Blowback (The Black Cipher Files Book 1) by Lisa Hughey Page A

down the car. If they captured latent prints from the cushions or the trunk, they might be able to get a usable print and tie the rental back to Lucas. My prints were not in any registered government database. But what about him? “Are your prints registered?”
    I expected him to answer yes.
    He stared hard at the bins on the opposite side of the garage, then cut his gaze to me. “I used to be FBI.”
    That meant yes. It also meant I had a load more questions I should ask. But in his face I saw something that made me pause. Clearly, his departure from the FBI was not a move he’d chosen.
    The clues had been there from the start. Lucas wasn’t just a P.I. with lots of gadgets. Johnny’s father was with the FBI and Lucas was connected to him. He needed to make sure no one could trace the car back to him. I didn’t want to bring him any more grief.
    And those were not my problems.
    Lucas climbed into the van, disappeared for a moment, then came back out and handed me a pair of thin latex gloves. He snapped on his own and began efficiently wiping down the rental car, eliminating our prints.
    “I’ll drive the car,” he said. “It’s registered to a man. We don’t want to draw any extra notice.”
    I couldn’t refute his logic. “Okay.”
    “You can drive the van.”
    Perfect. He’d done exactly what I wanted without even negotiating.
    Lucas handed me a Motorola walkie-talkie. “For communications. Five mile radius.”
    I crawled in and looked around. A curtained partition shielded the back of the van from view. Curious, I pushed aside the black fabric.
    The walls held wire bins in a grid pattern. The bins held a variety of different surveillance items. Cameras, telephoto lenses, film, wire taps, flashlight, gloves, evidence bags, more costumes and disguises. Wigs hung from pegs on the grid.
    A small refrigerator was bolted to the floor behind the passenger seat. I reached in and grabbed a bottle of water.
    The incredible thirst still plagued me. I took a long draw. The crisp water woke me up a bit. In the back right corner, he’d installed a pee tube. Men had it so easy. I eyed the small receptacle then looked back at the smaller mouth of the bottle. In a pinch, the pee tube would work.
    Lucas rapped twice on the hood of the van.
    Showtime.
    As the garage door lifted, I finalized my plan. When we were close to Sacramento, I’d split off and take the van. I had to hope he wouldn’t report it missing. With all the supplies in here, I guessed there’d be money someplace.
    I shoved down a pang of regret. There was no room regrets in my life.
    Traffic was nonexistent. We made the drive to Sacramento in about forty minutes, checking in via the walkie-talkies. I was getting antsy to break away. Only five more minutes and we’d hit downtown Sacramento. Then, I’d be outta here.
    Lucas buzzed me. “Check your purse.”
    He wouldn’t. I looked over at the small sequined purse. It was flat. I snatched it up and yanked on the zipper.
    The evidence cup, with my liquid, was gone.

ELEVEN
     
    Damn him.
    “So was that what you were after all along?”
    “Don’t be paranoid.” He huffed out a long suffering breath. “I could have refused to open the fridge and been sitting at home instead of roaming the freeway in the middle of the night.”
    True.
    “You there?”
    “I’m still here,” I snarled. “Where to?”
    We decided on a place to return the car. The airport was out. Too well-lit and too crowded. Lucas, the all-knowing, remembered a return place near the Capitol.
    I followed the Focus, fuming the whole way. Two blocks from the return lot, I killed the engine and crawled in the back. His van was equipped with a drop down tube like the scope on a submarine. I tracked Lucas through the viewer. He parked the car on the edge of the rental car lot near the shadows.
    “Gloves.” I reminded him with the walkie-talkie, annoyed with myself for even caring.
    “Still on.” He popped the hood on the rental car