“Like what?” He fed more crackersto the kitten.
She pressed a thumb into her opposite palm to relax. “Maybe landscape design?” The idea had definitely taken root.
He grinned. “I have a house. A real one.”
She bit her lip. “I haven’t goneto school yet.”
“That’s okay. You should come look at it anyway.” Wolfe patted the kitten.
Huntercut him a look.
A trio of young women, maybe around twenty years old, giggled as they shared another pitcher of margaritas. A brunette wearing jeans with red high heels kept giving Hunter a look. A “hey baby” look.
Faye barely kept from glaring at her. Who wore red high heels and jeans to lunch? Seriously.
Raider stopped typing, watched his screen, and sighed. “Video came in.” He took a big drink of his beer before setting down the mug and looking directly at Hunter. “Good news is that the kid wasn’t at this robbery. Bad news is that the clerk behind the counter offered up the money, didn’t fight, and Louise Stockley shot him anyway. She’s definitely on akilling spree.”
Faye caught her breath and sat back. “That could be disastrous if Jackson disagrees with her or stops following her lead.” She bit her lip, trying to remember the one class on abnormal psychology she’d taken years ago. “She’d see that as a betrayal.” And probably kill the kid.
Hunter sat back in his chair, flipping through the manila file that Dana had given them. “Dana did a good job on this.”
Wolfe leaned forward. “Speaking of Dana, the very lovely journalist. She’s single, right? I can see us together.”
Did he ever have a thought he didn’t share? Faye let the sun warm her back. “She did sayyou were cute.”
“I’m effing adorable,” Wolfe agreed.
Hunter rolled his eyes. “The background Dana found on Louise showed she spent summers at a couple of camps; one in northern Idaho and the other eastern Washington. Maybe she’s heading back there.”
Faye took a sip of her soda. “Could be. She might be trying to take Jackson to a place and time where she felt safe. Where childhood was good.”
“That’s screwed up, considering they’re together,” Wolfe said, downing his mug in one long drink. He leaned over to refill his glass.
Tension pricked Faye’s neck, and her breath quickened, but she kept her hand steady on the glass.
Even so, Wolfe cocked his head to the side and studied her, his eyes dark. “I’m never out of control. I could drink both of these pitchers and the entire keg out back and at no time would you know it. More important, I would never harm a woman. No matter how much I drink, you not for a moment need to fear me.” He pushed the mug away. “And if you ask me to stop drinking right now, I will.”
It was the most serious she’d seen him. Her heart warmed toward the soldier. “It was an old reaction, and I don’t need you to stop drinking the beer. But thank youfor offering.”
He grinned. “Good. I’mstill thirsty.”
Hunter set his hand at the base of her neck and kneaded her nape, soothing all the tension just the way he used to do. She closed her eyes and nearly groaned, feeling her muscles slowly unwind. It was such a natural gesture that it took her a few moments to remember they didn’t do this anymore. But it felt so good, shedidn’t protest.
The thumping of helicopter blades forced her eyelids open. Hunter released her and leaned back. She looked up to see a battered and dented helicopter with faded green paint set down in the middle of the parking lot and bounce twice.
Raider groaned. “Now, that’s apiece of shit.”
Faye swallowed. This was the helicopter for Raider’s unit? She’d been expecting a Blackhawk, something badass and sleek. Not a rusting deathtrap. “Why do I have the feeling you haven’t told us everything about yourdeep ops unit?”
Wolfe sighed. “We kind of suck. Well, not really. We’re super smart, and we solve cases nobody else solves, but the HDD doesn’t exactly like us, so our resources aren’t that great.”
Raider nodded, his gaze sober. “We’re lucky to have that helicopter.”
The vehicle powered down, and the pilot’s door opened. A massive German Shepherd leaped out, barked twice, and made a beeline for them, easily clearing the iron fence between the tables and the parking lot.
Then everything happened too fast to react. Both Wolfe and Raider jumped up, reaching for the pitchers of beer. The dog hit the table, skidded across the wood, and reached the first pitcher before either man could snag it. He stuck his nose in the beer, growling and drinking so quickly the alcohol was half gone before Raider could wrestle the pitcher away. “Roscoe, stop it,” he snapped.
Roscoe lifted his furry head, barked once, and executed a shockingly graceful half-circle leap to land on the nearest table, his beer-coated head dropping into the margarita pitcher with total abandon. The three women yelped and scooted back from the table as he slurped down the entire strawberryblended liquid.
