Page 210

I look down. Four unread messages.

Chaos: Fine.

Chaos: Ignore me.

Chaos: See if I care.

Chaos: I don't.

The last one came less than a minute ago.

I stare at it.

Then another appears.

Chaos: Fine. I care a little.

A laugh almost escapes.

Jesus Christ.

I type before I can talk myself out of it.

Me: I'm busy.

The three dots appear immediately.

Chaos: Doing what?

I should've seen that coming.

Me: Things.

Chaos: Very informative.

I don't answer.

Chaos: Hitman things?

My jaw tightens.

I glance toward the diner. Mercer is still drinking his coffee.

Me: Stop calling me that.

Chaos: Okay, James.

I set the phone facedown. It buzzes, but I don’t pick it up.

Mercer pays in cash but doesn’t leave.

He says something to the waitress. She laughs. He smiles. Then he picks up the newspaper he never read, folds it beneath his arm, and walks outside.

Everything about him appears ordinary.

That's the dangerous part.

If I hadn't read the file, I'd never look at him twice.