Page 68 of Trapped Truth

“I’ll be watching.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

Shoulders rolled back, the distance between the exit and our rendezvous point seems to extend for an eternity. There are a couple of people in the shop, equally bundled up in full winter gear. Probably on their way to more festivities tonight.

In the alcohol aisle, a man and a woman linger at opposite ends. One studies the rows of pre-mixed cocktails with a tooth digging into her lip. The other pulls bottles of flavoured vodka from the shelf to inspect the labels.

It feels safest to set myself up in the middle where my path to escape isn’t blocked. If I walk to the end of the aisle, it’s a dead end. Not a great idea. That places me firmly in the fancy coffee liqueur section.

A quick peek.

Left, right.

Neither shopper pays me a lick of attention. Not even a passing glance. Anxiety constricts my muscles in preparation to fight or flee, but I force my lungs to expand for another breath. There’s still time.

When the woman selects her choice and leaves to pay, my adrenaline skyrockets. That just leaves Mr Vodka. He seems absorbed by his task. I’m not sure what’s so interesting about those bottles.

Another minute passes.

Sluggish. Breathless.

We’re nudging towards two minutes late. They should be here by now. I’m starting to look conspicuous just standing here, so I snatch up a random bottle of coffee liqueur, intent to get eyes on Hyland. Only I don’t make it very far.

“I wouldn’t recommend that one.” The man strolls over, his vodka discarded. “Far too bitter for someone as sweet as you.”

With grey-streaked hair that reaches his chin and a hooked nose reminiscent of an insect, he’s not a familiar player from all our research. Just a total stranger, nondescript and anonymous.

“Maybe I prefer bitter. Sweetness is overrated.”

“Hmph.” He breaks into a greasy-looking smile. “Tell me, what is easier to break than carry?”

Despite my desire to take a step back, I lock myself in place. “Trust.”

“Trust acknowledged.”

With the test phrase complete, the man casts a brief look around, ensuring we’re alone in the aisle.

“Miss Price, I presume?”

“The one and only. Are the theatrics necessary?”

“You can never be too cautious on a dark night.” He’s far too jovial. “Come with me.”

“Don’t I get a name first?”

Pausing, he cocks his head. “Joe. Where’s your friend?”

“He’s here, Joe. We’re on a tight schedule.”

“Then let’s get moving, shall we?”

Hyland is waiting exactly where I left him. I don’t think the man’s taken a breath let alone moved a single inch. The look he pins on Mr Anonymous Joe is far from trusting, but it doesn’t seem to faze the weird dude.

We’re led from the store back out into the cold, heading away from the hum of revellers. I exchange a silent conversation with Hyland, hoping to reassure him, and our hands brush in a brief touch.

Even though we’re moving farther from where we separated, crossing roads and walking into a quieter neighbourhood, Blaine and Warner should be tracking our every move. If all is well, they will approach from another angle to provide backup.

“Care to tell us where we’re going?” Hyland questions our escort.