“Call just came in. It’s him. Mayfair. He said something about a guy called Ernie?”
Lowell’s face loses its color. I suspect mine does, too. Zeth? What the hell is he doing? Agent Lowell stands, puts her hands on her hips, paces in one direction and then changes her mind, pacing back the other way. “Fucking asshole. Goddamnit.” She looks up at the other agent. “Okay, put him through.”
She doesn’t even give the line a chance to ring. As soon as the phone erupts into life, she snatches the handset out of its cradle and snarls into the receiver. “You’ve got some fucking nerve.”
My dad just gives me a blank look. I can’t hear what Zeth’s saying, but from the look on Lowell’s face, it’s pure gold. She turns an intense shade of purple as she storms back and forth, listening to whatever he’s telling her.
“You realize this is just another infraction on your—” Zeth must cut Lowell off, because she halts mid-sentence. Her eyes meet mine, no longer cold but blazing with fury. “Okay. All right. Fine.” She slams down the phone and inhales, pulling in a deep, angry breath. “Alan, it seems you’d better take your daughter back into the city. Now.”
The Humvee smells of piss. Rebel is gonna shit bricks about the accident that’s just taken place, but I’m feeling rather good about things right now. Lowell’s Schnauzer—Ernie, according to his bone-shaped nametag—is sitting on the backseat of the car, panting with his tongue lolling out over very white-looking canine teeth. Lowell definitely strikes me as the sort of asshole who would brush her dog’s teeth.
“She really believed you’d kill her dog?” Michael laughs. I give him a confused look, and his smile evaporates. “Oh, yeah. Of course. You totally would kill her dog, wouldn’t you?”
Ernie looks like he’s smiling at me when I check him out in the rearview. I’m not a monster. I wouldn’t kill a fucking dog just ’cause their owner needs a few lessons in manners. Not unless I really had to.
Michael and I sit in silence, Ernie’s panting the only sound filling the car while we wait outside the bus depot for Sloane to arrive. She knows the drill. One of those motherfuckers will drop her off in the city and she’ll go to catch the bus, heading straight to that god-awful coffee house we originally arranged to meet at. We’re hoping to pick her up before she gets on the bus.
We don’t have to wait long. I’m watching out for a black SUV—predictable much?—but instead I’m greeted with the familiar sight of a certain wood-paneled station wagon that pulls up outside the depot. It’s Sloane’s father’s car, the one we abandoned at Julio’s place. So I was right; the old guy at the mall was her dad. The car parks, and then...nothing happens. We’ve positioned ourselves far enough down the road so as not to be seen, but that also means we can’t really get a clear view of what’s going on. Michael pulls out a set of binoculars and squints through them at the car.
“Is she there?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“What are they doing?”
“The old guy’s talking. Sloane’s staring at the dashboard. She looks pissed.”
I hold my hand out, wanting to lay eyes on her for myself. Michael hands over the binoculars, and then there she is, scowling into space. Pissed doesn’t even come close to describing the expression on her face. Murderous. That’s closer. Sloane nods, and then she’s moving. She climbs out of the car, slamming the door behind her. I toss the binoculars onto the backseat, almost forgetting Ernie’s back there. I jump out of the Hummer, not wanting to lose sight of her. That would be fucking typical, wouldn’t it? Get the girl released, only to lose her through sheer fucking ineptitude as she tries to catch a bus.
Her dad’s still parked outside the depot and is on his cell phone when I slip by his car. He doesn’t see me. Besides, with my hood pulled up, face hidden in shadows, I’m the kind of character a man like Dr. Romera would purposefully try not to make eye contact with. I hurry through the depot, heading straight for stand 458. I hang a left, scanning the vacant depot for signs of life, for signs of Sloane. Another left.
And I walk straight into an extended fist.
“Zeth? What the hell?” Sloane pulls back her hand, shaking it out. My mouth smarts like a bitch. I touch my fingertips to my bottom lip and the blood I find on them surprises me. She hit me in the fucking face. She hit me and she drew fucking blood. I look down at her, and she instantly shrinks back.
“Sorry, I…I thought you were one of Lowell’s guys.”