Back in Black (McGinnis Investigations #1) - Rhys Ford Page 0,94

with a big gun. I don’t know why I wasn’t expecting that. With the way my life pretty much had gone every single step of the way since birth, I should’ve naturally assumed there was either going to be someone with a gun or perhaps an interdimensional portal filled with water and a kraken pissed off at me because I’d eaten his cousin squid in a bowl of soon dubu chigae.

“Well, thanks to you, all of that is over now,” she spat out with the fury of an enraged hamster. “You just had to be the one to find Adele. Of all the people in Los Angeles, that had to be the one asshole who couldn’t leave things alone.”

“You seem to forget the Los Angeles Police Department wasn’t planning on just letting it go.” I studied her, trying to gauge how comfortable she was holding a weapon.

“You should have walked away. It was bad enough I had to bring their stupid nephew into this and he wouldn’t kill her, but now their damned granddaughter is down here. She’ll probably take him back to San Francisco and this whole deal I’ve been trying to save is blown out of the water. The only reason Arthur wanted to stop painting was because Adele wanted him to.” She gripped the gun tighter, her knuckles blanching down to the bone. “We could have kept this going for ten more years. Then she tries to pay me off with fake diamonds? Who does that? We had a deal. She should have kept to it.”

There was something disconcerting about being held hostage by a tiny woman dressed like nearly every middle-aged Korean woman going to church in her Sunday best. There was an odd discordance to her outfit, like her closet was a time portal that she’d jumped through that morning and come out wearing a pair of polyester pants from the ’80s, matched up with a ’90s frilly satin blouse embellished with slightly off-brand logos. Her hair was feathered back away from her round face, lacquered black ebony water spouts that should have moved in time with a pounding soundtrack, much like the fountains at Caesar’s Palace. At first glance—and possibly even a second one—she was hard to take seriously.

Except for the very mean-looking piece of steel in her hand.

The gun looked like it’d probably come from Watson, unless her taste ran to Desert Eagles. It was a lot of firepower for a small woman, and I had doubts she’d be able to control it if she did pull the trigger. But all she needed to do was punch a hole in me. One lucky shot and it would be McGinnis brain stew all over the parking structure’s floor.

“What I can’t figure out is why you killed Adele. Just because she wanted Arthur to stop? Seems kind of flimsy there.” I was baiting her, hoping to draw her off guard, possibly giving me a chance to get the jump on her. Her dark eyes were glittering and furious, so I was either going to piss her off into talking or she was just going to say fuck it all and shoot me. It was a chance I had to take. “I thought you guys were all friends, or was she tired of the scam and wanted to quit? Or maybe he just was losing his touch and she wanted to spare his pride.”

Marie flinched.

“That was it, wasn’t it? Arthur’s getting old, and maybe his game isn’t as good as it used to be.” I gestured behind me to the painting I’d pulled out, keeping my eyes on Marie and her gun. “How many times did he have to do a painting over until he got it right? That’s why he gave your husband the other one. There was something wrong with it that somebody could spot right away.”

A car on the level above us started up, its engine grumbling through the silence. The air was dry, scented with the untreated wood used to build storage units and the smoky pitch of the tar someone used to waterproof the walls. I shifted to my left, debating if I could make it to the van and maybe use it for cover, but Marie’s aim tracked my movement.

“Adele was a mistake. Ivan went to the pickup with a ski mask on,” Marie spat with a heat as deadly as the bullets her gun held. “She knew it was Ivan, because he didn’t keep his mouth shut like I