I chose a set of keys and hurried to the exit.
As I reached for the door handle, I paused, certain I’d caught a trace of cigarette smoke in the air. I glanced back at Wade’s office, then through the window into the shooting range at the lone paper target. With a shudder, I slipped the keys in my pocket and closed the door behind me.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, I was freezing my butt off in a beat-up, geriatric training cruiser behind the shooting range. Sleet spattered the windshield and an icy draft seeped through the vents, but I was too afraid to turn on the engine for fear that someone might notice the exhaust.
I jumped at a knock on my window. A dark coat with an FCPD insignia filled the frame, the gold name badge pinned to the front obscured by the layer of ice on the glass. The officer hiked up his belt and knocked again.
Shit.
I rolled down the window, struggling to come up with a reason for being here as the officer ducked to peer inside.
“Vero?” Her name burst from my mouth on a held breath.
She scowled at the interior of the sedan as freezing rain bounced off the shoulders of a police coat that was at least two sizes too large for her. She opened my door and held her hand out for the keys. “This is the last time I let you pick our stolen car. This thing is a junker. I’ll be shocked if it starts.”
“At least if we wreck this one, we won’t have to kill anyone to pay it off.”
“Again … not our fault.”
“Never mind the car. Where did you get that uniform?”
“Borrowed it from Tyrese,” she said, blinking away sleet and gesturing impatiently for me to get out. “Don’t worry. He won’t miss it.”
“What do you mean, you borrowed it? How is he not going to miss his uniform? You’re wearing his badge, Vero!”
She arched up on her toes, picking a wedgie out of her ass. “Can we please get on with it? My uniform is getting wet, and these polyester pants are chafing the hell out of my lady bits. Ty’s boxers kept falling down so I took the damn things off.”
“Why were you wearing his underwear?” I sputtered.
“Because he was wearing mine.” She rolled her eyes as if the answer should have been obvious. “Move over,” she said, shouldering me aside. I contorted myself over the center console, sliding into the passenger seat as Vero got in and shut the door.
I gaped at her bagging sleeves as she started the car. “Do I even want to know?”
“It was easy. I showed up at Ty’s room with the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and told him I really wanted to see him in my panties. Next thing you know, we were swapping clothes.”
“Are you crazy! What if he reports you?”
“Believe me, he’s not going to say a word about this to anyone.”
“How can you be sure?”
She held her hands in front of the vents and adjusted the dials. “You really think he wants to tell his partner he woke up handcuffed to his bed, wearing nothing but a push-up bra and a lacy pink thong? Don’t worry,” she said as I buried my head in my hands, “I left him the key. It just might take him awhile to find it. And I promised to send him a lewd picture of me in his uniform if he let me hold on to it for a while.”
I was pretty sure my heart stopped.
She drew on a pair of mirrored sunglasses and turned on the defroster. “Get in the trunk.”
My head snapped up. “I’m not riding in the trunk!”
“What if the cop in the security booth sees you?”
“Then I’ll drive and you get in the trunk!”
“I’m the one wearing the uniform.” Vero pulled a lever and the trunk popped open. She stared at me, waiting for me to get out.
I climbed out of the car with an exasperated huff. “Whatever you do, do not stop at the security booth,” I warned her. “Do not make eye contact or attempt a conversation with the duty officer. Just wave and keep driving when he opens the gate.”
“Where?”
“Head to the nearest town and stop at the first all-night convenience store you can find. We’re going to buy a prepaid cell phone so we can call Mrs. Westover. We’ll tell her to move Carl, and then we’re bringing the car right back.” I climbed inside the trunk, shoving aside a stack of orange training cones and contorting myself to fit beside them. The last thing I saw was Vero, her hair pulled back in a severe bun, a pair of mirrored sunglasses obscuring her face, and her petite frame swimming in Tyrese’s starchy uniform as she shut me inside.
My phone started to vibrate. I twisted sideways, working it free of my pocket. Vero’s name lit on the screen, filling the trunk with an eerie blue light.
I tapped the screen to accept the video call. Vero’s phone was propped on the passenger seat beside her, angled toward her to catch her profile in the frame. The windshield wipers slapped a steady beat across the glass.
“I figured you might get claustrophobic back there. See? It’s almost like a ride-along,” she said as the car bounced over a speed bump. Water splashed against the undercarriage as the cruiser jostled through puddles.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” I shut my eyes, breathing through my mouth. The smell of highway tar and plastic cones was thick in the cramped, dark space, and if Vero didn’t let me out soon, I was certain I was going to vomit.
“Don’t worry, Finn. We’ll have you out of there in no time.” She plucked the handheld microphone from under the dash.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my nausea suddenly overshadowed by raw panic.
She pressed the Talk button and held it to her lips. “Pretending to look busy.” Her voice boomed out across the parking lot, projected by a set of speakers in the grill. She rushed to turn it off, flipping switches and buttons at random. A country song blared over the radio. Blue lights swirled over her shocked face and the siren whooped twice before she managed to shut it all off.
I dropped my head back and shut my eyes. We’d been involved in the murder and disposal of four men, but we were going to prison because of Vero’s thong.
“Stay cool,” she said. “We’re coming to the security gate.”
I held my breath, my eyes glued to the screen as Vero dimmed the headlights and turned off the wipers. The cab, dark a moment ago, filled with the diffuse light from the security booth. It reflected off Vero’s shades. “What’s happening?” I asked, my heart suspended between beats as the car slowed.
“The officer is opening his window.” She dragged down her shades with a low whistle, angling to get a better look at him.
“Do not stop this car, Vero!”
“Relax,” she said, “it’s pouring out here. He can hardly see through the windshield. Oh … it’s working! The gate’s going up. He’s waving me through.”
I didn’t start breathing again until the car began to accelerate. My head bounced painfully off the floor of the trunk as we bumped over a pothole.
Vero winced. “Sorry.”
“Just hurry up and let me out!” I closed my eyes and concentrated on not puking as the minutes ticked by. The car made a sharp turn, throwing me against the cones. A moment later, the engine cut off. Then the phone. I pounded on the lid of the trunk.