Free Bullseye by Virginia Smith Page B

said.
    Mason held the phone away and examined the screen for a moment, then shook his head. “I can’t even figure out how to stop dialing the thing with my ear while I’m trying to talk on it.”
    Brent heaved a loud sigh, obviously for Mason’s benefit. “Okay, fine. What am I looking for?”
    They arrived at the car, but Mason waved Karina away from the door. “If I knew, I wouldn’t need you to look for me. Just find out whatever you can about the guy. And see if there’s a connection to a little dive called Casa del Sol Restaurante , or to—” He spoke to Karina. “What’s the name of the place Alex works?”
    “The Speedy Superette on Chacoma.”
    He spoke back into the phone. “Did you hear that?”
    “Yeah, I got it.” A pause. “Okay, give me a bit. Lauren and I are over at my sister’s, so I’ll call you back later.”
    “Thanks, buddy.” Mason disconnected the call and spoke to Karina while he pocketed the phone. “Do me a favor and stand over there.”
    “Why?” she asked as she moved to the place he’d pointed, twelve feet across the parking lot.
    “Just in case.”
    Concern creased her brow and she stood clutching the strap of her handbag, watching him closely. Mason approached the rental car with a cautious step. He stooped down and looked below, but could see nothing unusual about the undercarriage, nor was there anything hidden behind the wheels. They’d been in the restaurant for over half an hour, far longer than they’d been in the Garcias’ house. If whoever cut the gas line on Karina’s car had intended to blow them up, they might decide to go bigger with a second attempt.
    With a breath captured in his chest, he pushed the remote to unlock the door. An audible click sounded, and the headlights flared to life. With his arm extended at full length and his head turned away—the right side toward the car, since a second blast would at least give him a matching set of singed ears—he opened the door. Encouraged, he stooped down and pulled the hood release lever.
    Stomach muscles taut, he moved to the front of the car and lifted the hood. At least they’d parked beside a light pole that shed a little light, though much of the engine’s interior lay in shadows. Was there an explosive device hiding down in there? He pulled the phone out of his pocket. If they’d really wanted to make this thing handy, they would have built a flashlight into it. As it was, he slid a finger around the screen until it lit up, and then used the light to inspect the engine. He found the gas line and checked it by feel. No cuts.
    “I think it’s all right,” he called to Karina.
    She approached, her expression grateful, and paused before she slid into the passenger seat. “Thank you, Mason.”
    He looked at her across the hood. “For what?”
    A tiny smile curved her lips. “For keeping me safe.”
    A quippy reply danced on the tip of his tongue, something about self-preservation and not wanting to get the other side of his face blown off, but it died at the sight of that sweet smile. Keeping her safe felt natural, and satisfying in a way that was faintly disturbing. So he made no answer at all.
    They seated themselves in the car, and clicked their seatbelts. When the engine started smoothly, they both exhaled relieved sighs they’d been holding, then exchanged a grin at their shared paranoia. The dashboard display announced the time as almost nine o’clock. He’d really like to find out if the investigating officers had discovered any witnesses when they’d questioned the neighbors around the Garcia residence. But Grierson had probably warned them off talking to him, and Parker’s date was no doubt in full swing at the moment. Talking to him would have to wait until the morning.
    He needed to find a hotel for the night, though he wasn’t too keen on sitting alone all evening the first night back in Albuquerque. Those ghosts Caleb mentioned were bound to haunt this night. The longer he