The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [93]
54
Y’know there is a back entrance,” Micah pointed out, tucked into a Compacts Only parking spot and checking his rearview mirror for the third time in the last minute. Diagonally behind them in the parking garage, Wes’s empty Toyota hadn’t moved. “I can take a quick look and—”
“No need,” O’Shea said from the passenger seat, his elbow perched on the edge of the car’s open window as he worked the morning’s crossword. “This is Florida—he’s not going anywhere without his car.”
“Unless he takes someone else’s. Remember that woman in Syria?”
“Syria was different. We needed her to run.”
“Why? So you had a good excuse to bring her in?”
“She would’ve killed you, Micah. You know that.”
“I was luring her in.”
“That’s your interpretation,” O’Shea shot back. “But if you try anything as hotheaded as Syria, I promise you right now, I’ll be the one putting the gun to your head.” Refusing to look up from the crossword, O’Shea pointed over his own shoulder with the back of his pen. “See that junk shop Subaru diagonally down at the bottom there . . . with the Grateful Dead stickers? We saw it last night. That’s Lisbeth’s. The one up here is Wes’s. Rogo’s is still in the shop. No one’s going anywhere.”
Unconvinced, Micah checked his rearview for the fourth time, then glanced over at O’Shea’s elbow resting in the open window. “You should close that up,” he said, motioning to the window. “In case he comes . . .”
“Micah, it’s seventy-two degrees here. In December. You know how cold it was in France? Let me enjoy the damn warmth.”
“But Wes could—”
“It’s under control.”
“Yeah, just like this,” Micah said, jabbing a finger at the photo of Nico on the front page of the newspaper that wilted across the armrest between them.
“What, you still think that was The Roman?” O’Shea asked.
“How could it not be? Boyle gets spotted . . . Nico gets out . . . hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
O’Shea nodded, finally looking up from the crossword. “But if he used Wes’s name to get in . . .”
“I’m just glad you got it purged from the official report. If that went out, the whole world would’ve swarmed Wes’s front steps, and we’d’ve lost our best—”
“Tsssttt!” O’Shea hissed, cutting Micah off. Behind them, a familiar voice echoed off the walls of the garage.
“—e should still call the office,” Wes said as Dreidel followed him up the concrete incline.
“Why, just to panic them?” Dreidel asked.
Studying their respective side mirrors, O’Shea and Micah watched the scene unfold diagonally behind them. From their spot in the garage, they had a perfect view of the passenger side of Wes’s Toyota. And it didn’t take anything more than that to notice Rogo was missing.
“Where’s the fat kid?” Micah whispered.
“Hitting on the girl?” O’Shea guessed.
Just as Wes stepped around to the driver’s-side door and opened the locks, his car keys slipped from his hand. Spinning to catch them, he twisted toward Micah and O’Shea, who didn’t flinch. From their angle in the garage, they were near impossible to spot.
There was a loud clink as the keys hit the pavement. For a fraction of a second, O’Shea saw Wes’s glance turn toward him. O’Shea still didn’t move. No way was Wes that good.
“What’s wrong?” Dreidel called out to his friend.
O’Shea stared in his passenger-side mirror and stood his ground. Next to him, watching his own rearview, Micah did the same. They’d been at this too long to panic.
“You hear something?” Wes asked.
“Don’t get paranoid,” Dreidel warned.
In the edge of his mirror, O’Shea could see the outline of the back of Wes’s head as he turned to his Toyota, picked his keys up off the ground, and slid into the car.
“No, you’re right,” Wes replied.
Within seconds, the Toyota’s engine grumbled to life and its wheels screeched against the concrete.
Following years of training, Micah waited before going for the ignition. At least until they heard the metallic thunk of Wes’s Toyota cresting over the speed bump just outside the garage.
By the time Micah and O