6:49 A.M.
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
EASTLAKE NEIGHBORHOOD
Parked along Fairview Avenue, with an unobstructed view of two sides of a powder-blue two-story houseboat facing Lake Union on the corner of a block of houseboats—four across, six deep—Randall lowered the binoculars and admired the sparkling waters.
Behind the Chrysler’s driver, the sun had risen over an hour ago and was just peeking over the houses and businesses further back on his six o’clock.
Hearing his passenger stir in her seat, he turned to see a sleeping Devlin.
Having alternated with each other, the agents had taken one-hour-long naps. She was now on her second snooze.
Randall raised the field glasses to spy on the floating dwelling.
Six-and-a-half hours ago, Faith had called to say she had used the sketchy information Dryden Barnes had provided to track down a possible houseboat two members of the robbery team, the two brothers, had recently rented.
Arriving at the site six hours ago, the agents had taken turns keeping an eye on the darkened, seemingly empty rental home.
Randall squirmed in his seat then glimpsed the corner market in the rearview mirror, its lights had come alive at six-thirty. He peeped at Devlin, his mind recalling the bottle and a half of water he had downed throughout the night. He stared at one of the empty containers beside him for a long moment. His attention went to a sound-asleep Devlin before he observed the bottle again. A beat later, he shook his head. That would be tacky.
He adjusted his position once more and went back to surveilling the target, hoping the task would take his mind off his pressing urge.
Devlin snorted, batted her eyelids a few times, yawned, and stretched her limbs. “Did I miss—”
“Good. You’re awake.” He plopped the field glasses onto her lap and opened the door. “I need to hit the head.” He hurried out of the car and jogged across Fairview Avenue.
She smacked her lips, “Good morning to you, too,” then searched for the water she had stowed in the center console. I thought I... abandoning her quest a few seconds later, she picked up the binoculars and observed the houseboat.
Seven minutes later, the driver’s door opened.
A plastic bag hooked around his fingers, Randall fell into his seat with a heavy sigh and pulled his door shut.
“Have you seen my water? I’m sure I put it in the console.”
“Um,” he froze, seeing himself guzzling the rest of a half-filled bottle, “what did it look like?”
“Gee. I don’t know.” She faced him. “I’m probably thinking just like the one you had.”
“Here.” He pulled out a cardboard container and held it out to her. “I bought you some OJ.” He dipped his hand back into the bag and made an oblong dessert appear a beat later. “And a donut. It’s filled with jelly...strawberry, I think.”
She accepted both, scowled at the items, then raised an eyebrow at her driver. “Nothing says breakfast like an overdose of sugar.”
“Exactly.” He pulled out a figure-eight shaped baked good and a carton of chocolate milk then crumpled the bag. Pausing a beat, he lifted his beverage. “Unless you’d rather have the milk.”
“I’d rather have my water.”
“I’m sorry, Jessica. Those leftover pizza slices I ate gave me a nasty thirst.”
She squared shoulders with him. “So, you drank my water?”
“Would you rather I had woken you up to get your permission?”
“Yes.” Still not fully awake, Devlin frowned at her questioner. “I mean ‘no.’” She shook her head and closed her eyes. “I mean I’d rather you’d—”
He motioned. “We got action.” His mouth full of one half of the ‘figure eight’ treat, he spat a speck of dough on his last syllable.
Glimpsing him wiping the moistened crumb off the dashboard, she faced the direction in which he had pointed. “Are you going to eat like that when you take my sister out on a date?”
“Of course not. She’s my girlfriend.” He launched a quick grin her way. “You’re one of the guys, remember?”
“Lucky me.” Devlin put the binoculars to her eyes. “What do we have?”
Randall dropped his donut into a cup holder and swallowed his food five chews later. “The lights just came on inside, and I saw a figure, possibly two, walking around.”
“How’d they get in? I didn’t see any cars pull up.”
“Could’ve been sleeping upstairs the whole time.”
She recalled how she and Randall had only been able to peek through the windows on the main floor when they had arrived on the scene. She lowered the glasses and gave the surrounding area a once-over. “People are starting to hit the streets, start their day. If those two are our suspects, they won’t come quietly.”
“We don’t have enough for a warrant. Nor do we even know if they’re our suspects.”
“But we can at least knock on the door and ask questions. See what they do. If they’re guilty, we’ll know it.”
Randall faced her. “And how will we know that?”
She smiled at him. “I misspoke. I meant you’ll know...mister CIA man.”
He nodded. “So, I’m your genie in a bottle? You rub my belly whenever you want me to use my skills to sniff out the truth?”
“When you say it like that,” Devlin whipped out her pistol and pulled back on the slide to see brass in the chamber, “you make it sound so cheap,” before holstering the weapon on her right hip again.
Randall verified the status of his 45 ACP Walther PPQ then slid it into his right-side hip holster. “How else am I supposed to make it sound?”
She pulled on a handle, pushed open her door, and half closed an eye at him while planting her right tactical boot on the pavement. “Think of it as your superpower.”
He shouldered open his door and nodded, “I could see that,” before eyeing her. “But I’m not wearing tights and a cape.”
Climbing out of the sedan, she tossed a quick down-and-up his way then turned her back on him, twisted up her face, and mumbled, “Not sure I’d want to see that, anyway.”
Randall unfolded his frame from the car and stood tall. Having heard a few of her words, and extrapolating on the missing ones, he shut his door and spied her over the top of the 300S. “Your inside voice needs work. I could totally pull off tights and a cape,” a tick, “if I wanted to, that is.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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