I tugged his cap lower. “Yes, but don’t fall.”
I wasn’t sure how Tallus would manage scaling a fence, no matter how big his ego. He was not exactly an athlete. At least he’d found appropriate footwear. Kind of. The Converse were less than ideal but better than the fancy-as-fuck loafers he wore to work every day. The man didn’t own running shoes.
His ascent was slow but cautious. If he was nervous, I couldn’t tell. I stayed close, ready to provide support if needed. At the top, he awkwardly maneuvered a leg over and stalled, straddling the fence, crotch kissing the jagged wire peaks.
“What are you doing? Are you okay?”
“I’m looking around.”
That was fine. It gave me time to scoot ahead, so I was beneath him as he descended the other side. When he was a few feet from touchdown, I snagged his waist and tugged him into my arms.
He yelped and flailed before colliding with my chest. I set him on his feet and brought my mouth to his ear. “Gotcha.”
He playfully elbowed my side. “Which way?”
I got my bearings and indicated we should head to the left. We followed the rear concrete wall of a line of units until we got to a corner. Two cameras were mounted at the mouth of the next row, aimed in either direction. I pointed them out to Tallus and tugged my ball cap lower, hunching to make myself smaller as I officially entered the grid of roads that comprised the facility.
Tallus copied, staying close and quiet. We stayed against the wall where the units cast dark shadows.
It didn’t take long to find the location of the fire. The area was barred by a flapping string of yellow police tape and a few traffic cones. The cordoned section encompassed six storage units. Three on either side of the wide row. The one that interested us, the center unit on the right, stood out, remnants of the earlier incident noticeable even at night. The units beside it didn’t show signs of damage.
I ducked under the caution tape and approached the charred, garage-style door. The melted paint peeled and curled where flames had licked through from underneath, blackening the metal. The distinct smell of smoke and melted plastic still lingered in the air.
“Shit.” Tallus moved past me. With a gloved hand, he tugged on a shiny stainless steel chain and padlock attached to the unit’s door. I presumed the fire department or the police had put it there when they left for the day. Whether it was to preserve their investigation or protect whatever remained inside, I didn’t know, but I had prepared for this contingency.
“What now?” Tallus asked.
I examined the padlock, finding exactly what I expected. A standard Master outdoor key-accessed lock, available in any hardware store, soldin bulk, and typically used by the police at times when they needed to secure evidence that couldn’t be taken away from a scene. Like a shed. Like a gate. Like a storage unit.
The locker was a fair distance from any of the cameras, but I turned my back to the nearest one and withdrew a carefully concealed tool from under my hoodie, where I had tucked it precariously in the top of my jeans before leaving the house.
Tallus gasped. “Diem Krause. Are those heavy-duty bolt cutters in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?”
Amused, I arched a brow. “You see heavy-duty bolt cutters, and the first thing you think of is sex?”
“Um. Not exactly. It was the presentation.” He shrugged, his mischievous grin peeking from the shadow under his ball cap. “But seriously, you can’t cut the lock. It will raise suspicion, and they’ll check the cameras. I thought we weren’t messing with anything.”
“We aren’t. We will leave it exactly as we found it.” From a pocket on my jeans, I produced an identical Master lock—set of keys still attached—and handed it to him.
He examined it, lips parted and head cocked to the side. “Okay, firstly. How the fuck do you have an identical lock in your pocket? Did you consult Kitty before we left? You are not the witchy one.”
Using the bolt cutters, I tapped the lock secured to the chain. “Standard issue. Used all the time in police work. It was a good guess.”
“All right. I’ll buy it, even though it seems awfully fortuitous. What color are my underwear?”
“Black. You don’t own any other color.”
“Oh, right. But there’s another problem. You do realize they will not use the same key.”
“I’m aware.”
Tallus seemed to consider this for a long moment before shaking his head. “Nope. Not following. Explain.”
“The point is, it will look the same. Untouched. When whoever put it here tries to open it, the most logical reason will be that the person either grabbed the wrong set of keys or the key manufactured for this commercially produced product is faulty. We won’t leave them a reason to suspect otherwise. It will be brushed off as a minor issue.”
Tallus nodded approvingly. “And that, Inspector Guns, is why you’re the boss, and I’m the minion. Cut away before Darcy decides he’s tired of waiting and comes looking for us.”
“He won’t if he knows what’s good for him.”