“You want me to use him?” I ask, still looking at the ring. “To get information?”
“We want you to do exactly what you’ve been doing,” Athena says.“Stay close to Mr. Edmond. He’s your alibi. But keep your ears open. Ben—Craig Miller—doesn’t make his money working for the good guys.He’s working directly with Ramirez on this deal. If he trusts you, he might let something slip. That’s the information we need.”
My stomach churns.
Athena watches me carefully, like this is some kind of test. I peek at the drawer holding my bills. This is a test I literally cannot afford to fail.
“On these kinds of trips, I’ll be coordinating meetings and managing paperwork,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Is there something I need to be looking for specifically?”
Athena exhales, just long enough to let me know she doesn’t have all the answers either. “We’re still working to confirm a few things, but at this point, just be yourself. Watch. Listen. Do what you’ve been doing and there shouldn’t be any problems.”
My throat tightens. No problems? There’s already a problem, and he’s tall, dark, and exactly the kind of handsome that ruins your common sense.
I twist my father’s ring again and let out a slow breath.
Ben doesn’t belong in this world—but what if I’m wrong? What if the boy who once climbed down a ravine to rescue a piece of my heart has climbed into something darker... and stayed?
I look at Athena. “Can I trust him?”
She doesn’t even blink. “Trust is optional. Results aren’t.” She grabs her tool bag and heads for the door. “If it helps, we don’t trust anyone.”
That doesn’t help, but I keep it to myself and watch Bob the maintenance worker walk out of my apartment, leaving me to pack a suitcase, chase down intel on a criminal empire, and possibly stab a childhood friend with a dessert fork.
Two days in Italy.
What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter 12
Ben
Dallas, Texas
Wednesday night
“What do you mean you’re packing heat?”
I press my cell phone closer to my ear, hoping I misheard my gran’s declaration. Her cackling on the other end confirms she’s not taking this nearly as seriously as my mom, who just called asking me to talk some sense into my grandmother.
“Isn’t that what you law types call it?”
“No, Gran, it’s not.” I glance up as Ruby walks into the office holding a coffee cup like it’s the Holy Grail. I hold out my hand. She stops midstep, eyes wide, and clutches the cup like I’ve just asked her to hand over her firstborn.
“Who told you to buy a gun?” I ask into the phone.
Ruby’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline before a smirk creases her lips and she reluctantly hands me her coffee. One sip and I nearly gag on the sugar level before handing it back.
“Toby,” Gran says cheerfully. “He’s that good-looking fella Martha Jane’s granddaughter used to see. You know who she is, right? The pretty girl who takes photos of the dead?”
Photos of the dead? I stare at the wall like it might help my braincatch up. Gran’s words echo in my head, and I start to seriously question whether she’s finally lost her marbles. Not that any of us Bradleys would dare say that out loud. Not if we valued our lives. Dorothy Bradley might be in her seventies, but she can still take down a full-grown man with a glare and a rolling pin.
“She’s the girl who came out after Glory thought she found a human bone in the park.”
There’s not enough caffeine in Texas to jolt my day back to order. I’m about to have Ruby call my mom back when it clicks. “Wait. Do you mean she’s a crime scene tech?”
“Yes, yes. That’s the one. She dated Toby for a while, but I think he spent too much time at the gym. Nice muscles, but what’re you gonna do with a bunch of muscles if you don’t have a nice wife to show them off to? Stop it, Bernie,” Gran says, scolding her best friend and fellow geriatric criminal comrade, Bernice. “Bernie has the hots for Toby and isn’t one bit sad he’s single now.”
Aspirin. I need aspirin. “Gran, the gun? Did you buy a gun?”
