“I don’t have time for this.” I walk around to the back door, hoping slamming it will scare the cat away. It doesn’t budge.
“Shoo!” I yell at the cat. It stares at me like I’m the nuisance, and then it moves—right under my car. “No, you stupid cat!”
A small, irrational part of me wants to jump into the car and just drive away, but I can’t risk running over the stupid thing. As much as I hate cats, I can’t bring myself to do that.
Grumbling, I kneel on the asphalt, the pebbles biting into my skin as I search under the car. There he is, perched near the tire. I rise and move to the other side of the car to chase him away.
The sound of fire engines blaring nearby makes my pulse spike. Behind me the crowd is thick, cars clogging the lot as people scramble to leave. I don’t know if it’s fear of the fire or fear that when the police arrive, they’ll be suspicious of the crowd of criminal guests.
I return my attention to the cat. The last thing I need is to get stuck in this mess. I squint under the car. Nothing.
Relief washes over me as I stand and rush to the driver’s side, sliding into the car and slamming the door behind me. I start the engine and inch my way through the parking lot, maneuvering carefully around the cars and people, keeping my head low just in case Ben’s not the only one looking for me. Once I’m a few blocks away and my heart rate finally begins to slow, I pull my phone from the console and dial Athena.
When she picks up, all I can manage is, “I’m in trouble.”
Chapter 27
Ben
Dallas, Texas
Saturday night
Smoke clogs the air, thick and acrid, burning the back of my throat as I push through the crowd. The wail of sirens bounces off the buildings, red and blue lights slicing through the night like a crime scene in the making—and I’m at the center of it.
The trick to starting a fire in a commercial kitchen isn’t accelerants—it’s timing. A grease-soaked rag, a conveniently unattended stove, and a fire small enough not to cause actual damage or put anyone in immediate harm, but big enough to send every sous-chef into a panic.
Adding arsonist to my résumé wasn’t on my bingo card, but desperate times call for Bond-level improvisation—minus the gadgets, martini, and British accent. I didn’t see another option after my conversation with Rook and Ramirez inside the kitchen.
“One of Edmond’s offshore holdings accounts has been flagged for review.”
“Who flagged it?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual, unconcerned, even though I was very, very concerned. If someone had flagged Edmond’s account, it meant people were watching and any transactions would immediately lead back to Ramirez, forcing him to tighten his security on his accounts. We needed to get access to the YubiKey now more than ever.
“It didn’t come from internal compliance,” Rook answered for Ramirez. “Somebody’s feeding them information.”
Ramirez stared me down. “If Edmond’s people are drawing attention to their crypto accounts, the deal is compromised.”
Rook exhaled sharply. “We can’t afford loose ends.”
The suspicion on Edmond haddoubled, andcaught in the middle was Cybil. “I can investigate this. Give me a day, two max, and I’ll have answers for you.”
Ramirez’s gaze darkened. “Make the problem go away.”
I didn’t know who was behind the flagged account, but it just jeopardized my mission—and Cybil’s safety. Catching her in the hallway outside the kitchen was a problem. It looked suspicious—even to me. What was she doing? Listening? For Edmond?
I needed answers—and time.
I needed to buy us time so I can figure out how deep Cybil is in this mess and how I can help her out of it without blowing up my entire mission.
Outside, the parking lot is a mess—horns blaring, people shoving, everyone convinced they should be the first to get out. I don’t see Cybil.
Good.
Now I need to move before the fire department extinguishes my chance. I push back through the chaos, into the restaurant that no longer resembles the elegant den of criminals it was minutes ago. White tablecloths are askew, some stained with spilled wine. Silverware and shattered glass crunch underfoot, and abandoned chairs sit at odd angles. Smoke curls from the kitchen, hazy tendrils creeping into the main dining area where I find a man in a dark suit speaking in low, clipped tones to Ramirez and Rook. His posture is rigid, his expression severe—the kind of authority that comes with being the one in charge. Security? The restaurant owner? Whatever they’re discussing is more important than evacuating the restaurant.
I don’t know how much time I have, but I need to salvage this mission. I spot Julian, helping the woman he’d been charming earlier toretrieve her purse from beneath a table. As he straightens, our eyes meet, and I catch that calculating glint—the kind that makes me wonder if he’s focused on my mission or just working the odds in his favor.
He murmurs something to the woman, flashing that easy grin, before she passes him a card and exits the restaurant. Julian pockets the card before his gaze moves from me to Ramirez, the message clear—he’s ready.
