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The last thing Finley had found in the garage was Whitney Lemm.
She was tired and needed a shower, but another half hour or whatever wouldn’t kill her. “I’m game if you are.”
Inside the sagging structure, Finley flipped on the single bare bulb. Groaned at the pile of boxes. She really needed to get to those.
“Have you looked around in here before?”
“Not really.” Beyond storing those boxes from her condo in here, she rarely came into the garage. All was pretty much as Derrick had left it, save for Whitney Lemm’s collision with Finley’s boxes. Oh, and there was the time she’d driven his truck to slip past the people watching her house during a high-profile case.
“Let’s have a look,” Matt offered.
They prowled and dug for the next hour or more. Picking through tools and yard implements. The boxes Finley hadn’t bothered to unpack. They contained stuff from her former life ... none of which she needed now. Except maybe that iron.
Matt, sleeves rolled up, shirt streaked with dust and grime, glanced around. “What about his truck?”
Finley surveyed the truck. “I mean, I’ve looked inside it. Driven it a couple of times.” Or maybe just that once. She couldn’t remember.
“Might as well go the distance.”
Finley watched while he methodically went through the vehicle. Behind and under the seat. Beneath all the mats. Inside the glove box. He slid his hands over the headliner. Poked around under the dash. When he was done inside, he lay down on his back on the dusty concrete and had a look underneath the truck.
“Anything under there besides grease and, you know, parts?”
“Not so far,” he tossed back.
Finley got down on her hands and knees and peeked beneath the vehicle to see what he was doing. He was fully under the truck now, moving from front to back.
“I think you’ve read too many spy novels.” Finley gave up, collapsed onto the grimy floor, chin braced on her forearms. “I’m not sure I’ll ever know who he really was or what ...wewere.”
“Hold on.”
Finley strained to see what he was doing. It was impossible to tell. He was reaching up, but she had no idea what toward or what for.
“Coming out,” he announced.
Was that a note of anticipation she heard in his voice?
She pushed back to her feet, dusted off her clothes. Then held her breath and waited.
Matt was out and up, a small object in his hand. He opened the small square metal item. A key holder, she realized. One of those thingsused to hide a key under a fender or some other place in case you locked yourself out of a vehicle or house.
What Matt pulled out of the little box wasn’t a key.
“Is that a thumb drive?” Did they even make those anymore?
“That’s exactly what it is. Where’s your laptop?”
Finley didn’t bother turning off the light. She didn’t care if Matt closed the door. She ran. Hit the back porch and flung herself into the house. She had her laptop open by the time Matt crossed the threshold.
He plugged the thumb drive in.
Finley’s blood roared in her ears.
The device opened on the screen and immediately requested a password.
“Shit,” she hissed.
“Any ideas?” he asked.
