Page 75 of Out Of A Fix

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked, his laughter subsiding.

“Cameras don’t go up by themselves, ya know.”

“Wait, you’re not kidding?”

“Why would I be—hey, I gotta call you back. I need Rais to look at these, and he’s calling.”

“Who is Rais?”

“Buddy of mine I work with. He’s our best tech guy after Owen.”

“Who’s Owen?”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, okay, fine. But call me back.”

I didn’t ask why because it was nice, but when I tried later, the call went straight to voice mail. And that was all right too.

I had been reorganizing the basement, moving things around, before putting Wink’s harness on him. Tatum had made me promise I would make him wear it for twenty minutes every day so he would get used to having it on. So far, it wasn’t working. Instead of walking, he was passively protesting by immediately lying down. He was a little freak.

When I rechecked the cameras, I almost missed seeing a man at the edge of the drive get into a Mercedes-AMG S63. When I reran the footage, I saw him walking around the side of the house, where he tripped on something, and down he went, face-first into thick mud. I might have been way off, but I didn’t think scary, lethal sicarios from a cartel in Mexico had guys in their employment who tripped over anything, let alone small, decorative bricks lining flower beds.

I called Rais. “I need you to check something.”

“You can’t even say hello?”

“Hello,” I griped at him. “Now can you do what I need?”

“You’re turning into a real ass, you know that?”

“I know,” I muttered. “I need you to pull up the feed on my cameras from 7:32 this morning.”

It was quiet on the phone, and then, “Who the fuck is that?”

“If I knew, would I be calling you?”

He went silent again and then groaned. “Oh, those shoes are goners.”

“At the end of this, I think you can see the plate on the car, but I’m not sure. It looks fuzzy, but if you’re in the office, you can clear it up. Owen has that filter where he takes out the rain. I can’t do anything with it on my end.”

“No worries, I got it.”

“Thanks.”

“Seriously, what is wrong with you? Why do you sound so pissed off?”

“Nothing.”

“This is me. Speak.”

Over twenty years of friendship came through in his demand, and I thought of all the times I’d saved him, only to have him always show up for me, even when we were separated by the whole world. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for him, no length too great. And I knew he felt precisely the same. Having him finally work with me at Torus and being based in Chicago had made me very happy.

“I’m aging here waitin’ on you,” Rais pressed. “Not as fast as you, obviously, but still.”

“It’s the family,” I admitted. “They’ve been through so much. I just don’t want any surprises.”

“Makes sense.”