Code(34)

“Jason’s dad is a detective.” Third time I’d repeated it. “We’re trying to contact a police expert. Why wouldn’t we use that connection?”

“The Gamemaster’s rules.” Ben leaned closer, dropped his voice. “We’re not supposed to talk to anyone. People could get hurt.”

Hi and Shelton flanked Ben. We’d arranged ourselves this way so Jason could sit next to me, but right now it felt like a firing squad.

“Ben could be right.” Hi was shrugging off his inside-out jacket. “The rules don’t specifically mention this, but I doubt the Gamemaster would see it that way.”

“We just need an introduction.” My patience was wearing thin. “Jason can get a message to this Marchant guy, and then we can give him the swab. Easy.”

“What makes you think Marchant will help us?” Shelton asked. “We don’t know him. And I thought those labs couldn’t do side projects?”

“That’s why we need Jason,” I said, exasperated. “He’s our in.”

Hi glanced behind me. “He’s coming now.” Pause. “Ever notice how short Jason wears his ties? He looks like an insurance salesman. And learn a Windsor knot already.”

Shelton snorted, covered it by shoveling vegetable medley into his mouth.

Jason slid into the chair beside me. “Something funny?”

Shelton expelled a few fake hacks. “Hiccups.”

“Whatever.” Jason seemed in good spirits. “Sorry I’m late. I didn’t hit my locker until after third period, and just got your note. What’s up?”

I smiled sweetly. I hoped. “We have a favor to ask.”

“She has a favor to ask,” Ben interjected.

Damn it, Ben! The last thing I needed.

Jason, to his credit, ignored Ben’s clarification. “I live to serve. Name it.”

“I need to reach someone at the CPD crime lab.” Acting like my request was the most normal thing in the world. “A forensics expert named Eric Marchant.”

“And you’re hoping I can make that happen.” Jason flashed a droll grin. “What’d you do this time? Shoot somebody?”

Ben sighed loudly. “Can you help Tory or not?”

Jason’s cool slipped a notch. “If you don’t need anything, why are you here?”

“I’m studying jerkoffs in the wild,” Ben answered dryly. “This seemed like a good chance to observe one up close.”

Jason leaned forward. “You want up close? We can step outside for a better look.”

Hi and Shelton placed hands on Ben’s shoulders.

“Enough!” I barked. “Ben, quit screwing around. Apologize.”

Ben’s gaze cut to me. Then he sat back and crossed his arms. “Sorry.” His tone could not have been less sincere.

Jason gave Ben a level look. “Hey, no problem, pal. Misunderstandings happen.”

Ben reddened, but held his tongue.

“I’m working on something for my father’s birthday,” I said quickly. “A scientist out at LIRI said I should speak to Marchant.”

“What’s the project?”

“I can’t tell you.” Coy. “It’d spoil the surprise.”

Jason pulled a face. “But the surprise isn’t for me.”

The boys were right. This was a terrible cover story.

Unfortunately, hard as I’d tried, I hadn’t come up with a single plausible reason why I’d need a CPD forensics expert. One that wouldn’t lead to more questions. Questions I couldn’t answer.

So I forged ahead, hoping I didn’t sound as phony as I felt.

“My dad’s way into history. Last week, I found this antique cash register in the old market that I knew he’d love.”

Avoiding eye contact. Antique cash register?

“It’s the bomb,” Hi added. “Buttons everywhere. Really good at totaling prices.”

“The problem is,” I continued, “the gears need a specific type of oil to run properly. I don’t know which one, but was told Marchant could identify things like that if given a sample.”

Jason looked at me askance. “You need a police forensics expert to identify oil for an antique cash register?”

“Mmm-hmm.” I tried not to squirm. Sooo ridiculous.

“You get into the weirdest things.”

“You’ll help me out?” Thousand-watt smile.

Jason shrugged. “Sure, why not. I can call over about Marchant.”

“Thank you so much!” I removed the swab from my bag and handed it to Jason. “Here’s the sample.”

Jason raised the swab like a baton. “One condition.”

“Anything.”

“I get to see this amazing cash register.”

Crap.

Shelton’s brows climbed his forehead. Hi winced. Ben’s attention snapped back to the table.

Jason didn’t seem to notice. “You’ll have to show me this machine, one-on-one.”

“‘One-on-one,’” Ben mimicked in a singsong voice. Then he got up and started for the door. “Jesus, this is painful to watch. I’m outta here.”

Jason shot to his feet, nostrils flaring. Ben stopped dead.