I’d stick to bodyguardingfrom now on. Gray had been talking about needing to recruit a few more people,and he was running out of personal contacts.
I crossed the busy sidewalkto my bike, reaching out to stroke along the paintwork.
My whole body seemed tostutter as I remembered she had a name now. A name Quinn had given to her. Thehorse his knight rode on.
But I hadn’t managed to bemuch of a knight, had I? I’d failed him.
He was right to kick me tothe curb. What good was having a so-called private investigator on your side ifthey couldn’tprotect you from theonething you’d been afraid of?
I was useless. Quinn deservedbetter. It was just as well he’d realized that now instead of later.
Swinging a leg over thebike, I sat there for a moment, not quite ready to kick off yet. I was stillhalf-expecting Quinn to come running after me, apology prepared, tears in hiseyes.
But that wasn’t going tohappen. I didn’t evenwantit to happen.
I didn’t deserve it,and what was the point in him giving everything up for someone like me?
A shout further down thestreet made me look up, pulse jumping for the two seconds it took me to realizethat it was only two friends greeting each other.
As I looked away, though,something else caught my eye. A big, white Cadillac.
With newly-polished vanityplates.
That read V-I-N-C-E-N-T.
My legs worked without mybrain engaging, climbing back off the bike and heading over to Vincent’s car. I’dwatched him drive away in it when I’d shooed him out of Quinn’s apartment.
I hadn’t figured outwhat I intended todoby the time I got there, which left me standingbeside the car, peering at my own reflection in the dark-tinted windows.
Could it hurt to get a goodlook inside?
This was LA, it wasn’t as thoughanyone was likely to stop me. If I broke into it in the middle of the street,they’d probably cheer me on thinking it was some kind of performance art.
I didn’t plan on goingthatfar, but I putmy hands to the front passenger side window, peering into the dark recesses ofthe car.
There was a dog-earednotebook with a black, pebbled leather cover tossed in the footwell like it wasworthless.
Identicalto the one I’d seen Quinnwriting in over the weekend. The kind of notebook he used.
This was it. This was thebreak I needed, and now I was standing in broad daylight, attracting attentionto myself.
I’d only been idlycontemplating breaking into this car, but now…
It was old enough to take anactualkey, wasn’t it?
I glanced at the door handleto confirm my suspicions and found the type of lock I expected to see there.
One or two people werelooking at me—I could feel them without having to look around, but if I keptcalm and made sure no one could see my hands…
Would anyone care enough tosay anything?
It was worth the risk. Itwas worth the risk for Quinn. There was so much of his work in that notebook,work he’dresigned himself to never seeing again.
This was one thing I coulddo for him.
I reached into my jacket,still keeping watch, and put my hand on the roll of lockpicks I kept in theinside pocket. Old habits died hard.
A final glance in thedirection of the record company offices stopped me in my tracks. Vincentemerged through the big glass doors, talking animatedly to John.
