Unseen (Will Trent / Atlanta Series)

looking at him, he seemed on edge, like something else was going on. “Why are you acting weird?”
    DeShawn gave a heavy sigh. “I just noticed you’ve been tired lately.”
    “So? We’re all tired. We’ve been butts to nuts for weeks.”
    He gave the sigh again. “I just wanted you to know that it’s okay by me if you decide to take a back seat on—”
    “Fuck your back seat,” Lena snapped. “I’ve never taken a back seat on anything in my life.”
    “All right.” He held up his hands. “Just worried about you, is all.”
    “Worried about me why?”
    His mouth twisted to the side, like he was debating whether or not to tell her something. Lena knew DeShawn’s sister had two girls. Maybe he’d figured out that Lena was pregnant. In which case, she had to shut this down fast.
    She said, “Get your panties out of your cooch, Shawn. I appreciate your concern, but the best thing for both of us right now is for you to do your job and me to do mine. All right?”
    He held up his hands in surrender again. “You’re the boss.”
    She knocked on the side of the van. “It’s me.”
    Eric Haigh cracked open the door. The whole gang was here. He told Lena, “We got a call from Waller’s tail. He’s about five minutes out.”
    Paul couldn’t help but add, “I was right. He’s probably coming early to case the restaurant.”
    Lena wasn’t interested in giving credit. She started to hold out her hand for help, then decided it would be better to show De-Shawn she was capable of moving her own weight. Still, she groaned as she pulled herself up.
    DeShawn vaulted in without assistance, probably to prove a point. He slammed the door shut behind him.
    “Jesus Christ.” Lena clapped her hands over her face. The smell was disgusting. “What’ve you guys been doing in here?”
    “Sorry,” Eric said. “I had Mexican for lunch.”
    “Thanks a lot, dickslit.” Paul punched him in the arm. Eric rewarded him with the wettest-sounding fart Lena had ever heard.
    “Oh, God.” She pinched her nose closed and breathed through her mouth. “Please tell me Snitch is still there.”
    Paul provided, “Mr. Snitchy is on the bench looking at the kiddies.”
    “Looking at them how?” Lena checked the monitor to see for herself. Snitch still had on his sunglasses. His arms were sprawled across the back of the bench. “Are you sure he’s not asleep?”
    “Look at his foot.”
    He was right. Snitch’s heel was hopping up and down so fast the camera barely registered the movement. Lena asked, “Where’s Mom?”
    DeShawn was back in his chair. He pulled up the appropriate camera. The mother was still on the phone, stretched out in the booth as if she planned to stay there for a while.
    “Good thing he’s not a pedophile,” Lena said. She motioned for Eric to get out of her chair.
    Eric said, “The seat might be a little warm.”
    Paul laughed again, and she slapped him on the back of the head. “Why is everyone in this van an asshole except for me?”
    Paul asked, “You okay, boss?”
    Lena scowled at him. “Since when am I the boss?”
    “You’re in charge, right?” Paul indicated his empty chair. “What’s going on with you? Your face is all red.”
    She put her hand to her cheek. The skin was hot. “It’s probably gas poisoning.”
    “You sure about that?” He cocked an eyebrow at her, but he didn’t push it.
    “All right, ladies and Lena.” DeShawn rubbed his hands together. “Mr. Waller has arrived.”
    A red Corvette idled in the parking lot. The windows were down. Sid Waller circled the lot twice before parking in a space by the road. He’d brought weight with him. Diego Nuñez was in the passenger seat. He had his arm resting on the door. A cigarette dangled from his fingers.
    Eric squinted at the monitor. “Is that a joint?”
    DeShawn checked it out. “Looks like it.”
    “Damn,” Paul said. “Chick-fil-A don’t like queers. What’re they gonna do with a spic toking a doobie?”
    “Shut up,” Lena said. She tried to tune out their voices as she watched Sid Waller get out of the car. The metal chain on his wallet swung as he strutted across the parking lot. His long, skanky hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He wore ragged jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off. Tattoos covered both arms. Like Paul, he was incapable of just opening a door. He flung it open to announce his presence.
    All four of them swiveled their heads in unison, watching the monitor