Page 41 of Bad Attitude
She regards me for a long breath, then nods grudgingly. “That bank robbery, Hale. Why didn’t you flag it?”
“I didn’t have time—”
“Bullshit. You didn’t flag it because you didn’twantto,” Mercer says flatly, and doesn’t wait for my reply. “Think about it. If you need me to pull you out, don’t wait until you’re dead.” She tugs the leash of her Labrador, like she wishes it was around my throat. “Be one of theirs,orone of ours.”
“Don’t insult me, Mercer. I know my job.” I turn and walk away, done with this charade.
“Good luck,” Dawkins adds to my back, but atleast he isn’t trying to shake my hand again.
I check the time as I reach my bike. 8:23.Shit. That took two hours and change, and I still have to get back across the city.
My boots are covered in sand, and I take a minute to stamp it off. Every second I waste grates, and it’ll take me longer to get back than it did to get here.
But it’s Saturday, and she was sleeping when I left. Maybe I’m worrying unnecessarily and she’s still curled up in bed, naked. If I had a key, I’d be able to slip back in without disturbing her.
A key?
Okay, too soon. Then she can climb out of bed, and come and let me in. Same difference. Still naked. And I’ll be forgiven with a grocery bag of bacon, waffles, and some OJ.
Shit, now I have to find a store too.
I accelerate out of the lot, my rear wheel spinning as it fights for grip with sand coating the asphalt, my Fireblade squirming beneath me. But I don’t care; I’m in a rush.
That meeting was a waste of fucking time.
It’s almost quarter before ten when I get back to Genesis’s apartment block, a bag from the local 7-11 stuffed inside my jacket with my alibi and our breakfast.
Shit. Her bike isn’t parked out front. It was there when I left; it’s gone now. And she’ll have seen mine was missing, too.
There’s no point going up to her apartment. There’s only one more place I know to try. Shehastobe there.
Twenty minutes later, I pull up outside Renner’s Art District unit, and hit the buzzer. The door clicks open.
Tasha’s upstairs, Dario’s lounging on one of the couches. No Kurt, no Genesis.
“Where’s Gen—Raven?”
“Happy Fourth to you too,” Dario drawls.
“Not here.” Tasha doesn’t look up, focused on her laptop.
No, not merely focused; she’s avoiding me. Her bearing is tense, shoulders subtly hunched. Has Genesis been here already? Shit, what would she have said?
“Where did she go?” I ask.
No reply.
“Tasha?” I prod.
She looks up, mouth tight, eyes angry. “I’m not her keeper, and neither are you.”
Right…
“Sure,” I say, trying to keep it light, and pull out my phone expectantly. “What’s her number?”
“If she didn’t give it to you, what makes you think I will?”
No help there. I glance at Dario, but he only spreads his hands.
