Blue Smoke and Murder

53

SEPTEMBER 16

8:00 A.M.

That’s right,” Score said into the phone. “The six shipping cartons are charcoal, and so is anything that was inside them.”

“Stay with them anyway.”

Score bit down hard on his temper. He really didn’t have the patience for stakeouts, short sleep, and twitchy clients.

“How long?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Until after the auction.”

“It’s your money.”

“Keep that in mind.”

He looked at the dead phone and slammed it into the cradle in disgust.

“Yo, boss,” a voice said from outside his locked office door.

Score hit the button to release the lock. “Get in here.”

“You look like hell,” Amy said as she walked in. She tossed a printout on his desk.

I should fire the mouthy bitch.

“I work hard on it,” Score snapped.

But not as hard as Amy did. Today her hair was pink and silver.

Score tried not to notice. He was used to the studs and rings she wore in painful places, but the ever-changing hair colors still threw him. It was like employing a chameleon.

“I was up all night with a client.” He rubbed grainy eyes and tried not to wince. His right biceps felt like he’d been branded. Nothing burned like a kiss from a bullet.

Wish that auction was over. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since the bloody JPEGs went out.

He flicked a finger at the printout. “Anything good?”

“Something went down at the other end of the bug. Heard sirens, shouting, what sounded like gunfire.”

Score swallowed a yawn. “Yeah? Anyone hurt?”

“Either it’s real cold there or a dude named Frost bit the big one. The name came up a lot.”

“Huh. He die?”

Amy didn’t bother to hide her yawn. “The last time I heard anything, the female subject was on the way back from the hospital. Frost was stable, but drugged to the max. It’s all in the printout.”

Left-handed, Score flipped through the printout. “Looks like the bug is picking up more than it did before.”

“Yeah. Must have taken the phone out of whatever was wrapped around it. But it’s on and off. The subject doesn’t exactly wear her sat phone as a fashion statement.” Amy yawned again. “Oh, there was some talk about being followed.”

Score’s hand hesitated, then resumed flipping through the printout. “Who?”

“They don’t know. Or if they had any ideas, they didn’t discuss it in range of the bug. All they talked about was how easy it is to get flight plans and if the rental car had some kind of locater system since New Mexico is so close to that great chop shop south of the border.”

Score read the section, frowned, read it again, and decided that Amy was right. So far nothing had happened to the subject that couldn’t be explained by something other than a personal bug.

“Okay,” he said.

“Does that mean I get some time off?”

“I’ll let you know after I talk to the client. Until then, stay with the bug.”

“Hell.”

“It could be worse,” Score said.

“How?”

“You could be looking for a job in a traveling freak show.”