Perfectly Dead by Michael A. Stackpole

Chapter 2

McDonald tossed Fyn the keys to the Hummer and Miracle followed him from the crime scene. Without looking back, Fyn lofted the keys over his head and she plucked them out of the air. She couldn't help but smile. As they moved through the archway and back onto the street, she caught up with him.

"McDonald thinks you're the driving force here, no pun intended."

Fyn shrugged. "That would be his problem, then." He produced his iPhone. "I have the directions. Pretty much a straight shot."

Miracle climbed into the front seat, adjusted the mirrors, snapped on the seatbelt and a bit further down the block, turned the vehicle around. "Never had to drive one of these before."

"Easy when folks aren't shooting."

She smiled as they came back to Scottsdale Road and she turned north. "Was this Mansfield a good buddy of yours?"

"Knew him well enough to shoot people trying to kill him." Fyn shook his head slightly. "We didn't pal around."

"So McDonald's plan is not going to work."

"Didn't say that." Fyn shifted toward her. "Why did you lie to McDonald about wearing a memorial bracelet?"

"What?"

"The new picture you have on your phone, of you and your nephew. You both have them on."

You don't miss a trick, do you? She glanced at him. "That was at my folks' house. Wearing it is required. I don't usually wear one because..."

Fyn's chin came up. "If we're going to be partners, I need that you don't lie to me."

"I wasn't..."

He smiled. "You were volunteering too much info. A suspect does that, we know he's hiding something."

She exhaled sharply. "Okay, busted."

"Here's the deal. You can tell me you don't want to talk about something, and that's okay. Just don't lie. To me, anyway."

"Right. Okay." She kept her eyes on the road as they crawled through Old Town Scottsdale. It seemed to be mostly art galleries and tourist shops, with enough bars and restaurants to keep tourists fortified as they shopped until they dropped. "I can't tell you, right now, why I don't wear the bracelet. I used to, sometimes, on anniversaries that made sense, but..."

"You have your reasons. I'm good with that."

Thank God. Miracle had been almost religious about wearing the bracelet that memorialized her sister. That was back when she believed that Charity had died preventing Iraqi assassins from killing the Vice President's wife. The woman's brother, the man who ran Homeland Security Services, had recently revealed to Miracle that her sister had been targeted for murder. And if that is true, then the Iraqi connection is a lie; and it was that attempt that served as justification for the United States to attack Iraq. The implications of what she'd learned hadn't completely settled in, and without more information, she still wasn't certain if she believed what she'd been told. While she wanted to dismiss it all as a hypothetical, she couldn't. Wondering what truly had happened to Charity kept her awake on many nights.

Even though she didn't know that what she'd been told was the absolute truth, wearing a bracelet that memorialized her sister as the first casualty in the Iraq war just seemed wrong. It mocked her sister and everyone else who'd died in that conflict.

Fyn provided directions requiring a turn east on McDonald Road and a turn north on Cattletrack. The landscape shifted from manicured lawns and low stucco buildings to bare desert ground with patches of cactus and scrub. The road had no curbs, no sidewalks and despite being in the heart of a city, looked as if the paving job was an afterthought. They headed north and barely two hundred yard along turned off onto a dirt track heading east toward a canal. A rusty and tangled barbed-wire fence surrounded the property's perimeter, with cholla cactus and desert sage blocking most of the view. A stucco wall secured the house.