Swearing under my breath, I headed back inside, my headache blooming like a damn rose.
“Hey, Lina Bo-Bina! Want some fries?” Sloane asked.
I looked at the table. Naomi and Sloane had eaten their pie and my pie and then moved on to the French fries the elderly couple left behind.
I flagged down the server. “Can I give you a hundred-dollar tip to babysit these two while I go run an errand?”
She blew her auburn bangs out of her face. “Sorry, honey. I’m not falling for that one again.” She pointed to a sign on the wall. It read, Unattended drunks will be arrested.
Crap.
“What’s wrong, Lina Weena?” Naomi asked. “You look sad.”
“Or constipated,” Sloane added. “Do you need more fiber in your diet?”
“I need to go to work for an hour or so and I don’t know what to do with you two. How do you feel about checking into a hotel and sitting quietly in a room until I get back?”
Sloane gave me a thumbs-up, then flipped it upside down and blew a raspberry.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“Did you find Huncan Dugo?” she asked. Her glasses were askew.
“No. I have to find another person for a coworker.”
“Let us help! I’m so good at finding stuff. Yesterday, Knox looked for the ketchup for ten minutes in the refrigerator and I found it in half a second!” Naomi announced.
“Thanks, but I don’t want your help. I want you two to stay out of the way while I go catch a bail jumper. Do you think you could pretend to be sober for as long as it takes Knox to drive down here and pick you up?”
They exchanged glances, then shook their heads and dissolved into giggles.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“We’re coming with you,” Naomi said firmly.
“No, you’re not,” I said just as firmly and without slurring.
“I told you to stay in the car,” I said as I muscled my FTA down the sidewalk. My face hurt, my hip ached, I was sweating profusely, and my favorite sweater was ruined.
“Sorry,” Naomi said, trying to look contrite.
“We helped you catch him,” Sloane said defiantly. Naomi elbowed her. “Oh, I mean, sorry.”
“I should have left town when I had the chance,” I muttered as I limped around the block.
“Ow! These zip ties hurt!”
Melvin Murtaugh, a.k.a. ShadowReaper, was no violent criminal. The second he’d seen me reach for my restraints, he’d bolted out of the kegger his cousin was hosting. I’d followed him out the back, off the rickety porch, and down the alley.
The kid was wearing sneakers and I was in heeled boots, but my athletic prowess and cardio endurance were way more effective in a footrace than his keyboard skills.
He’d also made the monumental mistake of pausing at the alley entrance, distracted by something.
That “something” turned out to be Naomi and Sloane playing drunken sidekicks.
It had given me enough time to tackle him to the ground. I was getting rusty. I used to know exactly how to execute a tackle while using the tacklee as a cushion for landing. This time, my hip and shoulder had made direct, painful contact with the asphalt while my face had bounced off Melvin’s sharp elbow.
This was why I’d switched from bounties to asset recovery. People were too much a pain in the ass…and face.
“Where are my glasses? I can’t see anything without my glasses!”
“You should have thought of that before you ran when I told you not to,” I told him, sounding like an annoyed mother dealing with a teenage son who never bothered to pick his underwear up off the floor.
I hooked my hand in the back of his shirt and marched us all back to the car. Thank goodness it wasn’t a neighborhood overrun with car thieves, because my two drunken charges had left the Charger’s doors wide open.
“Oops,” Naomi said when she spotted the car. “I guess we forgot to close the doors.”
“It was the thrill of the chase,” Sloane said.
“You weren’t supposed to be part of the chase. You were supposed to wait in the car. And you,” I said, tightening my grip on the squirmy hacker, “were supposed to make your court date.”
“If I go to court, they’re going to send me to jail,” he whined.
“Uh, yeah. That’s what’s supposed to happen when you commit a felony.”
He groaned. “My mom is gonna kill me.”
“That was so badass the way you flying tackled him,” Sloane said, entering the conversation. “Can you teach me how to do that?”
“No,” I said tersely and shoved Melvin into the back seat by his head. “Stay.” I shut the door and turned back to my friends, who did not look nearly contrite enough. “This is a dangerous job. You’re not trained to handle these kinds of situations. So when I tell you to stay in the car, you stay in the car.”
“Friends don’t let friends be in danger alone,” Naomi said sternly. “When Waylay and I were abducted, you and Sloane showed up for us. Sloane and I just showed up for you.”
“The difference is, I wasn’t abducted, Naomi. I was doing my job. Well, I was doing Lewis’s job. But I’ve been trained for this. I have experience in these situations. Neither of you do.”
Sloane pouted. “Don’t you even want to know how we distracted him?”
“I threw a bag of dog poop I found on the sidewalk at him.” Naomi preened.
That explained the smell. I was definitely going to need to have my car detailed.
“And I yelled and flashed him my boobs,” Sloane announced proudly.
If it had been any two other civilians, I would have been impressed. But all I could think of was the fact that Naomi and Sloane willingly put themselves in danger for me. And that I now had to make a phone call I really didn’t want to make.
I sighed. “I have to make a call. Stay here and keep an eye on Melvin. Do not get in the car. Do not wander away. Do not befriend any homicidal maniacs roaming the streets.”
“She’s just mad because she didn’t get any pie,” Sloane whispered to Naomi as I dialed.
Knox picked up on the first ring.
“What’s wrong? Why isn’t Stef sending updates anymore, and why isn’t my fiancée answering my texts?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Stef had to leave early, and as for Naomi”—I glanced over my shoulder to where Naomi and Sloane were posing for selfies—“she’s not answering your texts because she and Sloane are busy trying out all the Snapchat filters.”
“Why are you calling? Aren’t we pissed at each other?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t keep up.”
“Good. Then if we were fighting, let’s call it over.”
This is why I liked being friends with men. It was just easier.
“Agreed. I need a favor. Two actually. I need you to not get justifiably pissed off, and I need a ride for two intoxicated women who refuse to listen to me.”
“What’s wrong with your car?”
“It’s currently occupied by a criminal mastermind in zip ties.”
“Fuck.”
“If you let me go, I’ll hack into the IRS so you never have to pay taxes again,” Melvin offered from the back seat.