Hitman vs Hitman - L.A. Witt Page 0,44

mouth and look official.” Ricardo closed the trunk and led the way without any more conversation. That was sort of disappointing, but August managed to rein in his desire to poke the bear long enough to see whether this ridiculous ruse of Ricardo’s was actually going to work. There was no way, he was sure of it. His home was the subject of an active police investigation. He could see three cops and a CSI crew from where he stood right now. They weren’t about to just let a couple of random guys in hard hats waltz onto the premises—well, more like stalk purposefully, because that was how Ricardo walked and August was following his lead—without interrogating them.

It was a good thing he hadn’t made it a bet, because he’d have lost. Sure, his home was a crime scene, but the bodies were long gone, and nothing had been reported stolen. As far as these cops knew, they were just babysitting the place while the CSI team finished collecting the evidence they needed. Currently they were focused on the garage, which probably meant they’d already tackled the living room. It was festooned in yellow and black tape, but that didn’t mean anything.

The first cop to see them just shrugged. Literally, he just shrugged and turned back to his phone. Ricardo actually exchanged a friendly nod with the guy as they walked past, and that…was that. The second cop looked a little longer, but since no outcry had been raised, she didn’t end up doing anything other than ask, “Who sent you guys?”

“Our company is contracted by the homeowner’s insurance company,” Ricardo replied without blinking and without his accent. “They asked us to do an initial inspection for the claim.”

The cop sighed. “Guys like this don’t waste any time getting their money’s worth, huh?”

“Nope.”

“It’s still an active crime scene, though. You can’t be in this building.”

“Actually, we’re required to be,” Ricardo said. “To make sure it’s not in danger of collapsing and getting our client or employer sued.” He put up a hand to silence the incoming objection. “It’s just a structural check. We’ll be in and out in twenty minutes.”

The cop thought for a second, then shrugged. “Do what you need to do but be careful in there. The structure is definitely compromised in places.”

“Will do.”

“Unbelievable,” August muttered under his breath. “Un-fucking-believable.” Where was the thrill? Where was the sneaking and crawling around and clinging to rafters in the dark, praying you weren’t spotted? “Insurance inspectors. Jesus.”

“Sometimes it pays to dress down.”

“I think I’m affronted.”

Ricardo held up a few strands of crime-scene tape and motioned August through. “Just so you’re affronted and working at the same time. Where is this computer of yours?”

August smirked as he stepped under the tape. So helpful. “Where do you think?” he asked, looking interestedly at the floor—he might actually be able to salvage a big section of it along the edges, away from the explosion and where the blood hadn’t had a chance to soak in.

“In your damn closet?”

August nodded and headed for the stairs. “If one has to be in the closet for any reason, it should be because it’s full of really fantastic stuff, don’t you think?” Not that he had any experience at all with being in the closet—his parents had known he was gay before he did, and had responded to his announcement at the age of eleven with “That’s lovely, darling, thank you for telling us” before going back to their espresso and newspapers.

The staircase was on the creaky side, but that was almost entirely ornamental—construction-wise, this thing could have withstood much more than that little bomb. August just liked to know when someone was coming up his stairs. There was no one working in the bedroom, and it sounded like the hallway beneath the bathroom was clear too, so he headed into the closet.

He took a long, hard look at his suits, disliking the layer of dust that had settled over them, but his cleaner would be able to take care of that.

“August.” Ricardo’s voice was so flat and expressionless August just knew he was irritated all to hell. “Computer? Now?”

“Right, right, just…” Oh my lord, there’s drywall on my Valentino. This is Hell.

“August.”

“Okay, okay.” He went back over to the shoe rack and moved it aside, scanned his hand and waited for the weapons to appear. It was a good thing they hadn’t cut the power, he mused—activating the generators would definitely attract attention they didn’t want.