Page 15 of Cobra

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He answers on the second ring. “You on your way back?”

“No.”

Silence.

Then, colder, “Why?”

“There’s a van outside Ambrosia.”

“You call me before or after you walked up on it?”

“Before.”

“Don’t sound so proud of yourself.”

I look toward the main road, though I can’t see the van from here. “Not proud.”

“What kind of van?”

“Dark. No markings. Engine running. No lights. Two in front, maybe one in back.”

Logan exhales, and I can hear the restraint in it. “Could be nothing.”

“Could be.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“No.”

A pause. Not long, but enough for him to shift from irritated brother to president. “Does it look tied to the shit we talked about?”

“Don’t know.”

“Plate?”

I give it to him from memory.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and there’s a scrape on his end like he’s moving. “Stay put.”

“No.”

“Cobra.”

“I’m circling.”

“You just told me you already did.”

“I’m doing it again.”

“Goddamn it.” His voice drops lower, harder. “I said we’re laying low.”

“You said don’t ignore something being off too.”

“I also said don’t freelance.”

“I called.”

“You called while already freelancing.”

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