COOPER’S MIND was reeling with the possibilities even as Maya slid into the Bronco’s passenger seat, pulled the belt over her shoulder, and clicked it in place. All without paying much mind to what she was doing, as if she’d done it dozens of times before.
Maya and Mickey the detective? Now, that was a pairing he never would have predicted.
Sure, he could imagine Bernstein making a few clumsy moves on the hot nanny, figuring she was anonymous enough not to matter. But this was something different. And it was not the usual business of a cop picking up a witness either. For one thing, that would never involve just one detective. No, this was friendly, familiar. Which meant they were allies…right? Or maybe Maya knew something, and Tricky Mickey was coaxing it out of her with false promises of police protection—all of it off the books, because Bernstein was working his own angle.
Cooper hurriedly opened the city streets app on his phone to see where this alley led so he could pick up their trail. He couldn’t pursue Bernstein directly down the alley; the veteran cop would spot him in a microsecond.
The app offered some good news: The alley ended at a side street that would take you north to Sansom Street or south to Walnut. But the bad news: He didn’t know which direction Bernstein might be headed. That depended on where he was taking her.
A left turn onto Walnut could mean he was headed to the Roundhouse at Eighth and Arch for something official—or something meant to seem official.
A right turn could mean Bernstein was giving her a lift to the Main Line for work…or perhaps taking her to the Sables’ head office at the Linc.
And if Cooper chose wrong, he would lose them.
Cooper put his hand on the gear shift, ready to spring into action whenever Bernstein hit the gas. But he lingered. Bernstein and Maya were talking about something, their faces only inches apart.
He wished he could go back in time and have Victor wire Bernstein’s car for sound. “Memo to self,” Cooper mumbled. “Have Victor invent time machine, then travel back and bug Mickey’s ride.”
For a fleeting second, Cooper considered the direct approach—running up to the car, pounding on the windshield, smiling, and making a Roll down your window gesture—just to see where the conversation took them.
But Bernstein would most likely give him the finger and peel off down the alley. Besides, Cooper’s sole advantage was that neither Mickey nor Maya knew Cooper was there. So he would flip a coin at the end of the alley and try to follow them. Maybe their destination would tell him everything he needed to know.
But there was one thing Cooper Lamb wasn’t prepared for.
Maya moving closer to Bernstein and giving him a long, slow, deep kiss.
A nuke went off in Cooper’s skull, and his senses fuzzed out for a moment. Was he actually seeing this? Son of a bitch!
Okay, there was no way Detective Mickey was Maya’s sugar daddy. Not unless he had a small fortune tucked away in a metal box under some floorboards somewhere. Cooper knew what homicide detectives took home, and he could not float Maya’s apartment on top of his own house.
But forget all of that for now.
Why the hell was Mickey Bernstein heading up this investigation?
Before Cooper had a chance to consider that question, the white Bronco rocketed down the alley.
This was it.
Time to toss that coin.