She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, that possibility had already crossed my mind.”
To Tara’s surprise, the heavy metal door wasn’t locked. It opened with a shiver-inducing shriek from its rusted hinges. Whoever was inside had to have heard their arrival.
Tara didn’t know if that was good or bad.
Blake took Tara’s hand as he led her into the building. He did that a lot, she mused. He was obviously a toucher. She never had been, herself. But that was beginning to change.
Inside, the old building smelled of dirt, mold, decay... and a few other odors Tara didn’t want to try to identify. It seemed to be empty, except for piles of refuse and abandoned parts to old warehouse equipment. What little light there was came from high, metalmesh-reinforced windows. Even if the sun had been shining brightly outside, the filthy glass wouldn’t have let in much light. As it was, there was hardly enough illumination for them to pick their way carefully through the maze of junk toward the even more deeply shadowed back of the building.
Tara heard something rustle in a corner, followed by what sounded like an animal squeaking. She lifted her chin and hid her fear, determined that she could act as casual about this as Blake.
A gruff voice spoke suddenly from the shadows. “Hey, Blake.”
Blake stopped. Tara looked cautiously around, but couldn’t see the man who’d spoken.
“Hey, Spider,” Blake answered casually. “How’s it going?”
“Can’t complain. You?”
“Oh, the usual. Someone’s trying to kill me. I think I’m being framed for a murder. You know...same old grind.”
Spider gave a raspy chuckle. “You really need to get a job with a bit more excitement in it.”
“Yeah, I was thinking of taking up accounting.”
“Like anybody would trust you with their money. What’s that you’re wearing on your arm?”
Tara glanced automatically at Blake’s arms, wondering what in the world the guy meant.
“This is my friend, Tara,” Blake answered, and Tara frowned in sudden comprehension. “Tara, say hi to Spider.”
“Hello, Spider,” she said a bit coolly.
“Nice to meetcha, ma’am. You a spook, too?”
“Tara’s not a P.I. She’s a lawyer,” Blake answered for her.
“Oh. A lawyet.”
The tone of revulsion in which the man repeated her profession made Tara’s frown deepen.
What might have been a faint ripple of amusement lay beneath Blake’s voice when he spoke again. “She just got fired.”
“You don’t say.” Spider suddenly sounded more approving. “Well, what brings y’all to my humble abode?”
“The Willfort robbery.”
“What about it?”
“I’m looking for the paintings,” Blake answered lightly. “Don’t care about the rest of the stuff, just the art.”
“Can’t help you.” Spider’s rejection sounded friendly enough, but firm.
Tara looked inquiringly at Blake.
“Can’t or won’t?” Blake asked.
“Can’t, Bubba. Ain’t no one knows where they are. At least, not so’s I’ve heard.”