Trey chimes in. “And cameras are going in five, four, three—”
I grab her face and press a solid kiss to it. “Damn right it’s gonna work.”
“Two, and ... one. Get the fuck out there. You probably have about five minutes, tops, before they come looking to figure out what the fuck is going on.”
I give Trey a nod, and Jules and I are out of the SUV in a flash. Jules already has the small set of bolt cutters ready, and he’s cutting the fence links in seconds. We’re inside in less than thirty.
Space 117, I remind myself as I start searching the painted numbers. I spot the Mustang before Jules and wave him over.
He disables the alarm system and then gives me a thumbs-up. With the Slim Jim in my hand, I pop the lock and yank open the door.
A wave of stale air that smells like pot and dirty socks billows out. I hit the unlock button and Jules opens the passenger side. He goes for the glove box, pulls out the registration, and gives me a nod. Then we go to town. Each of us fills a bag we brought with anything not attached to the car that might give us information about the late Ricardo Ortiz from Magnolia’s building.
Receipts. Business cards. Cell phone—bingo.
I shove it all in my bag, and Jules pops the trunk. He hefts a duffel bag out of it as I scan the interior for anything else we could have missed, but I’m confident we’ve gotten everything.
Jules closes the trunk quietly, and I check my watch. We’ve got two minutes.
That’s when I see the flashlight beam cutting across the lot, three rows away.
Nine
Magnolia
My heart hammers with every second that ticks down on the stopwatch I set on my phone. Trey is fucking with the cameras still, making the ones in the front of the lot—well away from where Moses and Jules are—flash and flicker like they’re trying to come back online.
“If I just cut them all off, and left them that way, they’d know something was up. This way, they’ll think it’s just another instance of shitty equipment not behaving, which is something they’re likely used to.”
I wish it made me feel better, but it doesn’t.
As much as Moses was worried about the possibility of me having to get involved and put myself at risk, I’m a hundred times more worried about him.
Me distracting a cop isn’t a crime in itself; that’s accessory-type shit. But Moses and Jules breaking into the impound lot? That’s bad news if they get caught.
“How good are they at this kind of thing? Do they do it often?” I ask Trey, trying to gauge just how anxious I should be.
Trey barely glances up from his screen as he works his magic. “I wouldn’t worry too much. They’ve had some close calls before, but Moses is smart as fuck. Guaranteed he’s already thinking six moves ahead.”
“Like chess,” I whisper.
“Yeah. That’s what he says. We think like chess, and everyone else is playing checkers. That’s why we’re so fucking good at what we do. So don’t freak out just yet. He’ll be back in no time.”
As soon as he gives me that reassurance, my stomach drops as I see a flashlight beam coming down the sidewalk. If the cop continues walking that path, he’ll go right past the slit they cut in the fence to get in.
“Houston, we have a problem,” I whisper to Trey.
He finally lifts his head and looks out the window. “Oh fuck. He can’t keep walking. He’ll see the fence. This place will be crawling with cops if he does.”
“Looks like I’m up,” I say, my pulse spiking despite my determination to stay calm.
“Mags—”
Trey starts to say something, but I’m not sticking around and taking chances that could put my man at risk. I hop out of the SUV and duck behind a van, so I look like I’m coming from across the street.
“Officer? Can you help me?”
The uniform swings his flashlight toward the sound of my voice. He’s not the cop I know, but I’m not a stranger to ... well, strangers.