58

Mathers hates you.” Windermere grinned at Stevens as he settled beside her. “Poor bastard had his heart set on South Beach.”

Stevens forced a laugh. “Miami’s nothing special in the springtime, anyway.”

“It’s freaking perfect, Stevens. And manning the fort while we run off and have an adventure is hardly going to turn Mathers on.”

“Yeah, well.” The plane jolted back from the gate. Stevens gripped the armrests. “Right now, I’m not exactly concerned with what turns Mathers on.”

“Maybe you should be,” said Windermere. “The big dummy asked me out.”

Stevens looked at her. “Really?”

“The other night, yeah. He tried to play it cool, but I could see what he was aiming for.”

“You turned him down.”

“I did.” Windermere picked up her magazine. “Don’t know why, though. It might have been fun.”

She paged through the magazine and said nothing else, leaving Stevens to clutch the armrests and stare out the window, his stomach churning and his mind working like a hamster in a wheel as the plane shuddered its way down the runway.

IT WAS JUST AFTER MIDNIGHT when they landed in Miami. There was a federal agent waiting for them at the arrivals gate. He looked fresh, despite the hour, and he grinned wide when he saw Windermere. “There she is,” he said, wrapping her in a hug. “You figure your old friends couldn’t cut it down here, or what?”

“Roman.” Windermere hugged him back. Then she gestured to Stevens. “This is Kirk Stevens, Minnesota BCA. We’re working this thing together.”

The agent studied Stevens. “A state cop, too,” he said, deadpan. “You must really think we’re weak down here, Carla.” Then he grinned at Stevens. Held out his hand. “I’m just playing, brother. Roman Ojeda. Pleased to meet you.”

Ojeda’s energy was infectious, even after the flight, and Stevens smiled as he shook the man’s hand. “Likewise,” he said. “See if I can’t teach the FBI a thing or two.”

Ojeda grinned at Windermere. “A gamer. I like him already.”

Stevens and Windermere followed Ojeda to his waiting Crown Vic. They piled in, and Ojeda drove away from the terminal. “Got a couple of rooms at the Golden Glades Hotel, couple blocks from the office.” Ojeda glanced at Windermere. “Kind of shady digs, but we didn’t know where else to put you.”

Windermere nodded. “It’s cool. We’ll be close to home base, anyway.”

“Get you your own ride if you want it. Weapons, whatever you need.”

“Car would be nice. Guns, too. This guy’s not exactly an amateur.”

“Who is this cat, anyway? What’s the story?”

“Wish I knew,” she said. “We’re still scrambling.”

She gave Ojeda the rundown. The whole story, from Saint Paul to Duluth to Miami. In the backseat, Stevens leaned against the window and stared out at the night. He listened to Windermere for a while, tried to keep his eyes open. Within a few minutes, though, he’d drifted off. When he woke, they were parked outside a hotel. Ojeda climbed from the car and walked them to the front doors. “Reservation’s in your name,” he told Windermere. “See you tomorrow.”

Stevens stretched, yawning. “Christ,” he said, following Windermere into the lobby. “I’m ready for bed.”

“Yeah?” Windermere turned and grinned back at him. “Get your sleep when you can, partner. As of tomorrow, we’re twenty-four seven.”