It was the usual setup for a budget motel: watery coffee from a large urn, powdered creamer in a jar. Do-it-yourself waffles. He dragged his last bite through the syrup on his paper plate and forked it into his mouth. The waffles were actually okay, considering the wafflemaker had an inch-thick crust of fossilized batter on it.“Hadn’t planned to,” he said thickly.“I just want to hear what Mike Warren has to say first. Then you and I can talk it over, see if what they say connects with what we know—”“Damn little, so far.” He hadn’t told her about the blind alleys hidden in the laptop’s code. Too hard to explain.The microtransmitter, she knew about. She was fine with the photo CDs—they held everything Mrs. Corelli wanted to use. The music files were a nice bonus.“You finished?” she asked, licking a drop of syrup from the corner of her pretty mouth.Weary as he was, he smiled at the sight. “Yeah. Let’s go.” Kenzie stayed a few feet ahead of Linc, walking with the lieutenant.“The insurance adjuster contacted me,”
