Then something settled on my shoulder. I gave a little screech and whirled, not knowing who I’d see. It could be Lee, Wilcox’s goons, the shooters, a police officer or Dracula. Instead, it was Tex standing there with the goggles no longer on the top of his head, but over his eyes. He put his finger to his lips then, a scant second later, put his fist through the window. I stared at the window then back at Tex then back at the window. “What are you doing?” I whispered. “B and E, darlin’,” he answered casually.
