“Are you alright, mija?” he says. “You look pale. Are you getting sick?”

“Of course not,” I say. “You know I never get sick.”

“Yes you do,” he says, smiling sadly. “You just never complain about it.”

“I’ve got to go out tonight, Dad,” I tell him. “Vic’s at work—will you be okay here alone?”

“Absolutely,” he says. “You don’t have to baby me, sweetheart. I’m getting better all the time. I’ll be back downstairs working soon enough.”

Seeing as he can barely hobble around the apartment, I doubt that very much. But I’m glad he’s feeling optimistic.

“You call me if you need anything,” I tell him.

“I’ll be fine. I’m gonna watch Once Upon A Time in Hollywood tonight—it’s playing on Showtime. Now that’s a movie with gorgeous cars. Tarantino loves a classic car. I read he used two thousand of them, just to fill up the streets in the background. You remember what Brad Pitt drives in that movie?”

“I dunno.” My Dad and Vic and I all went to see the movie in a theater. We were mesmerized, all the way through. Not just by the cars—by the way it sucked us into 1969, like we were living every minute of it. “Oh, wait!” I say. “Was it a Cadillac?”

“You got it!” Dad says, grinning. “A ‘66 DeVille. The same car Tarantino used in Reservoir Dogs.”

“How do you know that?”

“I read Entertainment Weekly while I’m waiting in line at the grocery store. Not now, obviously. But when I used to get the groceries.”

“Well, you better get back to that soon, Dad. ‘Cause I keep forgetting the milk, and when I tell Vic to bring some home, he gets that awful pink stuff. Puts it in his cereal and everything. It’s disgusting.”

“Your brother is deeply disturbed,” Dad agrees, nodding somberly.

It makes me so happy to see him joking around again. I reach across the table to hug him, ignoring the fact that I’m covered in grease and he’s still frail under his robe.

“Good luck on your date tonight,” Dad says, winking at me.

I flush. “It’s not a date.”

“Sure, sure,” he says. “I’m just glad to see you going out. You deserve it, Camille.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

It’s stupid, but my father wishing me luck actually does calm me down a little. I head back down to the shop to finish up my work for the day, then I shower and change my clothes.

Only then am I ready to call Schultz.

The phone rings several times. I shift uneasily, worried that he’s not going to pick up. He’s probably pissed at me for ignoring all his calls and texts lately.

Finally, I hear his drawling voice saying, “This better be good.”

“It is,” I tell him. “I found where Levi makes his product.”

“Are you sure?” Schultz says, unable to hide the eagerness in his voice.

“Pretty sure.”

“Are you at the shop? I’m coming to pick you up.”

“Yeah,” I say. “See you in a minute.”

Forty minutes later, I’m at the police station, having been brought in through the back door by Schultz.

I’ve got my shirt off, so that a female officer can tape a microphone between my breasts.

“Don’t you have a better way of doing this?” I ask Schultz.

“This is the better way,” he tells me. “This thing is a quarter the size it used to be. You got a transmitter, microphone, and battery pack and it’s all barely bigger than a zippo.”

“I just . . . I feel like someone will see it.”

“Nah,” Schultz says, letting his eyes roam over my breasts. “You’ve got a pretty big . . . crevice to hide it.”

I see the female officer narrow her eyes, shooting a dirty look back at Schultz, but he doesn’t even notice.

“So how do I know when you’re all gonna bust in?” I ask Schultz.

“We can’t just break down the door for no reason. You’ve got to get Levi to take you down to the lab. Then you gotta get him to incriminate himself, on tape.”

“What if he won’t?”

Schultz smiles coldly. “Then you’re on your own.”

Bastard.

“You’re all set,” the female cop says.

I pull my t-shirt back over my head, turning and bending a little to make sure the microphone stays put.

“How does it feel?” she asks me.

“Weird.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Schultz assures me.

I see a dozen other officers suiting up in bulletproof vests and tactical gear. They’re planning to make a raid on Levi’s lab.

But only if I can create probable cause for them to enter. If I fuck this up, Schultz says I’ll be high and dry. All on my own in Levi’s basement.

And that’s not the worst part—the worst part would be Nero and Sebastian, stuck at the bank with no getaway driver.

That can’t happen. I can’t let them down.

As I’m about to leave the room, Schultz grabs my arm, pulling me back inside. It’s just me and him—the other officers are getting ready.

“Where’s your boyfriend tonight?” he asks me.

“He’s out of town,” I say, blandly.

“Does he know you’re ratting out Levi Cargill tonight?”

“He doesn’t give a fuck about Levi,” I say.

Schultz has his fingers wrapped around my wrist, holding me close so I can’t take a step back from him. He’s finally wearing his uniform again, like the first night I met him. The deep navy blue makes him look stern and formal. But his eyes are burning brighter than ever beneath the brim of his cap.

“I’ve seen you two together,” he hisses. “I followed you out to the bluffs. Saw you in the backseat of his car . . .”

My skin crawls, knowing what night he’s talking about. Nero fucked me in the backseat of the Mustang until the windows were running with steam, and both of us were drenched in sweat.

Schultz was watching us the whole time?

That fucking creep.

“That’s an interesting use of police time,” I mutter.

“I wasn’t on duty that night,” Schultz says.

I try to pull my wrist out of his grip, but he holds on tight, not letting me move an inch.

“I thought you were smarter than that,” Schultz says. “A girl like you . . . with a body like that . . . you could have picked a better class of man. You still could.”

“Are you talking about yourself?” I ask him.

“Why not?”

I look up into his face, furious and disdainful.

“Because say what you want about Nero . . . he never forced me to do a damn thing I didn’t want to do.”

I twist my wrist, wrenching it out of Schultz’s grip.

“For a bad guy, he’s a pretty good guy,” I tell him.

Then I push past Schultz, leaving him alone in the interrogation room.

It’s almost ten o’clock. I’ve got to get over to the lab.

I’m standing on the doorstep of 379 Mohawk Street. Nero and I found this place via the property records for Evan Cargill.