“Chances are.”
“You know what I love the most?” Breisi didn’t even stop for an answer. “That he has no idea our Friends are watching his client in jail. The surveillance could help if Lee decides to share tales with anyone else while he’s locked up.”
Her coworker laughed confidently, telling Dawn just how much she got off on this detective crap. It was further proof of The Voice’s expertise in hiring just the right kind of person who wouldn’t ask too many questions about his agenda. In fact, Kiko had once revealed that, upon recruiting them, the boss had told his underlings that they probably would never get answers. But they were fighting for capital-G “Good,” and that was motivation enough.
For them.
“And here’s more good news,” Breisi added. “Thanks to the Friends, I think we might be able to corner Crockett today to ask a few questions and maybe get a reading through Kiko.”
“In person?” Dawn frowned. “Can’t we just sneak into the man’s house to maul his clothes or something?”
“The boss thought of that, but he believes if Kik can touch Crockett’s skin, he’ll get more immediate information out of him. That’s preferable to a secondhand reading, the kind that clothing would provide for Kiko.”
“So Kiko’s going with us.” Dawn still couldn’t believe The Voice had changed his mind about keeping their psychic safely indoors. Kik had probably talked the boss into it, just like he’d done when she’d first shown up and Limpet had resisted sending her out, too.
“Yes, and the boss already gave Kiko the news. As for you: be ready in an hour. And wear a dress.”
A…what? Uh-uh. Dawn didn’t do dresses. “Don’t have any.”
“Dawn.”
Okay, she did have one, but just for emergencies. It was still in a suitcase, crumpled into a ball.
“The Friends have reported that Crockett is headed toward Beverly Hills,” Breisi added, “so we want to blend. Comprendes?”
Dawn knew by now that she never won an argument with these people—not yet, anyway. Besides, Breisi was right. If Dawn walked into posh BH in her street clothes, she’d stick out like a good-morning boner.
“All right. I’ll wear the damned dress if it means we’ll get some information from this guy.”
“Thank you.”
“So, Kiko’s going?” she asked, fishing for more of an explanation about The Voice’s turnabout.
“We’ll be in public, daylight, and in the past we’ve had no creature troubles then. Besides, early this morning, the boss arranged for Kik to visit Jessica Reese’s crime scene with a few Friends. The body had been removed and the scene had been processed, but he managed to get a few readings.”
Dawn got to her feet. “Really? Like what—?”
A click sounded from Breisi’s connection. Call-waiting.
“The boss,” she said. “Ask Kiko about it?”
Before Dawn could respond, Breisi signed off. Typical.
Last night’s details slowly flickered back on in Dawn’s mind, just like an old light clinking to life after being turned off for years. She snatched that damned dress from the corner of her suitcase and passed Kiko’s closed bedroom door. Might as well grab the single bathroom shower before he might need it.
After taking care of business, she came back out to the common room to find him spry and ready, sitting back-brace upright on the couch and dressed in a navy mini–business suit. He was watching a soap opera while munching on a thick, turkey-laden sandwich.
Surrounded by Foxy Brown posters and the minimalist décor of a single guy who just likes his movies, music, and girls, Kiko spotted Dawn in her tan jersey dress with the matching low-heeled sandals. Once upon a time, she’d worn it to a fellow stunt double’s wedding but she hadn’t needed it since, thank God. In the shower, she’d steamed out most of the wrinkles, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel like a moron in it.
“Woo-woo,” Kiko said, giving her a canary-eating grin. “Mama’s on the prowl.”
“Meh.” Dawn plopped onto the plaid couch next to him.
He snapped off the TV, putting down his lunch, blue eyes aglow as he faced her. The stiff movement forced a slight grunt out of him. “So our busy boss said you’d tell me about Jessica’s body. What’d you guys find?”
Far be it from her to get ecstatic about a murder, but Kiko was almost manic. Maybe it was because he was now back in the loop and his manhood had been restored.
For her part, Dawn fought the image of Jessica: bled-out pale, throat a mass of pulp. The colors wavered in front of her, refusing to settle into a palatable picture.
Come on, she thought. Stop hiding from it. You’ve hidden for too many years already.