“What?”
“The yes, ma’am shit. Like I’m your mother or something.” He simply cocked an eyebrow and she muttered an oath. “What about the perp’s homies?”
“Scattered like cockroaches. I pointed that out to Lamar.”
“Lamar?”
“The perp. He’s only fifteen years old, can you believe that? Poor kid.”
She sputtered at that. The Nova was dead, she was battered and he felt sorry for the kid behind it all. “He committed an armed robbery and shot the store employee!”
“It was only a flesh wound. Lamar didn’t want to hurt her. He told me everything.”
Micki dropped her head into her hands, wincing at the movement.
“I rode over in the ambulance with him,” Zach went on. “The Bloodhound Gangstazs recruited him. More like coerced him. He didn’t have a choice, really. Tonight was his initiation. He was supposed to rob the store and kill any witnesses. He couldn’t do it. Cried like a baby.”
She dropped her hands. “And you believed that horse shit?”
“He was telling the truth. I read him.”
“And your read never fails you?”
“Hasn’t yet.” He paused. “You saved my butt. Again. Thanks, partner.”
And again, he came out looking like a hero. Not a scratch on him.
The guys down at the Eighth were going to have a field day with this.
“Why’re you looking at me like that, Mick?”
“I hate you, Hollywood.”
He looked surprised, then laughed. “Aww, c’mon, Mick. You can’t hate me. I’m too damn cute.”
She couldn’t, Micki realized. And he was. But she was working on it.
A girl had to have a goal.
Chapter Twenty-two
Wednesday, July 10
9:50 A.M.
Zach sat on a wrought iron bench facing Jackson Square. Traffic on St. Peter Street crawled by, the sound of the vehicles occasionally interrupted by the clip-clop of horses’ hooves as they pulled tourist carriages.
He moved his gaze over the square, taking in the iconic statue of Andrew Jackson and the St. Louis Cathedral’s spire, the artists, psychics, and other entrepreneurs peddling their wares. Since the previous evening’s stakeout of Brite Knight’s place had proved a bust, he and Mick had decided to catch the fortune-teller here.
Mick was late. He glanced at his cell. No call, no text. And late wasn’t her style.
She’d hardly spoken to him this morning. He didn’t blame her for being pissed off, fed up with his antics. But it’d all turned out cool.
Except for her car. And bruises. And the squad room ribbing she’d taken from the likes of J.B. and Buster.
Yeah, he deserved to be dropped like a bad habit. She would if she could, but she had her orders.
And Micki ‘Mad Dog’ Dare took her orders—and her big-bad-cop role—seriously. Zach smiled to himself. He liked her. Thorns and all. Heck, the spiky, little devils were almost endearing.
His cell went off. Not Mick, he saw. Parker. “My man,” he said. “S’up, dude?”
“I hear you were involved in a little excitement last night.”
“News travels fast.”
“Good work.”
“Thanks. But I had help.”
“I heard about that, too.” He sounded amused. “Everyone’s pleased with the program.”
He thought of the Nova. Not everyone. “You find out anything on the psychic I told you about?”
“She isn’t one of ours.”
“Ours?” Zach repeated. “What do you mean?”
“The Bureau’s.”
“Who else is there?”
“I’m being called back into a meeting, I’ve got to go.”
“Wait, Parker. Who else—”
He didn’t finish because Parker had hung up. Zach frowned. Not one of the Bureau’s. Not a Sixer. That was just weird.
“Why the frown?”
He looked up at Mick and smiled. “Worried you’d decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.”
“You aren’t. Marching orders, Hollywood.”
“That’s fair.” He stood. They started for the square. “How’re you feeling this morning?”
“Sore.”
“I’ve been thinking—”
“God help me.”
He went on as if she hadn’t commented. “If Brite Knight’s the real deal—”
“Clairvoyant?”
“Yes. She might pick up on us and be gone before we even set eyes on her.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Some clairvoyants can do that.”
“Can you?”
“No.”
“Too bad. So what do you suggest?”
“Let’s split up,” he said. “My guess is, these folks own their spot, either officially or unofficially. Miller’s roommates said Knight’s table was in front of the cathedral. You go from the right, I’ll take the left. I think we’ll have a better chance of staying off her radar.”
She was looking at him oddly. “What?” he asked.
“Are you starting to think like a cop?”
“No worries of that, Mick.” He grinned. “Still the same old Hollywood.”