Snake Skin (20 page)

Taylor grinned up at Lucy. "Wouldn't that be
great? She's out getting high with her boyfriend, no worries? As
soon as we nail down the GPS, we'll have her home safe and
sound."

Except for the fact of the dead waitress
lying on a slab in the ME's morgue. But Lucy didn't dampen his
enthusiasm.

"Room the call originated from is
approximately sixteen by twenty-two feet, wood floors, twelve foot
high ceilings, several large windows along one wall," another tech
called out. Lucy didn't ask how they figured that out, at this
point, she didn't really care if it was science or magic.

Burroughs nodded to her from where he stood
on the side of the room, away from the loudest of the chaos. He was
writing something down, then hung up his phone. "Got it. The cells
narrowed it to either 5514 or 5516 Broad Street, that's in
Garfield."

"Garfield? Whose jurisdiction?" Lucy asked.
Taylor popped a map of Pittsburgh on the large monitor in the front
of the room, a flashing red square marking their quarry.

"Mine," Burroughs said with a satisfied
grin.

"Call for a warrant," she told Walden as he
rejoined them. "Burroughs, you contact your SWAT team, tell them I
might need them within the hour. Taylor, I want to know everything
about every person at those addresses. Names, criminal records,
what they ate for breakfast. Call me with the results. Let's
move."

"LT, I can do that in the car," Taylor
protested, reminding Lucy of Megan. "Can't I come? You might need
me."

When he turned those puppy-dog brown eyes on
her, it was hard to remember Taylor was only three years younger
than she was. But he had a point, he wasn't tech support anymore,
he was a full-fledged agent. "All right, ride with Walden."

Walden followed her into her office where
she donned her Kevlar. "Got the warrant."

He closed the door and leaned against it.
She still hadn't figured out why the door was solid wood when the
walls around it were glass, but decided it was a good thing if you
were going to have 200 plus pound guys like Walden leaning against
it.

"What's the problem?" she asked, adjusting
the velcro straps and shifting her shoulders under the weight of
the bullet proof vest.

"Aren't you moving kind of fast on this? Let
the locals set up surveillance, lock down the block. We wait until
morning, we can have it narrowed down to an exact location, get
reconnaissance, maybe even get a helo up. More planning time, more
back up, better chance of everyone getting home in one piece."

Lucy smiled. It was the most polite
insubordination she'd ever experienced. He was right: it was
by-the-book, the way things were meant to be done at the
Bureau.

"Burroughs told me a joke while we were
riding together today," she said. "How many Feebies does it take to
change a light bulb?"

Walden came close to glaring at her, then
played along. "How many?"

"All of them. 10,000 to study the problem,
2600 to fill out forms in triplicate and wait for approval, 17 to
monitor from a safe distance, and one agent to go undercover and
bribe a confidential informant to climb the ladder and do the dirty
work."

He shrugged, palms up, hands empty. "Your
point being?"

"You been working this case all day. You
think that was Ashley and her boyfriend getting high, calling mommy
dearest to gloat?"

His face went blank but behind his eyes a
battle was being waged. "We don't have any evidence she's in
immediate danger. Standard procedure—"

Lucy leaned forward, hands slapping her
desk. Technically Walden was her second-in-command. It was his job
to point out any potential flaws in her thinking. But she also
needed to know where he stood, how he was thinking. Not just what
the rule book said he should be telling her.

"If it was your case, your call. What would
you do?" she asked, keeping her face nonjudgmental, meeting his
gaze head on.

There was a long pause. Longer than it would
take either of them to recite the appropriate sections of the FBI's
op-manual.

Finally Walden came closest to a genuine
smile she'd seen yet from the man. His lips parted wide enough that
she could actually see his top teeth as his lips curled upwards.
For a second, maybe even two.

"I'd go in hard and fast, ready for
anything. I wouldn't wait."

She cleared her Glock, checked the magazine
and reloaded it after chambering a round. "My feelings exactly. Any
problems riding with the kid?"

He gave a small shake of his head. "Nah. He
just likes to talk a lot is all. Unless you want to keep an eye on
him. It is his first real deployment."

She'd thought of that. Taylor was wound
tighter than a meth tweaker, but that seemed to be his nature.
"He'll do fine."

He nodded and stepped toward the door, then
turned back. "You sure? It'd give Burroughs a chance to feast his
eyes on a fine piece of big, black man's ass."

She snapped her head up at that. "What are
you implying, Special Agent Walden?"

All evidence of his smile vanished. She
strode around the desk to stand beside him. "Surely you don't mean
that your ass is better looking than mine?"

A rumbly chuckle escaped him as she craned
her head to look over her shoulder at first her rear, then his.

"No ma'am. Never."

"All right then." She leaned against the
conference table and looked out the glass walls to where Burroughs
was talking on the phone, lounging in Walden's chair as if he owned
the place. "I appreciate the offer, but it's not a problem I choose
to address. At least not at this time."

He mimicked her position, also staring at
Burroughs, his face falling back into its usual expressionless
mask. "Can I ask why?"

"First of all, for guys like Burroughs,
nothing I say or do will change them. It's in their DNA. Second of
all, it's not my job to try to change him. It's my job to find
Ashley. So I let Burroughs look all he wants. Who cares? As long as
I get what I want."

The half-hidden smile crept back. "You're
using him."

"Well, duh. You heard Burroughs. It's his
turf. If I stick next to him, I can maybe keep things from
escalating if he takes it in mind to grandstand. And," she
holstered her weapon, "if things do get hot and heavy, I can use
him to direct the SWAT guys. I'm sure they wouldn't cotton to
taking orders directly from a Feebie."

"I like how you think, boss." The almost
smile became a real-life actual smile. Walden gave her a mock
salute and left to gather his own tactical gear.

Lucy grinned as she grabbed her windbreaker.
Nicest thing anyone had said to her all day.

Even nicer was the prospect that maybe she
was wrong about all this, maybe Ashley had left just to spite mamma
bear and papa bear and was waiting for them in Garfield, toked up
and full of life.

Her gut told her otherwise, but it never
hurt to hope.

Chapter 18

Saturday 11:32 pm

Guardino drove. She was a good driver, no
complaints there. Burroughs appreciated the way she steered the big
SUV through the Southside's Saturday night uncaring and unyielding
traffic. She wasn't impatient, merely focused, looking ahead and
anticipating openings in the flow, slip-streaming into them. At one
point she turned on the red and blue wig-wags concealed behind the
grill, then shut them off again once the snarl of congestion was
passed.

No fuss, no muss, just getting the job done.
He decided that was what attracted him most. Of course there was
also the physical thing. Most women donning Kevlar looked squat,
bulky, as if the layers of protection turned them into squared off
blobs. Not Guardino. Even beneath the bullet-proof vest, she gave
off a vibe that was all woman. Maybe it was the spread of her hips
or the glint of Amazon warrior-steel her eyes took on when the body
armor came out.

Whatever it was, it was making it hard to
keep riding with her. Not without thinking the kind of thoughts a
cop shouldn't be thinking about another cop, much less a
feebie.

Needing distraction, he flipped open his
phone. Found a text that didn't help matters any. Damn
her
.
He'd told her he never wanted to see her again, but she was one of
those women who didn't have the word "no" in their vocabulary.

I want to c u tonite
, she had texted
him.
I want u to f me til I scream
.

He tapped out a reply:
no, can't.

She wrote back:
Yes u can. Stuckup bitch
won't give u what u need. Not like I can.

He tried again:
no.

Her reply:
YES. I know what u want, I can
make it happen. Tonite.

He flipped the phone shut, saw Guardino
glance at him. "Donkey Kong," he lied. "It relaxes me. I could
download it to your phone if you'd like to play."

She waited a little too long before
replying. He had the feeling she knew he was offering more than a
retro vid-game. Had the feeling she knew exactly what kind of
fantasies had been tantalizing him ever since he first saw her
striding up the road at the vic's house, plowing through the
uniformed cops faster than a bum through a baloney sandwich.

That's how it always was for him—same as
with Kim and all the women before and after her. Lust at first
sight. There was just a type of woman who crawled under his skin
and set up shop there, teasing his nerve endings, tugging at his
attention until he couldn't think of anything else.

Lucy Guardino was one of those women.

"I don't play games," she replied in a
neutral but firm tone.

He shifted in his seat, putting his cell
phone away. He got her message, loud and clear.

Jeezit, it was gonna be a long night.

"I got him!"

Lucy jumped as Taylor's excited voice
shrieked through the radio.

"I used the GIS program to eliminate—"

"The name, Taylor." A yawn forced its way
past her clenched teeth and she didn't bother to cover it.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. The apartment they're in
is leased to Delroy Littles. It's on the second floor of the 5514
building, apartment 2-D."

"Littles? I know that name," Burroughs said,
even as he was dialing his phone. "Friend of mine in narcotics has
been looking for him."

"Makes sense. He's had several arrests, only
two convictions—both for possession with intent to sell. First one
for marijuana, second for methamphetamine." Taylor paused. "Never
found with a weapon, does have one TRO from a girlfriend alleging
abuse, though. Still on parole from the last conviction. Nothing
outstanding."

Burroughs snapped his phone shut. "Narcotics
thinks Delroy might be working with a big fish in the meth trade.
They've been hoping to pop Delroy on a parole violation and turn
him."

They were still several blocks away from
Broad Street, if Lucy remembered the map correctly. Which meant she
needed a plan, fast. "We send Pittsburgh SWAT in hot and heavy,
scare the crap out of Delroy and the girl in there with him. If the
girl is Ashley, then we're good to go. If not, the extra firepower
should help convince Delroy this is no ordinary parole violation,
enough so maybe he'll talk to us about Ashley and give the
narcotics guys what they need." She paused. "Anyone got any better
ideas?"

"Sounds good to me," Burroughs said. "The
SWAT guys love any chance to make a noise."

"If it isn't Ashley," Walden's thoughtful
voice sounded over the speaker, "we could take Delroy back to the
Federal Building—might add to the intimidation factor."

Burroughs chuckled. "Hell yeah. If Delroy
thinks this is a federal beef, he'll shit his pants."

"And be oh-so-very grateful when we kick him
loose to your narcotic squad instead." Lucy nodded. "I like
it."

Twelve minutes later she, Burroughs, and the
Pittsburgh SWAT Team leader, a guy by the name of Erikson, were
huddled over a layout of the apartment building.

"Go in loud, but we need to minimize
property damage and for God's sake, no shooting unless necessary,"
Lucy said, a little nervous that she wasn't dealing with the elite
FBI Hostage Rescue Team. But Erikson seemed to understand the
situation and was willing to play by her rules.

"My men know there's a civilian on the
premises," he told her. "We'll neutralize all threats with minimal
necessary force."

The stabbing in her left ear returned, her
jaw clamping tight as she watched Erikson lead his men inside the
building. She was grinding her teeth again. She forced herself to
yawn, feeling the pop in her jaw and ear. Damn, she hated watching,
waiting.

A few moments later the apartment's windows
were lit up by an explosion of light and sound. A flash-bang
grenade used to stun the occupants. Even from street level, Lucy
could hear pounding footsteps and men yelling, "Police, down, down,
down!"

She ran across the street and started up the
steps. Burroughs followed close on her heels. By the time she
reached the top, the radio was broadcasting the all clear. She
entered the room, still filled with hazy smoke, to find the black
clad, helmeted and masked SWAT officers straddling two civilians
who lay face down, coughing.

Lucy crouched down beside the woman as
Erikson restrained her arms with a flex-cuff and another cop patted
her down. It wasn't Ashley, she saw right away.

"Gun!" the cop frisking the woman called
out, drawing everyone's attention.

"Hell, that's not mine!" Delroy shouted. "I
don't know nothing about no gun. Honest."

The cop pulled a .38 Smith and Wesson from
the woman's boot and handed it off. A few minutes later, after
finding no more weapons, they hauled the man and the woman to their
feet.