“Cammy. She’s the driver.”
“That it?”
“Yes, that’s it.” Apart from Genesis. But I’m not telling them about her.
“That doesn’t cover the riders at the bank job,” Mercer cuts in.
“Pablo, from Briggs’s gang. You already have his details. Besides, he’s dead, so who cares?”
“Who was the other?”
“Me,” I say, watching a seagull landing on the sand nearby, one beady eye staring at me like it knows I’m lying.
“Descriptions of the crew?” Dawkins asks, and Mercer lets him move on.
I tap down my relief; they didn’t know how many riders there were. They don’t know abouther. “Cole’s white, late twenties, fit, 6’1, blue eyes…” I go through the crew, giving them general descriptions so bland they could fit almost anyone. Thank God Mercer didn’t try to get me in front of a forensic artist; it would’ve taken all day.
“Distinguishing features?”
“None on Renner or the two muscle. Tasha has tattoos.” I describe what I can remember.
“How do they move, how do they speak?”Dawkins presses. “Start with Renner.”
I have to admit, he knows what to ask. The time slips away, the beach getting busier. We’re at it for what seems ages, long enough for families to turn up with coolers, staking early claims to the best spots. I just want to get back to Genesis. She’ll be awake by now. I should’ve left that fucking note.
Dawkins doesn’t seem happy with what he gets, but I’ve been as thorough as I can. The truth is, Renner’s group is careful, and they blend in. They’re not thugs for hire, they’re experienced operatives. I don’t point that out, but I know Dawkins has caught on.
“Very well,” he says at last. “We’ll need more next time.”
Next time?
“I’m not doing this again,” I say. “What part of undercover do you guys not get?”
“You’ll do it if I tell you to.” Mercer’s tone makes it clear it’s not negotiable. “And I want weekly check-in calls.”
“If I’m not busy.”
“This time every Saturday, then.”
Yeah. That’s when I’m busy.
“Whatever. We done?”
“No,Hale, we’re not done.” Mercer straightens her back, staring me down. Which is a laugh; she’s nine inches shorter than I am. Wearingheelson the beach. “The people who lost money in that vault have friends in places that make my life difficult. I’ve got four weeks before someone above me makes adecision I can’t stop.”
Shit.“I need longer than that.”
“Four weeks. That’s what I’m giving you, because that’s what I’ve got. After that, this stops being your operation.” She pauses. “Renner’s location and the name of whoever is pulling his strings, minimum.”
And yet no one’s pulling his strings, not as far as I know. That was my little lie, and now I have to somehow make it true.
But Mercer hasn’t finished. “Three years you’ve been undercover now. Three operations. I argued against you taking this one.”
“Comforting,” I say dryly. “Thanks.”
“You’ve been under long enough that I can’t always tell what’s operational instinct anymore.” Her eyes narrow. “Is this getting personal with you?”
That’s a trap. I step into it deliberately. “Everything’s personal. This is my fuckingjob.”
