She texted in reply: ALL GOOD, EXCEPT FOR OCCASIONAL NAUSEA CAUSED BY ONE ADAM LYNCH. NO KNOWN CURE.
His response came seconds later: CONDITION MISDIAGNOSED. OBVIOUSLY NOT GETTING ENOUGH ADAM LYNCH. WILL WORK TO RECTIFY SITUATION SOON.
She typed her reply: NO RUSH, CONDITION RAPIDLY IMPROVING WITH EACH LYNCH-LESS DAY.
He fired back: PATIENT HAS OBVIOUSLY SUSTAINED MASSIVE BRAIN TRAUMA. ONLY EXPLANATION FOR LACK OF APPRECIATION FOR AMAZING ADAM LYNCH.
She replied: HAVE ARRANGED INVASIVE AND INCREDIBLY PAINFUL RECTAL EXAM FOR YOU. COULD COME AT ANY TIME, WITHOUT WARNING. WATCH YOUR BACK.
He answered: PROMISES, PROMISES. SEE YOU SOON.
Kendra pocketed her phone.
In spite of her annoyance with Lynch’s arbitrary action, she found her anger was beginning to fade. She had left the doctor thinking what a colossal waste of time the exam had been, but she couldn’t help feeling a bit moved. Although several people had urged her to see a doctor, only Lynch had taken the time and trouble to actually bring one to her. Who does that?
Only Adam Lynch.
She entered the elevator, and Special Agent Roland Metcalf wedged his shoulder in just as the doors were about to close. He quickly stepped into the elevator with her. “You forgot something.”
“What’s that?”
“Me. I’m your guard today.”
“Really? I thought that was below your pay grade.”
“Actually, I’m also sort of partnering with you, assisting you, providing whatever support you may need.”
“And providing your boss with updates on my progress?”
He grinned. “That was implied, yes. But if there’s anything you’d rather keep confidential…”
She shrugged. “Tell him whatever you want.”
“Good, so what’s on the agenda today?”
“Well, considering that I flew out of a second-story window last night, wouldn’t you think I might just want to relax?”
“Hell, no. Nobody thinks that. Come on, what are we doing?”
“You guys are beginning to know me a little too well. Kinda depressing.” She studied Metcalf. If she had to have a bodyguard, at least it was one who could be of some use to her. He carried himself with an ease and jauntiness that made it clear that he didn’t take himself—or anything else in the world—too seriously. A pleasant change of pace from most other FBI agents she’d met. “Okay, how much do you know about cars?”
“Cars? I know you’re supposed to change the oil every three thousand miles, but it’s really okay if you wait and do it every seven or eight.”
“Awesome.”
“Glad I passed the test. So what are we doing?”
“I’m pretty sure I heard the killer start his car and drive away last night. I can identify the make and maybe the model of the car if I hear it again.”
“Now that’s awesome.” His eyes were glittering with eagerness. “Where do we start?”
“Car dealers. Not the most accommodating bunch, especially since there’s no chance of a sales commission. I’ll need you to flash your badge around.”
“It’s what I do best, ma’am.”
“I certainly hope not.” She smiled. “And don’t call me ma’am. I’m not that much older than you.”
His smile held equal parts mischief and a hint of sensuality. “Roger that, ma’am.”
* * *
KENDRA CHOSE TO FOCUS THEIR ATTENTION on the Convoy Street “auto row” of car dealerships within walking distance of each other. True to his word, Metcalf was very good at flashing his badge and exuding an air of authority that made the dealership managers snap to attention and race around their lots with fistfuls of keys. They started each model in their lines, punched the accelerators, and even drove around the parking lots when Kendra requested them to do so.
After listening to thirty-five vehicles at four dealerships, Kendra was certain she’d heard a six-cylinder engine the previous evening, but she knew little else. She thanked the Honda sales manager in the parking lot and turned to Metcalf in frustration. “This is starting to feel like a fool’s errand.”
“I also do those very well. But we won’t be complete fools until we impose on every sales manager on this street. So what do you say we—”
“Wait!” Kendra listened. “I hear it.”
“Where?”
“Shh.” She looked toward the road and saw a car speeding by the dealership. “There! What kind of car is that?”
“Uh, a blue one.” Metcalf grabbed a nearby saleswoman and pointed to the vehicle. “Pop quiz. Name that car.”
She responded immediately. “Nissan Skyline.”