Chapter 19
Suds
The last of the late-night partiers retired hours ago and the early birds have yet to rise for their worms. The hotel door cracks open and sure enough, out pops my wife with some much-needed steaming caffeine. After placing two foam cups in my hand, she drags a chair out the door, and plops down next to me. I don’t bother to ask why she’s not asleep because I know how her brain races once the pieces of the puzzle start to fall in place.
This is also the most likely time for her to think of a hair-brained scheme to get us arrested or dead. Of course, being a happily married man, I keep all these thoughts to myself.
“Love you.” She smiles but I see the wheels churning. She don’t fool me none.
“I love you, too.” I eye her over the top of my brew. At this point, I could ask her why she’s out in the hall at three in the morning, but I’m bored and when she’s antsy, she is cute as hell.
“I was thinking…”
“Mmm?”Here it comes.
She takes a deep breath and talks twice as fast as normal. “We need to see what’s on the thumb drive the lobbyist gave to the judge.”
Now, this is the tricky part. I don’t want to seem like I’m dismissing her, but I do not fancy getting arrested for breaking and entering. “Sugar, my skills do not include safe crackin’.”
“Mine neither but I checked. Judge Bannerman is ancient.” Her head bobs like I understand where she is going with this, but I honestly don’t have a clue.
“Babe?”
“How do old people remember passwords?”
“Dunno.” I give her a blank look.Maybe, I need a little more sleep.
“They write them down. Usually on yellow sticky notes.”
“Seriously?”This is her grand plan?
“I’m going to wake up Selena and ask.” She hands me her cup, jumps up and returns looking a lot like Catrina the time she pilfered a chicken leg off my plate.
“She says Bannerman has them plastered all over the place. Let’s do this.” She holds up a key. “She also gave me a perfectly legal way to enter via the front door.”
“You want us to break into the home of a federal judge?” Well, at least now I’m wide awake.
“It’s not against the law if you have one of these.” Her smile says all. She’s going to do this with or without me.
Hell, if I’m being perfectly honest, her plan intrigues me. Maybe we’ll find evidence, hand it to the authorities, and be done with this case. Thanksgiving is almost upon us and damn, her family can cook. No man in his right mind would want to miss it. I’m still making up excuses as I park down the block from the judge’s million-dollar rowhouse on First.
“This feels too easy.” Sam, dressed completely in black, frowns at the three-story home in the upscale neighborhood.
“If it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll dial nine-one-one?”
“Maybe next time.” Looking up and down the vacant street, she crouches at the iron gate, and races up four steps to the door. In the quiet of the wee hours, the click of the old lock sounds more like a gunshot. Quickly, I push her inside, and silently latch the door behind us.
Wide floorboards creak as we follow Selena’s directions to the parlor in the front of the building. Two paces ahead of me, Sam removes a wall painting, exposes a safe, and turns her attention to a desk near a fireplace. With her cell phone out, she snaps pictures of sticky notes hiding under the keyboard, the monitor, and even a drawer.
With the small screen lighting her face, she places her ear to the metal and begins to twist the tumbler right and left. After starting over multiple times, the safe door opens.
However, there’s no time to celebrate because the floor creaks overhead. Quickly, I drag her under the desk, hold my breath, and count off the seconds. We should have ten minutes before the MPD arrive. I’m about ready to haul ass out of there but stop at the sound of a man muttering to himself. Steps groan, bedsprings compress, and still, we wait. It’s not until heavy snores echo down the stairwell, do I exhale and let go.
Standing, she rifles through some bonds, then lifts a USB drive. “I found it.”
“Great, let’s go.” Halfway out the door, I notice she’s not on my heels. Instead, my damn partner is typing into the judge’s laptop.
“Sam. Now.” My patience snaps but she pays me no mind.
