Page 142 of Red Marked

“Okay, then,” she says. “We’re almost set.”

“Yep.”

She starts to pick up her bag.

“I’ve got it.” I take it out, slinging it over my free shoulder.

“If you insist.” She tucks a strand of the red wig behind her ear.

The car pulls out. We handed the rental back an hour ago. Across the road, passport control is a squat, gray building with a flag on the roof and two guards at the door. On this side, there’s a breakfast spot built right on the sand, with blue shutters and a chalkboard promising the best eggs in Mistveil.

This is it. The start of our business relationship…well, sort of. We’ll still have to work the case in our downtime. From here on out, I plan on having as little contact with Star as possible. It’s better that way.

I shoulder the door to the restaurant open.

Magma has a table near the window with the sea behind him. He’s nursing a mug of black coffee. He gets to his feet when he sees us; his eyes go to Star and then back to me.

He looks amused for a second and then schools his expression.

I frown.

“Magma, this is Star. Star, Magma.”

He holds out a hand. “Good to meet you.”

“It’s good to finally meet you too.” She shakes it. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Don’t believe any of it.” He chuckles.

“It was all good.” She smiles.

“Then you can believe all of it.” He waves us into the chairs opposite him.

I place the bags against the wall and sit. Star takes the seat next to me, making sure to leave a space.

“How was the flight?” I ask.

“I had a tailwind the whole way. I’ll pay for it going home.” He looks out at the water. “This stretch of coast is pretty.”

“I used to come here as a kid,” Star says. “The eggs aren’t the best on the coast, but the view makes up for it.”

A waitress arrives with a notepad. “What can I get you?”

“A cappuccino, please,” I say.

“Same for me, but with whipped cream instead of foam.” Star smiles at her. “Lots of it. And cinnamon.”

I smile because her love for food is contagious. “I’ll have cinnamon as well,” I tell her.

“No problem.” The waitress smiles and walks away.

When I look at Magma, he’s smirking at me.

“What? Cinnamon is my new thing,” I tell him.

“I’m sure it is.”

I turn my teaspoon over on the tablecloth. “I’m sorry about missing the pickup. Again, thank you for making the trip. I know what a day at home means to you.”