Whiskey Lullaby (Addison Holmes Mysteries #7) - Liliana Hart Page 0,45

I’m having an out-of-body experience,” I said. “I caught my roommate in college smoking a joint once, and I accidentally inhaled. Maybe I’ve lost too many brain cells.”

“Sometimes the job calls for blending in,” she said. “I would’ve stuck out like a sore thumb in my other clothes. When in Rome, right?” She put a hand on her hip and turned from side to side in front of the mirror.

I figured beggars couldn’t be choosers, so I didn’t say anything when she put on a pair of plain black ballet flats instead of the stilettos I would’ve chosen. Kate liked for her feet to be flat on the ground for some weird reason. She wore flats to our prom and sneakers to her wedding.

We walked down to the lobby and waited while the concierge brought us the keys for one of the resort Mercedes to use at our leisure.

“What’s that squeaking sound?” I asked.

“My thighs,” Kate said. “Maybe I should’ve used more Vaseline.”

The concierge gave me the keys and a last lingering look at Kate’s butt, and we were directed to a sweet little two-door roadster.

“This seems like a bad idea,” I told Kate. “What kind of place would just give people the keys to expensive cars and expect to get them back in one piece?”

“Expensive places,” Kate said. “Give me the keys.”

“No way,” I said.

“You’re a terrible driver.”

“No, I’m not,” I said. “You’re just a control freak. All cops are.”

“Maybe if you learned to use turn signals and read the speed limit signs I’d let you drive,” she said, getting behind the wheel.

“I think your pants are so tight they’re squeezing your brain,” I said. “Driving should be an experience. Besides, I’m an excellent driver. My dad would sneak me out on the training course and let me drive his squad car through maneuvers before I had my license. You’re just a stick-in-the-mud.”

Kate pouted while I typed Angelica Vega’s address into the GPS.

“She lives in the Upper East Side,” I said.

“I’m hoping that’s a good part of town,” Kate said.

“It’s on the bay,” I said. “We’re going straight up the coast.”

By the time we were halfway there I remembered why Kate and I usually took separate cars when we had to go to the same place.

“GPS said this was a fifteen-minute drive,” I said. “We’re going on twenty-five. Maybe you could press your foot down on that thing we like to call the accelerator, grandma. You can’t wear pants like that and not speed. It’s the law.”

“I’m pretty sure the law in Miami is just like the law in the rest of the country,” Kate said. “I’m getting us there safe. All of us.”

“He’s well protected. I could give birth before we get there,” I complained.

“He?” Kate asked. “There’s no way you’re having a boy. You look like hell. Only girls do that to their mothers.”

“That’s an old wives’ tale,” I said, flipping down the visor mirror. “I don’t even know why I bother putting on makeup. I look like Natalie Portman in that movie where she was a dancer and could only eat an apple and smoke a cigarette a day.”

“You look fine,” Kate said. “Nobody is going to be paying us any attention anyway. Everyone here is gorgeous. Do all these people spend every waking minute at the gym? I haven’t seen a man yet without a six-pack.”

“I just need more concealer,” I said, ignoring Kate and digging in my bag. “And mascara. Concealer and mascara are gifts from the Lord.”

“Tammy Faye Bakker always thought so,” Kate said. “I still don’t think we’re going to find Vince. This is completely out of character.”

“I can fill up notebooks with the men through history who have done things out of character because of sex,” I said.

By the time Kate turned onto Bay Street, I was wishing I’d put deodorant in my bag. Nerves were getting the best of me. I’d spent the entire trip blocking the thought that I very well might run into Vince while I was here. Even worse was the thought of what I might be interrupting when I found him. There was also the reality that he might not want to come home at all.

I could no longer pretend this wasn’t actually happening, and my body recognized the added stress by making sure I was sweating like Meghan Markle at a royal family reunion. Whoever this Angelica woman was, she knew Vince, and Vince was who I needed to find. And then it was up

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