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“I guess.”
“I thought there would be more snacks. Stakeouts should have snacks.”
“There are two muffins in the backseat. They had a juniper one. I know you said you wanted to try that when you were neurotically looking at menus on our flight down.”
“Looking at menus ahead of time is just preparation. Not neurotic.”
“Sure. I’ve never seen anyone eliminate the element of surprise as effectively as you do.”
“But look, it helped you know what kind of muffin to get. It was the best-reviewed on the website and won two awards. You could have ended up with some common blueberry muffin if not for my research.”
He reached into the bag and pulled out his muffin. “I did get blueberry for me.”
“You didn’t try the juniper?”
“Blueberry looked better.” He shrugged and took a bite. “I don’t trust everything I read on the internet.”
“There,” she said, tossing her muffin back into the bag. “That’s him, right?”
“I think so,” Nick said, dusting the crumbs off his hands and messing his hair up. He stretched the neck of his T-shirt and rubbed his eyes until they were red.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re both trying to look the part here. Just play along.”
Nick stepped out of the car and waved his arm animatedly. “Hey, yo, brother. Hold up. I need to talk to you.”
Cleo opened her car door but didn’t step out yet.
“Me?” Clark asked, taking a nervous step back.
“Yeah,” Nick said, tossing an arm over his shoulder in a friendly but firm kind of way. “You and I have some things to discuss.”
“Uh, you’ve got the wrong guy.” Clark tried to duck away from Nick’s grip, but it didn’t work.
“Clark, I’ve got exactly the right guy. Come for a walk with my friend and me.” Nick gestured to Cleo, who stepped out of the car with her briefcase in hand.
“Mr. Lockheed,” she said, keeping her face stoic and unemotional. “We do need to talk.”
“Who are you?” Clark asked again as they walked toward some picnic tables under a canopy on the far side of the parking lot. It looked like a lunch area or a smoking section, but it was currently empty.
“I’m Donna Morales. I’m a lawyer.”
“Am I being served or something? I’m already divorced. Twice.” He held up two fingers, and a bewildered expression danced frantically across his face.
“No. We’re just here to talk.” Cleo gestured to the picnic table, and Clark sat down. When she joined him, she took note of Nick’s choice to stay standing.
“Mrs. Morales, please tell me what this is about. I don’t have any legal troubles.”
“Yet,” Nick said, and she nearly laughed at his extra tough guy persona. He was laying it on thick, but it seemed to be convincing Clark.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Clark sputtered out nervously. “I just come in here and do my job every day. I don’t bother anyone.”
“I believe you,” Cleo said. “But my client here says we need to talk. It’s something you might be interested in hearing.”
“Okay,” Clark said, his face still twisted in worry.
Nick brought one leg up to the picnic table seat and folded his arms across his chest. “You try to keep your nose clean, don’t you, Clark? Well, you and I have one thing in common right now. Someone on the street is throwing our names around as get-out-of-jail-free cards. They’re saying they have information on us they’ll swap for some freedom.”
