The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10)

The Last Kind Word (Mac McKenzie #10) Page 39

“She wasn’t a salesgirl. She was a trained tech assistant—it said so on her name tag.”

“I was standing right there, too. Who knows what she thought.”

“Probably that we had a boring sex life that could only be improved by her technical expertise.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Not me, I told myself, Dyson. Dyson was disgusting, and he was kind of enjoying it. After I paid for the electronic devices, I made sure I was walking behind Josie as we left the store.

“My, my, my,” I chanted.

“Stop it.”

“It must be jelly cuz jam don’t shake like that.”

Josie turned sideways to glare at me as she passed through the automatic doors. “Now you’re just being obnoxious,” she said—and walked directly into the arms of Deputy Ken Olson of the Itasca County Sheriff’s Department, hitting him hard enough that they both nearly fell over.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

It was then that Josie noticed the uniform, noticed the badge. She took a step backward. Her voice became thick with anxiety. “My mistake,” she said.

Deputy Olson smiled his pearly whites at her. He looked over her shoulder at me. His eyes grew wide, the smile disappeared, and he rested his hand on his Glock—apparently he had replaced the one I had stolen. Josie saw the movement and her expression displayed her panic. Like her brother’s, her face didn’t hide anything.

“No harm done,” I said.

I moved closer to the deputy. I was counting on the fact that Bullert had briefed him after the escape and had even told Olson’s boss that Olson had been in on it from the beginning so he wouldn’t be disciplined for his incompetence.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it, Deputy?” I added.

Olson read my eyes. He removed his hand from the butt of the Glock and visibly relaxed.

“It is, sir,” he said. “Anyone who wonders why we suffer through Minnesota winters should come up here on a day like this. Are you sure you’re okay, miss?”

Josie nodded a little too vehemently.

“Are you from around here?” the deputy asked.

“No,” I said. “Just visiting friends. I should be back in the Cities in a couple of days.”

“Enjoy your stay.”

The deputy offered his hand, and I shook it.

“Thank you,” I said.

A moment later, Josie and I were crossing the parking lot, my hand gripping her elbow. We walked to her Ford Taurus as casually as I could make her.

“What just happened?” she wanted to know.

Instead of answering, I directed her to the passenger side, took her keys, unlocked the door, and eased her inside.

“I’ll drive,” I said.

She didn’t object.

A few minutes later we were heading out of town.

“He recognized you,” Josie said. “I saw it. He even reached for his gun.”

“He thought he recognized me. When I came up and started chatting with him like we were old friends he realized, no, I couldn’t possibly be the same guy. If I were the same guy, I’d be running or shooting it out. I wouldn’t be asking him how he was doing.”

“You were so calm. You just—you just talked to him. How could you do that?”

Because you’re not actually wanted, my inner voice said. You had nothing to be afraid of. You can’t tell her that, though.

“We all have a fight-or-flight response mechanism built into our DNA,” I said. “It’s an instinct that’s left over from when our ancestors slept in trees. Animals have it, too. The trick is knowing when to suppress it, knowing when being smart is preferable to doing battle or running like hell.”

She stared at me for a few beats after that and then asked the question I knew was coming. “Why are you doing this? You’re so intelligent, you’re so—you could be doing anything you want.”

“I am doing what I want. Few people enjoy their work as much as I enjoy mine.”

“You don’t have to steal.”

“Neither do you.”

Josie shifted in her seat and gazed out the passenger window. She didn’t speak until I started fiddling with the radio stations again. “Just pick one,” she said.

She was angry, only I don’t think she was angry with me.

The sun was still high in the sky by the time we returned to Krueger. I drove Josie’s Taurus past the Mesabi Security terminal again. It was the same as it had been hours earlier: eight vehicles parked inside the enclosure, no armored trucks to be seen.

“What should we do?” Josie asked.

“I don’t think the attendant would fall for the same trick twice no matter how many buttons you open.”

“Thanks a lot.”

I glanced at my watch. “Let’s come back in an hour.”

We did, this time stopping in Buckman’s lot. Two of the armored trucks were now parked within the enclosure, and most of the other vehicles were gone, leaving just a single car and two pickups. It was after 8:00 P.M., but thanks to daylight savings time, dusk was still a long way off.

“Go inside the bar,” I said. “I’ll meet you there in a minute.”