Private Investigations by Jean Barrett

Author:Jean Barrett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

“Used to be very good at this kind of thing in my younger days,” Dallas bragged, inserting the pick into the cylinder lock of the back door to Dutch Vasey’s store. “I don’t imagine I’ve lost my touch.”

“Uh-huh. I suppose that means you have a long record of breaking and entering.” Christy was annoyed with him. She had finally settled on the trim black pants and gray shirt, and for all the notice he had taken of her classy outfit, she might have worn hip-waders.

“Certainly not. I only used my skill to help old ladies get into their houses after they’d lost their keys. Hold that flashlight steady.”

She wished he’d hurry. There wasn’t so much as a security light burning in either the store or the warehouse behind them, which must mean Vasey hadn’t been back since he’d fled the scene. But the absence of any lamp made the area so dark that the glow from their flashlight was making her nervous. What if its gleam was so obvious that a neighbor spotted it and called the police? She didn’t think they’d be so forgiving this time.

“What’s taking you so long?” she whispered.

“Hey, this is delicate work.”

“I just hope that old lady isn’t looking out her window again.”

“Not a chance. She’s only interested in nudies, remember, and how can she spot those after the sun goes down?”

He was right. Daylight was much less safe for an activity like this, but it was a lot friendlier. It gave her a creepy feeling imagining that anything could be lurking here in the blackness ready to pounce on them.

“Getting into the warehouse was a lot easier,” she observed, careful to keep her voice down.

“Thought we agreed this was a much better possibility. What the hell is the matter with this thing?”

He had been fishing in the lock with both confidence and patience. They seemed to have deserted him. He rattled the pick with exasperation.

“Well, you can’t force a window this time. Not with those bars on them.”

“I know that,” he muttered. “Don’t you think I know that?”

He attacked the lock again, grumbled a lot and swore some more. Christy stood it as long as she could.

“Move out of the way,” she commanded him.

“Excuse me? Did I just hear that somebody actually thinks her touch is more magic than mine? Look, if I can’t tumble this lock, you don’t imagine you—”

“Watch and learn.”

Seizing the pick from him, she shoved the flashlight into his hand and went to work.

“I’ll be damned,” he murmured, observing her progress with the lock with amazement as he stood close behind her, directing the beam of the flashlight down over her shoulder. “You do look like you know what you’re doing.”

“I have three brothers, all P.I.s. They taught me a few useful things, this being one of them. It’s all a question of raising the pins and drivers so that the breaks are lined up with the joint between the cylinder and plug. Once you manage that—What are you doing!”

“Holding the light for you,” he said innocently.

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