, there was an idea.
*
An hour later, thanks to LoJack, Cookie found Misery. In Mexico. Most likely with the keys in the ignition, inviting grand theft auto.
I Ubered it to Juarez, which is apparently much easier than Ubering it out of Juarez. It took me a while to explain to the driver, who’d picked me up in the middle of nowhere wearing a little black dress, ankle-high boots, and a lot of dirt why I needed to hide in his trunk, but my passport and other paraphernalia were in my purse in the very Jeep I was headed toward.
At least it was if they didn’t take it, but since the whole point was to prove I’d gone to Mexico and gotten myself dragged off and killed, never to be seen again, it would’ve been stupid for them not to leave it.
I promised him a huge tip, as in four figures, if he’d let me rest in his trunk. He was worried we’d get caught, but I assured him we wouldn’t. If they did happen to open the trunk, which was unlikely, I’d just shift onto the celestial plane. I’d vanish.
He totally didn’t believe me, though. Not the part where it was unlikely they would open the trunk but the part where I could shift onto the celestial plane and become Invisigirl. Strange how nobody believed that shit.
My other choice was, of course, to shift and go across incorporeally, but I still didn’t trust the whole teleportation thing. I once had a nightmare where I’d shifted and tried to go on vacation in Ireland, only to materialize in the center of the sun. Probably because I had a nuclear-powered furnace asleep beside me.
On the plus side, I’d get a great tan.
We found Misery sitting alone on a dusty street with more than one hungry pair of eyes watching her. Just in case someone on Elena’s payroll was still there, I paid a ten-year-old girl to steal it for me.
She picked me up a few blocks away, and I paid her and the driver, then headed back across the border, thankful I kept a hidden stash underneath Idris, my driver’s seat. A hidden stash that contained my passport, five thousand in cash, and a travel-sized box of Cheez-Its.
Once I crossed the border, I called Cookie.
“So?” she asked.
“I got her back. It was a teary reunion. I told her never to do that to me again. Then I did that thing where I slapped her, then pulled her into my arms and cried. I think the Uber driver is scared of me.”
“Charley, you are going to be the death of me.”
“Sadly, you could be right. How are things on the home front? Any more attacks?”
“Not that we know of. Robert is going to call if he hears anything. Garrett’s at Pari’s, and Osh is at the hospital watching over Nicolette.”
“Perfect. Oh,” I said, remembering my mission. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” She had no idea what I meant, but she soon would.
“Wait for it…”
“I’m breathless with anticipation.”
“Pico and De Gallo.”
I waited, so proud of my creative mind, it was unreal.
“Okay, I like it, but which is which?”
“Cook,” I said, disappointed, “do you even know your breasts?”
“’Parently not as well as you do.”
“Pico is your left and De Gallo is your right. Wait, hold on.” I lowered my phone and tested the names out on Danger and Will. “Yes, that’s it. Left and right.”
She thought about it another moment, then said, “Okay, we have an accord.”
“Yes!” Victory was mine at last. I did a fist pump, then choked on the dust I’d stirred up.