“I will.”
I step out and head to my truck.
I drive without the radio, only with my thoughts.
By the time I reach West Lake Hills, I’m rigid and tense.
I use my trick of idling a few car lengths back until a red Jaguar rolls up and punches in the code.When the gate starts to swing shut, I ease in behind like I belong and drive to Reyes’s.
I park two streets over, just close enough to keep an eye without drawing attention.
I walk over and check the perimeter.Same camera setup—three real, two fakes.I pick the lock and enter silently.
I move.
Straight to the safe, ready to wipe every trace of my blood and fingerprints.
“What the fuck?”I whisper harshly.
The safe is there, but it’s been meticulously cleaned.There’s no indication I was here at all.
Still, I wipe it down good anyway, using the cloth and tiny bottle of enzymatic cleanser I brought with me.I crouch, scan the floor.No indication that anyone else was here.No footprints through the carpeting, no marks on the floor.
Once I’m satisfied no one was here, I breathe in.
Time to check the rest of the place.
