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"I'm a professional."
"Then I guess vou win." I waved my license. "I got this out of a gum-ball machine. You may be a cop, but this isn't Dallas. I'm the professional here."
The look he gave me made me want to slap him with an energy bolt.
"Well now, this is a situation, isn't it?" Bruyn said. Then he smiled, and I knew what was coming next. "I'm sure, Detective, that you have resources and contacts that I don't. So does Miss Levine--different resources, different contacts, and a different set of playing rules. Between the two of you--"
"I don't work with private detectives," Kennedy said.
"I'm not suggesting you pool resources," Bruyn said. "But your sister deserves the best investigation possible, which means as many investigators as possible. You can both have a go."
I could tell Kennedy didn't like that. If he made Bruyn choose, I knew who'd lose.
"How's your car doing?" I said.
"What?" Kennedy said.
"Your car. Is it fixed?"
"No, but even if it doesn't get repaired, I can rent one, so if you're suggesting I'm lacking transportation--"
"Let me take another shot at it. If I can't fix your car in one hour, I'll leave."
He eyed me. He hated reducing this to a wager, but I hadn't made much headway the last time. Finally he tossed me the keys.
"SHE NEEDS THE oil topped off," I said an hour later as the car purred beside me. "And the driver's side rear tire is a little low. Otherwise, you're good to go. And, apparently, I'm good to stay--on the case."
"Hold on."
He took the car for a spin around the lot. And I do mean a spin, driving like he was on a race circuit. I was impressed. I could say I was surprised, too, but I'd seen the modifications he'd had done. Michael Kennedy might act like a guy who'd never take a hairpin curve at sixty miles an hour, but his car said otherwise.
He stopped beside me and rolled down the window. "Funny, seems you had a lot more trouble with it earlier."
"Yes. I was faking you out. I'm psychic. I knew you were Claire's cop brother and I knew I'd need to make this bet to stay on the case. Impressing a hot guy is great, but keeping a case I really want is much better motivation."
He opened his mouth, closed it, frowning, as he replayed what I just said. He busied himself adjusting the mirror, then cleared his throat.
"I don't like this, Ms. Levine. Solving my sister's murder is not--"
"--a game to you. I know. And it's not to me either. It's a job. Yes, I'm young. No, I don't have your experience. But solving this will go a long way toward cementing my reputation, so I'm not going to screw it up. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have leads to pursue, as I'm sure you do. Let's just try not to trip over each other chasing them."
I MADE IT to the sidewalk when my phone chirped, telling me I had a text.
It was from Adam. He'd sent it while I'd been busy with Kennedy's car.
No call. No txt. U alive?
I sent a text. Sry. Working.
The reply came back before I could even close my phone.
Can I help? Rsrch? Bkgrd chk?
I could use him for background checks on Bruyn, Kennedy, and Cody Radu, but I reminded myself that I had an official partner on this--Jesse. If I needed help, I should go to him. Better yet, I should do it myself when I got to the motel.
So I sent another text. I'm good. Will call l8r.
One word: ok. I closed the phone and headed back to the diner. I had no idea what kind of reception I'd get there. Probably be kicked out on my ass. But I needed information, and this was the best place to get it.
