Page 76 of First Star I See Tonight (Chicago Stars 8)

“Could be.”

“What if he really did throw out his back on the job?”

“Then he deserves his money.”

A lowrider shot past. Coop draped his arm across the seat, his fingers brushing her shoulder. “You don’t always have to be the toughest Viking in the longboat, you know.”

She should never have told him about Duke’s child-rearing habits. She had to retrench. “I’m not a romantic, if that’s what you mean. I don’t dream of a hubby and house full of mini-me’s. I had more than enough of domesticity taking care of my father when I was growing up.” Along with never whining, crying, or admitting uncertainty.

“It’s understandable that your father was overprotective, considering what happened to your mother, but it was dead wrong of him to leave everything to your stepmother.”

Piper shrugged, as if it were no big deal. “What was your mother like?”

“She was adventurous. Funny. Not very domestic. Pretty much the opposite of my old man. A little like you. Except sweet.”

She smiled. The front door of the row house opened, and a nervous-looking guy with a bony face and untidy shoulder-length hair emerged. Piper straightened. “That’s him.”

Hill sat on the lighted stoop and lit a cigarette. Coop watched him smoke for a while, then looked at the time on his phone. “This is like watching paint dry, and it’s barely seven o’clock.”

“You didn’t have to come with me.”

“I was hoping for a high-speed chase.”

So was she.

Wylie stood and stretched. Piper picked up her Nikon, adjusted the focus, and took a couple of shots.

“Not exactly proof of anything,” he said.

“Employers like to know you’re on the job.”

Wylie was finishing his third cigarette when he pulled out his cell and held it to his ear, as if he’d just gotten a call. He said a few words, pitched the cigarette butt into the gutter, and took off down the street, moving a little fast for a guy with an injured back. He climbed behind the wheel of an old gray Corolla. Piper stuck the camera out the window and took another shot as he pulled away.

“Now can we have a high-speed chase?” Coop asked.

“Maybe next time.”

***

Piper was a good driver, alert and agile behind the wheel. He’d noticed that on their drive to Canada. She kept well back from the Corolla as it headed north a few blocks, turned onto Racine, and again onto Eighteenth. Eventually Wylie eased the car down a street partially closed for road construction. Coop could see a liquor store and taco place, but not much else. Pipe pulled into a loading zone, set aside her Nikon, and grabbed her cell instead. “Stay here,” she said as she opened the car door. “I mean it, Coop. You’re too conspicuous.”

He hated that she was right, but it was a mild evening, and there were enough people on the street to make it certain he’d be recognized. Still, it was a tough neighborhood, and he hated the idea of her going off alone.

He glanced at his watch as she disappeared around the construction barricades. H

e’d been with her for a couple of hours, and he still hadn’t told her what had happened earlier today. He needed to get it over with instead of putting it off, but he could already predict her reaction.

He drummed his fingers on his knees and gazed toward the corner where she’d disappeared. He knew how competent she was. She could take care of herself. She probably had that Glock stuck in her jacket pocket. But he felt like a pussy sitting here while she was out there by herself.

More minutes ticked by until he couldn’t stand it any longer. He checked the backseat again for a ball cap or anything he could use to mask his identity, but found only a pair of purple sunglasses. Screw it. He got out of the car.

Just then, she came around the corner. He slipped back inside, but not before she’d seen him. “Leg cramp,” he said as she climbed back in.

She rolled her eyes at him and started the car. “It looks like Wylie’s back problem is all better.” She passed over her cell.

He flipped to her photos and saw a pawnshop next to the taco place. Hill was coming out of it carrying a television with maybe a thirty-inch screen. Even in the dim evening light, she’d captured it all. The way he balanced the weight of the set in his arms. How he propped it on the rear fender while he opened the trunk. And, most damning, how he managed to maneuvered it into the trunk without any extraordinary effort.

“The pawnbroker came out to hold the door for him,” she said. “I heard them talking. Wylie had put out the word that he wanted a new TV, and the broker called to tell him the ticket on that one had expired.”

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