Cast the First Stone (The True Lies of Rembrandt Stone 1)
Page 62
A black Camaro sat under the lights. The sight of it stirred a dangerous flame inside her. Like she might be in high school, sneaking out of—or in this case, into—her house.
She settled in beside him and as he turned the car over, a classic rock tune queued up. “Lonely People,” by America.
He was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he headed towards Minnetonka.
“You know where my parents live, too?”
He glanced at her, then, a deer in the headlights expression. “Uh, no, I was guessing—”
“Don’t give me that. You’re a detective.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re as bad as my dad. This is why I had no dates in high school. Dad did a background check on everyone.”
“Everyone?”
“Maybe just the troublemakers.”
“You like the troublemakers, Eve?”
Her eyes widened. “What? No.”
He was grinning, though. 38 Special’s “I Want You Back” came on and he started to hum.
“I prefer to stay out of trouble, thanks.”
“Which is why you’re here, about to sneak into your old house—”
“You asked me for a favor.”
“Yes.” He glanced at her. “Yes I did.”
“I don’t get into trouble.”
“I know that.” Still singing, still grinning.
Fine. “I was thinking about the coffee shop bombing, and I was wondering how Ramses or Gustavo might know how to build a bomb. What if they had an accomplice? Someone they met along the way that could add terror to their protests.”
His smile faded and he nodded. “Yeah. That’s another angle we need to take a look at. Maybe your brother can hack into the ICDL site and get a list of their members.” He turned off Hwy 7, onto Vine Hill, then west on Cottagewood. Arching cottonwoods and poplars dissected the night sky, clear and dotted with stars. A golden moon hung over the lake as they turned onto her road. He dimmed his lights and pulled to the side of the road, across the street.
“Now what?” Eve asked.
“Now, we go in there and get your brother.” He turned off the car.
“How?”
“Through the garage? Is your dad home? And now I’m having this creepy déjà vu high school flashback.”
“Of what, sneaking into your girlfriend’s house?” She didn’t know why she asked that.
“Nothing that crazy—I was never big on overactive dads with baseball bats—just sneaking out of the house with the boys. You know, to climb the water tower, shoot BBs at the local squirrels.”
“What?”
“Calm down—we always missed.” His eyes shone, the moonlight casting over his face, turning it mysterious, shadowed, tempting. “I didn’t have a girlfriend in high school.”
“Not one?”