19
Frank pulled into the parking garage at half past five. A light drizzle had misted her windshield all the way to work. As she yanked her briefcase out of the back she wondered if the rain was going to intensify. The Weather Channel called for morning drizzle turning to rain, but Frank wasn't about to call off an op based on TV weather coverage. Glancing around the garage, she noticed Kennedy's truck wasn't there yet.
Frank slammed the little Honda's door. She wouldn't be surprised if Kennedy was late. Taking the stairs two at a time Frank felt a smug justification. She noticed lights on in the squad room and was surprised when she entered to find Kennedy standing at the coffee pot.
"Mornin'," Kennedy chirped.
"Morning."
Kennedy poured and asked Frank if she wanted a cup. Frank shook her head.
"Any problems last night?"
She was worried the perp might somehow get wise to their con and follow Kennedy home.
"No, ma'am," Kennedy grinned. "The surf was great." She extended a steaming mug. "Sure you don't want some?"
Frank's first instinct was to say no and walk away, but she did want it. She checked her vexation and accepted the mug without thanks.
"You should come out with me sometime. I've got an extra board. It'd be good for you—the ocean's very therapeutic."
Frank stared hostilely at the cocky young woman. Normally when she drilled people with her icy blues, they tended to turn away, but the smile in Kennedy's brown eyes never wavered. Her happy-go-lucky boldness continued to irritate Frank. Feeling slightly off center, she swallowed her annoyance as Kennedy said, "I heard it's supposed to rain today."
"Might," Frank agreed tersely.
The plan was for Kennedy to go into the drugstore if it started raining heavily. An undercover stationed at the laundromat would drop off clothes and a wig so she could change in the bathroom and leave undetected, and later that morning, that was exactly what happened. The bottom fell out of the sky, and Kennedy barely had time to cover her wired torso with a garbage bag before seeking the Rexall's shelter. She came out a few minutes later with long dark hair, a raincoat and umbrella. The van picked her up at the Shell station.
"Yeehaw," she said yanking the wig off her wet head as Noah drove away.
"Hey, don't get water on this," Marquez yelped. Kennedy pretended to shake her head over the instrument panel, and Marquez defended it with his body.
"Gotcha," she grinned. They were still in high spirits as they walked into the station house. Marquez playfully asked Kennedy out for lunch, and Noah ribbed that the Lady Godiva wig had turned him on. Kennedy retorted that the burly tech really had a thing for peeping toms and it was the trenchcoat that had done it. They were still goofing off when they strolled into the homicide room.
Frank looked up from the bulletin in her hand. "How did it go?"
"Quiet as a church on Monday morning," Kennedy volunteered.
"Except for that old lady who told you to get a job and almost hit you," Noah snickered.
"Oh, Lord," Kennedy groaned. "I'm out there worryin' 'bout serial killers and meanwhile little grannies are tryin' to bash my head in!"
Kennedy's head sounded like hay-ud. Frank had become used to Kennedy's accent coming and going: the better the story, the heavier the accent. Frank debriefed with the op team, and just as she was about to send Kennedy back to Parker for the day, Johnnie slammed down his phone and jumped out of his chair.
"Hey," he rasped, "I don't know who that was, but somebody that's pissed at the Tunnel. Says he's back in town, dealing out of a crib on," he grabbed the back of a receipt he'd written on, "Reston. 5500 Reston, Apt D."
"You have a warrant?"
Johnnie pawed a big hand around the layers of paper on his desk and came up with the necessary document.
"Got two days left on it."
"What else did your tip say?"
"Asked if we were looking for Timothy Johnston. I said, 'The T-man? The Tunnel?' He said, 'That's the man.' I said, 'Yeah, we're interested in him.' He said, 'I know where he was.' I said, 'Where's that?' He gave me the address and I asked him why he was telling me. He said, 'Do we want this mo-fo or not?' I said, 'Yeah,' and he said, 'Now you know where to find him,' and hung up."
The fifty-five hundred area of Reston was deep with Bloods who hated the LAPD, and Frank considered the possibility of an ambush.
"Did you recognize the caller at all?"
"Yeah, Frank. It was my dead grandfather calling from the grave.. .I don't know who it was."
Johnnie slapped the warrant impatiently and said, "Are we gonna move on this or not?"
She thought a moment longer, then replied, "Suit up. Everybody roll. Check out the Kevlar and thigh holsters. Get some jackets. Johnnie, put that warrant in your pocket."
He rolled his eyes, "Yes, mother."
Two years ago they'd gone out to bust a dealer who'd killed three kids who were working for him and ripping him off. As they were scrambling out of their units, Johnnie had patted his pockets. No arrest warrant. They had to call the bust off, and their man walked. They were still looking for him. Frank wouldn't let Johnnie forget it.
Noah, Jill, Johnnie, and Frank were the only detectives in the office. And Kennedy.
"Suit up," Frank said to her.
"Naw, Frank. She doesn't need to go on this," Noah interjected.
Frank turned to him.
"Why not?"
"Yeah, why not?" Kennedy echoed, facing him, fists on hips.
"It's not her gig. We got enough people from here, we don't need to be dragging in narcs from Parker."
Frank tilted her head toward Johnnie's retreating back and told Kennedy to go help him. She readily followed. Noah asked again, "Come on, Frank, leave her out of this."
Frank had already started walking to her office. She had to let Foubarelle know what was going down, but now she paused.
"Is there something I should know about? A problem?"
"No. It's just that this guy's a bad dude, and Reston's a really bad place. She shouldn't have to help us with our dirty work. The four of us can handle it. And we'll have back-up, too."
Frank seemed to mull it over, but then hoisted him on his own petard.
"Would you be this concerned if Kennedy was a man?"
"Touche. But maybe I would. Hell, J don't want to go there and it's my case. I'd just rather leave her, that's all."
Frank shook her head.
"She's going. I want to see Gidget in action."
Frank went to make her call, hearing Noah hiss "Shi-it" behind her. She was amused by his concern, but Frank was eager to see Kennedy under pressure. Truth to tell, she wouldn't mind seeing Kennedy sweat a little and have that damn cocky smile wiped off her face. It briefly crossed Frank's mind that she was being petty again, but she didn't pause to examine the thought and dialed her captain instead. When he didn't answer, she stalked back into the squad room. Noah, on the phone arranging for back-up, looked grim. Jill seemed worried.
Frank crossed the room and asked her quietly, "Okay, Fire Truck?"
Jill smiled wearily, "Right as rain."
She slipped into an extra-large flak jacket and Frank gave her a quick pat on the shoulder. Glancing at Johnnie and Kennedy, she recognized their excitement. Though her own composure was still unflappable, Frank was excited and slightly apprehensive. Busts like this were inherently risky and made the adrenaline flow. She mentioned her concerns about an ambush, briefly scanning Kennedy's reaction, but the young cop's enthusiasm didn't waver.