He stood outside his apartment complex, gripping the back of his head and watching the police officer roll away.
Cora sat in the back seat. In handcuffs.
His heart rammed against his sternum, and fury churned in his stomach.
The man hadn’t let him speak with Cora.
She hadn’t said anything either.
As Vaughn had watched her get cuffed and read her Miranda Rights, she’d just continued to stare at Vaughn. Expressionless.
No sorrow, no guilt, no shame, worry or anger.
What’s she thinking?
The longer he stood there, the higher the lump crawled up his throat.
The street turned eerily silent as the vehicle disappeared.
Until another gray van appeared at the other end. Sitting at a green light. The driver looked over.
A kid, maybe nineteen or so, with light blond, stringy hair, narrowed his eyes. From the dim green lighting, his face looked pale, almost as white as his knuckles on the wheel.
Vaughn stood dumfounded, his engine still running.
Until the van driver fiddled with something in his hands.
He didn’t wait to find out what the kid was doing. Vaughn jumped back in his truck and pulled away, his wheels screeching as he stomped on the gas. The kid could’ve tried to take his picture, thinking he had something to do with it…or worse, a gun.
He maneuvered a few more streets, blowing through a stop sign and his heart racing. Finally, he turned onto another street and pulled over. Then switched off his lights. In the rearview mirror, everything was still.
No sign of the van.
I’m overreacting. The guy was probably just looking at navigation.
Vaughn buried his face in his hands, feeling the cold sweat on his forehead.
His pocket vibrated. He pulled out his cell. A text from an unknown number, with an address.
Friend of Cora’s in the van. Meet me in 1 hour.
Vaughn swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth, staring at Cora’s alleged friend from across a table at a grungy cafe on the other side of town. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I. But Cora needs your help.” The guy, who’d introduced himself as Tom, sipped on crappy coffee, after stirring in crappier creamer. Six of them. Now, the concoction was nearly the same color as his eyes, a dirty sand. In the flickering fluorescent lighting, his hair looked a greasy beige. Either from sweat or lack of shower. His gaze never left that van, or the door.
Only an hour before, she’d been arrested in front of his apartment complex, clearly having bitten off more trouble than she could chew.
This random guy—kid—finds his number from thin air and claims to have helped her pull of the recovery of the century?
At least Vaughn had the chance to change into a more inconspicuous jeans and t-shirt. He glanced out the window at Tom’s gray van. He kept his voice low. “You’re telling me that hunk of junk is full of priceless art, the both of you stole from Portia Conway.”
“I’d say about half a billion worth.”
“Shit.” He pushed away from the table, as if trying to distance himself from the information. “You just let it sit out there?”
His eyebrows furrowed. “I needed to talk to you. And I can’t let it out of my sight.”
“What do you want me to do? Hide it for you?”
“No, I can manage that. We need to help Cora out of jail.”
Vaughn cast him a long stare. “How do we do that exactly?”
“You’re father’s an attorney in Florida. Can you ask for his help?”
He narrowed his eyes. “How did you—? Never mind. Some whiz kid you must be, a laptop and public wifi is all anyone needs to steal someone’s identity.”
“That’s true, and easier than you think. But, no, this time was just a simple background check.”
“I’m not calling my father. He wouldn’t help me if I were dying in that van, so he definitely won’t dirty his hands for this.”
“Can you at least make the call? Try. It’s pretty much our only option now.”
“What about the government agency who contracts her? Can’t they help?”
“They gave her only one get out of jail free card, for lack of a better phrase. She used it on you.”
“Who asked her to do that?”
“No one. I thought it was a stupid idea, too. But if it weren’t for her, you’d still be sitting in that cell.”
“No, I wouldn’t. I have a few…” Well, shit. He rested his head against the back of the booth, and bit his tongue.
“A few what?”
“There is someone I can call.” He checked his watch. “He’s probably sleeping right now, like the rest of humanity.”
Tom sighed. “Well, this could wait until morning. She’s not even through processing at this point.”
Vaughn raised a brow. “Been through the system a time or two, have you?”
He snorted. “How do you think I ended up working for her father?” Then he winced. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“Nope.”
“Who’s this phone call? How can they help?”
“An old fraternity brother, in the Dallas District Attorney’s office.”
Who will probably never speak to me again after this.
Tom smirked.
“What’s so funny?”
“Was he a pre-law drop-out buddy, too? I saw your grades.”
Vaughn glared. “Do you want my help, or not, smart ass?”
He raised his hand. “Sorry. Cora said you had a sense of humor. Guess not.”
“There’s a difference between having a sense of humor, and outright insulting someone for past mistakes. You can’t learn everything from behind a computer screen.”
The kid tilted his head. “Cora’s dad used to say that.”
He motioned to the waitress for a cup of coffee. This would be an even longer night.
“Why pre-law? You wound up working on cruise ships.” Tom actually looked him in the eye this time.
Vaughn chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Your precious computer screen didn’t tell you that? I would’ve thought it was pretty easy to figure that out.”
“Your dad?”
He scowled and took a giant gulp of coffee from the mug the waitress dropped off.
“Let me guess. They saw your grades, and he got tired of footing the bill.”
He glared harder. “The grades were a protest against my father. We’ll leave it at that.”
“Protesting the person paying for your education. Smart.”
Vaughn shook his head, and bit down again. The awful coffee needed some sugar to hide the bitterness. He stood to get the packets from the table behind them.
Tom flinched. His eyes widened, and he ducked lower in the booth.
He stilled and stared. “What’re you doing?”
The kid let out a breath, and straightened. “Sorry.”
He scowled. “If I was going to hit you, I would’ve done it back when you told me what’s in that van. Though honestly, with your attitude, you do deserve a right hook.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
“I bet.” Vaughn sat and poured some sugar into the mug. “We have a few hours to kill before I make one very important call. Tell me how you know Cora. Everything.”