Chapter 16
By the time I came downstairs, the bustling house was quiet.
Javi and Ramón were huddled over the computer in Ramón’s bedroom, trying to solve the mystery of what was wrong with his surveillance cameras.
Vero had fallen asleep on the sofa in the living room, her leg sticking out of the brightly colored afghan where her monitor was connected to its charger on the floor.
I considered going back upstairs and closing my eyes, too.
It seemed decadent, having so many hours of free time on my hands, but the thought of taking a nap felt like too much of an indulgence, especially while Nick was stuck running errands with my children.
And I already felt guilty for imposing on Norma and Gloria as long as I had.
Having houseguests was stressful. The least I could do was use the time to help.
I went to the kitchen and rummaged through the pantry and the fridge, wondering what ingredients I could cobble together for dinner.
I wasn’t anywhere near as skilled in the kitchen as Norma and Gloria, but anyone would appreciate not having to cook after a long day at work.
I found some ground pork in the fridge and sautéed it with an onion and a pepper, then I tossed it into a Crock-Pot with some canned tomatoes and seasoning.
After it simmered for a few hours, I’d throw in some macaroni.
It wasn’t a real goulash, but it was the best I could do.
I had just put the lid on the Crock-Pot when the whole thing began to shake.
The glassware in the cabinet started to rattle.
The whole house seemed to be vibrating. The cause, I realized, was coming from the street.
I ran to the living room window, craning my neck just in time to see a bright purple Lincoln Mark V bounce to a stop in front of the house, its stereo turned up so loud the bass was buzzing.
“Vero! Wake up,” I said, shaking her shoulder as the car’s hydraulics whined. She groaned at me and pulled the throw pillow over her head. I grabbed the corner of it and yanked it away from her face. “Cam’s here,” I said as the car’s engine—and the music—cut off.
Vero shot upright and blinked. “What do you mean, he’s here? He can’t be here.”
“You know someone else who drives a glittery eighteen-foot eggplant?” I tossed Vero her shoes and socks.
She got up too fast, tripping on her charging cord. She yanked it out and tossed it away from her, scrambling to put on her shoes. “I thought you said he was going to call. How’d he know where to find us?”
I didn’t bother answering that. I doubted there was anyone with a driver’s license or a Social Security number Cam couldn’t find, but the spyware I was sure he’d snuck onto my phone probably made it easier.
Vero threw the dead bolt and unlatched the chain a second before Cam reached for the doorbell.
He carried his backpack over one arm and a leather-clad Chihuahua under the other.
Arnold Schwarzenegger gave a pleased bark and wagged his tail when we shuffled outside.
“You can’t come in,” Vero said, turning Cam around by the shoulders and pushing him back toward the driveway. “If you step foot inside that house, I’ll get in a lot of trouble.”
“You’re already in a lot of trouble.”
“I’ll get in the kind you can’t fix. If my cousin finds out what we’re up to, I won’t need a tracking device because he will superglue my ass to the wall of my bedroom, and I’ll never see the light of day again.”
“Where the hell are we supposed to do this, then?” Cam gestured to the front window of the house across the street.
Eugene was peering through his curtain. Next door, Lenore sprayed water all over her sidewalk as she squinted at the tinted windows of Cam’s car while she pretended to water her daffodils.
“We can’t do this with an audience. I need to test all this shit before I wire you up. ”
Wendell shambled down his driveway in a pair of fuzzy slippers, dragging his recycling bin behind him. Joan was hovering beside her empty mailbox. They both waved when we caught them staring at us. “Cam’s right. We can’t do this out here,” I whispered to Vero.
“Wait here,” she said, darting back into her house.
She returned a moment later with her cousin’s key ring.
“Get in,” she said, shooing us toward Ramón’s white panel van.
We all climbed inside the back, and Vero quickly slammed the door.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. There were no windows in the cargo area.
The van smelled like tire rubber, paint thinner, and machine lubricant.
It held a variety of toolboxes, an air pump, and some jumper cables and jacks.
“Sweet!” Cam said, setting Arnold on the floor to sniff around. “My very own surveillance van.” Cam took a power screwdriver off a shelf and tested the trigger.
“It’s not a surveillance van,” Vero said, snatching it away from him.
“It’s a repair van, and it belongs to my cousin.
” She sat on a toolbox and slid another one toward me with her foot, leaving Cam to sit crisscross on the van’s floor.
Arnold turned a few circles and curled up to nap against his hip.
Cam unzipped his backpack and opened his laptop. As he waited for it to boot up, he dumped a pile of loose articles out of his bag—rolls of tape, batteries, a leather belt, and assorted electrical components. The duct tape screeched as he tore a strip off the roll.
“What is all that stuff?” Vero asked, pointing to the tangle of wires around his legs.
“Transmitters,” Cam said, taping three of them to the belt.
“You’re gonna put this on anytime you even think about leaving your house.
” He held it out to her. The transmitters protruded like bricks from the leather strap.
It looked heavy, and I was grateful Cam had thought to bring duct tape.
She hiked up her sweatshirt and fastened the device around her waist.
“I look like a suicide bomber.”
“Don’t parade it through any TSA checkpoints and you’ll be fine.
Put some baggy clothes over it. No one will notice.
” She pulled her sweatshirt down to cover the belt while Cam began typing on his laptop.
He spun it around to face us, revealing a grainy aerial image of Vero’s house.
“Which bedroom is yours?” he asked her. She pointed to the right rear corner of the house, farthest from the driveway.
Cam began typing again. His face split with a cocky grin as he gestured to a flashing beacon on his screen.
“Check it out. That’s you.” A tiny blue light blinked in the corner of the house that Vero had indicated as her bedroom.
He pointed to the bulge under her sweatshirt.
“You should probably take that transmitter for a test drive, just to make sure the signal’s strong enough.
How far does your ankle monitor normally let you go? ”
“To the end of my driveway.”
Cam nodded toward the doors at the back of the van. “Try walking to the end of your street and see if the alarm goes off.”
“If?” Vero cried, startling Arnold from his nap. “I thought you said this would work!”
Cam scooped up the shaking bundle of fur and bones and stroked the top of his head.
“Relax! You’re freaking out my dog, and he pees when he’s scared.
If the alarm goes off, we’ll just tell the cops that Arnold got loose and you helped me chase him down before he could run away.
No one is going to arrest you for saving a damn Chihuahua. ”
Vero hesitated. I didn’t blame her for being reluctant to trust Cam, but if we were actually going to try this, a test run felt like a sensible plan.
If the alarm did go off, Vero would only be a few yards outside her boundary.
And chasing after a loose dog seemed like a reasonable explanation. “It’s not a bad idea,” I conceded.
Vero pointed a finger at Cam. “If you screw me over, so help me, I will—”
“Listen, Martha Stewart,” Cam said through a scowl, “I don’t lie awake at night trying to come up with ways to make your life miserable. I have better things to do.”
“With your left hand or your right?”
He flipped her off.
“Both of you, knock it off!” I turned to Vero and lowered my voice. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. No one will judge you for changing your mind.”
“I’m not changing my mind.”
“Then we should test this thing before your mother gets home.”
She drew a steadying breath. With a shallow nod, she opened the door and hopped down from the back of the van.
She pulled her sweatshirt down to cover the tops of her legs, making sure the bulky fabric concealed all three of the transmitter battery packs.
Cam stayed in the van, watching his laptop screen.
I got out of the van to keep an eye on Vero.
I looked around at the nearest houses, but most of the neighbors seemed to have lost interest in us and retreated inside.
Vero strolled casually to the bottom of her driveway. She pretended to check the mailbox as she looked up and down the sidewalk. I held my breath as she put a cautious toe out into the road.
Nothing happened.
She discreetly hiked up the leg of her jeans. The monitor on her ankle was still blinking green.
She took another cautious step into the street. Then another. When the alarm on her ankle didn’t start shrieking, she picked up her pace toward the end of the block. She made it all the way to the stop sign and turned back toward the van. Cam flashed her a thumbs-up.
“She’s good,” he said.
A held breath rushed out of me, and I sagged against the bumper. Vero’s face split into a wide grin. She did a victory dance in the middle of the street, her baggy sweatshirt flopping like a circus tent around her.
“Holy shit!” a voice called out. “Veronica Ramirez, is that really you?”