“Yeah.” Dawn sighed, leaning back in her seat again. “That would impress any candidate for romance, wouldn’t it? He’d probably jet away from me on a stream of piss and fear.”
When Breisi laughed again, then reached over to do a fist bump with Dawn, it was a jolt. Whoa—the two of them actually fully understood each other for what had to be the first time. To make matters more shocking, Dawn realized that she hadn’t thought about the reality of life for a record ten seconds. She’d never, ever guessed that Breisi could be the one who would give her that relief.
Still, Dawn cleared her throat, the awkwardness returning in a small, yet obvious, dose.
“So basically,” she said, “the key is finding a fellow monster enthusiast who understands my work.”
A man like Matt Lonigan or even The Voice, right? Could they anchor her in the same way Breisi and Frank had anchored each other?
Dawn now understood how Frank had moved on from Eva and his old life, truly understood how someone who wanted to change might be able to do the same thing.
If they really wanted to change.
“Maybe you’re right,” Breisi said. “Perhaps life might be simpler than we imagine.”
They’d entered the impeccable streets of Beverly Hills, passing clipped, lush median greenery, pristine sidewalks, chichi boutiques and restaurants.
Breisi inserted her earpiece and instructed her phone to dial The Voice. He answered, and Breisi checked in with their location.
“Good,” The Voice said. “Mr. Crockett seems to be wrapping up lunch with a partner from his firm.” Somehow, his tone was less emphatic than it had been last night.
But it always had the power to tear through Dawn.
“Can we make it to Beverly Hills before he leaves?” she asked, ignoring her yearning for him. Too much work to do. At least, right now.
“If we don’t intercept him before he leaves Beverly Hills,” Breisi said, “we can just tail Crockett to wherever he’s going next. Actually, maybe that’s even a fortunate turn of events. Mr. Crockett is a part of the community here while we’re not, and if our attempted reading becomes a confrontation, Dawn, the local cops could interfere. Beverly Hills police are known for responding to their calls within a couple of minutes, and we don’t want that sort of trouble.”
Breisi had taken extra care to emphasize Dawn’s involvement because Dawn occasionally got a little persuasive with her hands when it came to interviewing difficult people. Lee Tomlinson could testify to that.
“Boss,” Breisi added, “where is he parked?”
“His silver Ferrari is in an underground valet area on Two Rodeo. Before lunch, our Friends report that he was shopping for a bracelet at Harry Winston. He told the sales clerk it was for his wife. Then he took a leisurely stroll to The Grill from there. Our Friends will track him until you’ve made actual contact, just in case you should lose him.”
“Got it, Boss.”
“Harry Winston,” Dawn said. “Crockett bought a guilt present, I’ll bet. The wives score every time. Man, I wish we were detectives on a cheating husband case instead of…well, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” The Voice’s volume had diminished even more, as if he really might have feelings—like regret—after all. “I—one moment.” He paused, then came back online. “Milton Crockett is exiting the restaurant and heading toward Rodeo. Godspeed.”
And he clicked off.
From the backseat, Kiko sat forward, rubbing his eyes. “Did he say a silver Ferrari? Imagine that in Beverly Hills. It should be really easy to spot.”
They all chuffed, knowing a facetious comment when they heard one.
They drove past The Grill, discovering Milton Crockett strolling toward the valet garage with the sun glinting off his graying hair and lawyerly glasses. Then they turned around, taking care not to look like they were casing any of the snooty stores. By the time he exited the garage in his Ferrari, they were in position to follow.
Backtracking onto Santa Monica Boulevard while staying a respectable distance behind the possible Servant, Breisi attempted to avoid being obvious. Soon, they trailed him onto Fuller Avenue, which led to him turning into a condominium complex that wasn’t too fancy, but not downscale, either. The buildings were all two-story white adobe creations, resembling a nondescript pueblo village where the neighbors probably didn’t take pains to know each other, even if they shared common walls.
“From Beverly Hills to this,” Dawn said. “What’s Crockett up to?”
Kiko was leaning forward against the back of her seat, so his voice was almost in her ear. “The Winston bracelet, that’s what.” He didn’t sound as alert as usual, but it wasn’t bad enough for her to remark on it. “I’m thinking it’s not the wife who’s going to get it, if you know what I mean.”