Cutting Loose by Tara Janzen Page A

she was getting the picture.
    â€œThis isn’t about me, Lily. This is about you and the bracelet the pilot gave you. I’m only here to help.” In a manner of speaking. Help his country and his agency get what they needed. Helping her was a secondary consideration. No matter what it looked like so far, this was not a PSD, a personal security detail. “Do you know who those men were this morning at your house?”
    Her gaze lifted to meet his. “Do you?”
    He stared at her for a second. That was it? A question? No movement of her head to aye or gainsay his inquiry?
    Oh, she was quick, and the only thing that saved her from his “I’m the one asking the questions here” speech was the ringing of his phone.
    Thank God.
    â€œYes?” he said, answering his cell.
    â€œGood morning. I’m calling from Steele Street at the request of Scorpion Fire. This line is secure.”
    â€œGo on,” he said. The voice was female, which surprised him. He didn’t remember there being many, if any, women at Steele Street, at least on the operational end.
    â€œThe car you’re looking for has stopped on Santa Ana Drive between Seventeenth and Eighteenth streets. I’m cross-referencing that address now to see what’s on that block, if it’s a residential or business area. If you can give me your location, I’ll map your route.”
    He looked out Charlotte’s window. “I’m on Linden Place, at nine twenty-eight.” He gave her the address of the house across the street.
    There was a pause, before the woman came back on the line.
    â€œContinue east for three tenths of a mile and turn north on Whedbee. I’m also tracking down the license plate of the Aston Martin and will have that information shortly.”
    â€œGood.” He tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder and started the Shelby.
    â€œYou’ll stay on Whedbee for two miles and turn left on Thompson Avenue. Let me know when you get there, and I’ll give you your next direction. Until then, be informed that the Aston Martin is stopped at”—there was another slight pause—“the Sunrise Motel. I’m looking that up now and will give you whatever description I can, which will hopefully include a layout of the building. If I can access their computer, I’ll give you a room number for…Jason Schroder. The Aston Martin, Nevada license plate number 01B-4381, is registered to Mr. Schroder. His address is three two two zero Klamath Street, Las Vegas. I’m running him through my databases now…and he is most recently affiliated with Thomas Banning’s organization. Mr. Banning, as you may know, is a mob figure, with a base of operations in Las Vegas. I’ll have a photograph of Mr. Schroder up in a moment.”
    Uh, okay, Zach thought, beginning to wonder who was on the line with him, and how many computers she had running.
    â€œSchroder is registered with a Paul Stark in room number two seven six at the Sunrise Motel,” the voice said in a matter of seconds, and he wondered, really, could anyone hack that fast? On the other hand, how secure could the Sunrise Motel’s system be?
    Obviously not very.
    â€œSchroder is thirty-four years old, five feet ten inches tall, one hundred and eighty-five pounds, white-blond hair, brown eyes, looks to me like he’s pumping a lot of iron.”
    Okay, that information had to be coming up on a different screen than the one she’d used to jack into the motel’s system.
    â€œHe checked into the Sunrise four days ago and is paying with a Visa card. If you need that number, I can give it to you.”
    â€œUh, no.” Who was this girl? She sounded kind of young, but how young could she be to be running Dylan’s communications console?
    â€œIn about five…make that two minutes, I’m going to have you onboard with the Bazo PC concealed in Charlotte’s tape deck, and