“WHERE’S FABIANA?” WARWICKE turned away from the track in response to Brita’s question. She was dressed in tight black leather and her face was heavily made up. Her spiky hair was even more spiked than usual, and she had four inch hoops in her ears.
“Nice tat.”
She glanced briefly toward the temporary tattoo of a Coyote on her left upper arm and then reset her piercing gold-brown gaze on his face, lifting an eyebrow.
Warwicke frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Brita grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the crowd. Percy came up and handed Brita a drink. Warwicke noticed that it wasn’t a beer. Apparently Brita was on the job. “Hey, bro.”
Warwicke inclined his head. “Perc. What’s going on?”
Percy sipped his beer and looked very pointedly at Brita.
“We got the lab reports back on the knife an
