With a resigned sigh, I turned the key. A familiar clicking sound mocked me from the engine.
“No! No, no, no!” Vero breathed.
I tried the key again. Nothing happened.
“What do we do?” Vero asked.
“I don’t know!”
“We can’t exactly call Triple A. We’ve got Carl!”
“We’ll leave the van here and rent a car. There must be a rental place around here somewhere.” I groped behind my seat for the messenger bag I’d taken to the jail the night before. I rummaged inside it, turned it upside down, and dumped out the folder and the wig. “My wallet. I must have left it in my coat.”
“Don’t panic. I’ll text Ramón and have him bring us a loaner.” Vero and her cousin exchanged a few quick text messages. She dropped her phone in the drink holder with a swear. “He’s halfway to an accident in Leesburg and he’s stuck in traffic. It’ll be at least two hours before he can get here.”
“That meeting at Carl’s house is in just over an hour! We can’t wait that long!”
“This isn’t Weekend at Bernie’s, Finn! We can’t prop Carl between us in the back seat of an Uber!” She crossed her arms and sank back with a huff. “When I find Cam, I’m going to kill him myself. We need a car. Preferably a fast one.” She wrinkled her nose. “I think our mummy’s starting to thaw.”
I stuffed the contents of the messenger bag back inside, pausing over the wig. It was long and dark, a perfect match to Kat’s cut and style. But close enough to Irina’s color and length to pass for hers in the dark. The gray December sky was already deepening toward sunset.
“Call an Uber,” I said as an idea took root. “Give Ramón the address of the motel. Tell him we’ll leave the keys in the van. Ask him to tow it to his shop.”
“What about Carl?”
“We’ll be back in plenty of time to pick up Carl before Ramón gets here. With any luck, we can still get to that meeting before it starts.”
“Where the heck are we going?”
I handed Vero the wig. “We’re going to find a very fast car.”
CHAPTER 37
The Uber driver dropped us off a block away from the international auto lot just before dark. The towering lampposts cast halos over the cars, and the bright lights of the showroom reflected off their sleek hoods. Vero’s mouth parted around a soft oh.
I stepped in front of her, breaking the spell as I dragged the wig over her head and smoothed down the edges. “Stick to the section of the lot farthest from the showroom. Pick something fast but practical. An SUV or something. Text me the color and model. Whatever happens, don’t let any salespeople approach you and don’t talk to anyone. Pretend to be on an important phone call. I’ll handle the rest.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to get the keys.” I started toward the dealership. Vero jogged to catch up.
“And you think they’re just going to give you the keys to one of these cars without asking for ID?”
“No, they’re going to give them to Irina Borovkov. Go.” I nudged Vero toward the lot and headed toward the showroom.
As I reached for the glass door, it swung open for me. Alan stood aside, an uncertain smile on his face. “Good evening, Miss…” His face flushed red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name.”
“Probably because I’m not important.” I looked down my nose at him as my phone buzzed in my pocket. “I’m here with Irina Borovkov. She would like to take the…” I snuck a peek at my phone. “… Superleggera Volante in Modern Minimalist…” I checked my phone again. Was that seriously the name of a color? “… for a drive.”
“The Superleggera?” A swell of panic rose inside me when Alan’s eyebrows shot up. I wasn’t sure what a Superleggera was. But anything with minimalist in the title couldn’t be that bad, right? “Are you sure?” he asked.
I held out my hand for the keys.
“Of course. I’ll have the vehicle brought around for her.” His smile was brittle as he turned toward a phone on the reception desk.
“No!” I rushed to stop him before he could lift it off the cradle. “I mean … Mrs. Borovkov is already waiting at the car. She asked me to bring her the key. She’s on a very important phone call and cannot be disturbed.”
Alan glanced through the huge front windows, presumably toward the car in question. Vero’s posture was almost regal. She stood with her back to the showroom, cast in silhouette, her dark wig blowing in the breeze and her phone pressed to her ear.