Shawn leaned back over the front seat. “I guess our work here is done. Want to go home?”

“What do you mean our work is done? We haven’t done anything.”

“The guy who tried to kill us isn’t going to be trying again anytime soon. And it’s not like we can wreak any good vengeance on him now.”

Shawn was right. They could go home. For a moment, Gus imagined what it would be like to ease his aching muscles into a warm bath. And to stay there for a month. But then he remembered why his muscles hurt in the first place.

“We’re detectives, not rubber duckies,” Gus said.

“Duckies?” Shawn said.

“Never mind,” Gus said. “Let’s break this thing open.”

Shawn beamed at him. Those were exactly the words he wanted to hear. He threw open his door and marched across the street.

“Isn’t he amazing?” Tara said.

“Yeah, amazing,” Gus said, struggling to pull the door handle all the way back. “Would you mind helping me out of here?”

Tara slid out of the driver’s side and opened the back door for Gus. He grabbed the handle over the window and hauled himself to the doorway, then realized he was stuck. His top half was already leaning out toward the pavement, but his legs were trapped in the well behind the front seat, and he couldn’t lift them over the threshold. In about two seconds, he was going to tip over and fall face-first onto the asphalt.

“Little help here,” he called.

Tara grabbed his shoulders just as he was beginning to topple. Gently, she eased his trunk back into the car, then lifted his feet over the threshold. She held out a hand to help him get up, but he waved it off.

“I’m okay now,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Would you like me to help you across the street?”