times.”
“Name?”
He quailed before Kayden. “Boomer, Bomber, something like that, I’m not
sure.” Something clicked in the reefer-induced haze, and he said, “San Diego.
He lived in San Diego.”
Son of a…I choked back the words. A six-hour road trip to hunt down someone named Boomer or Bomber? Yeah, sounded like a wonderful trip.
Kayden straightened and stepped back.
Carlos took advantage of his reprieve and dragged in a noisy breath. When Kayden turned away and walked toward me, Carlos blurted, “You’re not goin’
hurt me, are ya?”
Neither one of us bothered to answer. I caught the familiar hand signal from
Kayden and switched places with him. Gun drawn, he stepped behind the door
as I headed back to retrieve the notebooks in the bedroom.
When I returned, Carlos was watching us carefully. “You ain’t stealing the weed, tell me you ain’t taking that shit. He’ll kill me if that shit goes missing.”
Giving the kid my coldest look, I warned, “You might want to consider
house sitting for someone else for a while, Carlos.”
His head bobbed up and down nervously.
Stepping to the other side of the door, I covered Kayden as he cautiously pulled open the door. I scanned for a possible welcoming committee but found the sunlit ragged yard empty. I motioned to Kayden, and he slipped out,
sunglasses in place.
I left mine on my head as the few seconds to slide them down could be costly. Instead, I narrowed my eyes against the glare and followed. Behind us, Carlos wasted no time slamming the door shut.
As we made our way back to the car, my spine crawled. Only when Kayden
was settled behind the wheel and the engine running, did I pop the passenger door and slide inside. In minutes we left Carlos and his curious friends behind.
I set the notebooks on the floorboard and then put my Sig back in the ankle
holster. “San Diego?”
Kayden shrugged.
I wiped the sweat trickling down the side of my face and sat back. Between
the heat and tension, I was a bit lightheaded. The car’s AC valiantly fought to replace the oven-like air in the car. To help it along, I powered the window down.
Kayden wove his way out of the neighborhood. “At least we can give
Delacourt a name to run, while we go through those notebooks.”
Since he was busy driving, I made the call to Delacourt. It was frustratingly
short as there was little information to share. She promised to call back with whatever she could find about Tito’s friend in San Diego. After hanging up, I propped my arm on the edge of the window and glanced in our rearview mirror
as we pulled out on to Twenty-Fourth Street. “Delacourt said she’d send
someone to help us with the notebooks, but identifying Boomer, Bomber,
whoever, is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack.”
Unruffled, he asked, “You have a better suggestion?”
I drummed my fingers on the edge of the door. “Let’s swing by Kelsey’s
place.”
He gave me a look I couldn’t read. “You think she may have left something
for you there?”
“Maybe.” A puff of cooler air escaped the AC, indicating it made progress,
so I powered my window back up.
