Wild Justice (Nadia Stafford 3)

"I believe the definition of a couple is two."

He shrugged. "It was a multiple of two."

I laughed and put out my hand. "Car keys, please."

He started handing them over, then dangled them just out of reach. "Where are we going?"

"To the hotel. For rest, relaxation, and room service. Or something like that."

He patted my ass while handing me the keys. "That's my girl."

As we got into the car, I said, "Okay, he'll notice the rental stickers on the plate, which will make it tricky for him. The easiest thing to do is call the station and report he saw us heading for the highway driving erratically after leaving a bar. We'll get stopped and carded. Which means I'm not taking the highway."

CHAPTER 10

We returned to Cleveland on the back roads. Jack dropped me off a half mile from Aldrich's place as he went to switch cars, renting another from a different agency, under a different name.

Aldrich was already home, his truck under the carport. It was past eight, getting dark, and I was able to slip into another carport across the road, where a few days worth of flyers in the mailbox told me the owners weren't home. I had my tactical earpiece, but mostly what I picked up was conversations from the surrounding houses. I had binoculars, too, but I saw Aldrich pass a window only once.

An hour later a whispered, "Going okay?" had me scattering Skittles on the drive.

"Could you please warn me before you do that? Particularly when I'm wearing this?" I took the amplifier out and winced.

"Don't need that shit. Dangerous." He motioned at the bag of candy. "Found those?"

"Yes, and thank you." They'd been in his equipment rucksack. "Although you might regret buying them for me now." I bent to pick them up. "I can just see the headlines: 'Professional Killer Leaves Behind Nothing but Skittles.'"

He chuckled and took a few from the bag.

"You don't want these?" I held out the dirty ones. "Destroy the evidence?"

"You dropped them. You eat them."

I pocketed the Skittles, wiped my hand on my jeans, and gave Jack an update.

He checked his watch. "Still early. You wanna come back? Break in later? Take a look around?"

That might seem risky, but searching for evidence of other crimes after we made Aldrich disappear would be riskier.

"Works for me."

"Got a few hours then. Come on. Parked over--"

He stopped as a car drove past slowly.

"That same one went by a minute ago," I said.

The car--a nondescript silver sedan--reached Aldrich's drive and the brake lights flashed solid, as if the driver just found the place. He turned in, parked, and got out.

He was around Aldrich's age. Average build. Dark haired with a beard and mustache, and dressed in jeans, a light jacket, and a ball cap. I could make out the Cleveland Indians emblem on the back of his coat, and when I looked through the binoculars, I could see it on his hat, too.

I didn't manage to get the camera up before he turned away, but I snapped a few shots of him from the rear. I got a couple of his car, too, and the plate.

He was carrying a six-pack of beer and a bag of pretzels. A buddy coming over to knock back a few on a Friday night. I lowered the camera, but I put my earpiece back in. I left it out slightly, motioning for Jack to listen. He nodded and leaned in, his hip brushing mine, his hand resting lightly against the small of my back.

The man reached the door and rapped. Aldrich answered.

"Hey, bud," the visitor said. "Got your call. Sounded like you could use a little company. I brought friends." He lifte