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Right now, this blonde wig is itching the crap out of me, and this red lipstick is definitely causing me to stick out. Add both in with the dark sunglasses and skin tight dress that I’m wearing, and I look nothing like Lana Myers, just in case.
“I already explained how it happened,” I tell Jake, wishing I had just kept the confession out of it.
“And you’re in New York, where he also happens to be.”
“Tyler is here, which is why I’m here. He took an unscheduled trip up here, so I got worried he was coming to see one of the others, since Lawrence is the next target and he’s also here. He has lunch reservations for two, Jake.”
He blows out a heavy breath. “New York is a long way from West Virginia. What’s he doing there?”
“I don’t know. He went into the same office where Lawrence works.”
“The media hasn’t gotten ahold of the story.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t heard several of their friends died recently.”
He grows quiet, and I stare out at the restaurant. Tyler has reservations for two here at lunch. That much I found out from the cloned phone. But he hasn’t been texting Lawrence. I’m not sure who he’s texting.
“Jake? You still there?”
“No,” he says, sounding muffled. “I’m right beside you.”
I look out my window to find a guy with a goatee, dark glasses, and a stick… I’m not sure what it’s called, but it looks suspiciously like the stick the seeing impaired would use to feel their way around. His hair has also been bleached blonde.
I guess we’re both incognito.
I climb out of the car, arching an eyebrow at him. “Cowabunga?”
He snorts, but then his lips thin.
“So you decided to come to New York City without telling me?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
He shrugs carelessly. “Same thing you essentially did. I have the same phone you do, remember? I knew you’d be heading out.”
He points a finger at me.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook over this FBI boyfriend thing. That conversation is paused—not over.”
I groan, and he smirks as he holds his arm out for me to take.
He looks all classy in his suit. With the way I’m dressed, I look like his high-paid hooker.
“You look good, by the way,” he whispers as he guides me down the sidewalk.
“High praise coming from a man who’s supposed to be blind,” I say with a sweet smile.
He restrains a smile as we walk inside. “Reservation for Demarco,” I tell the hostess. “We requested the terrace, since it’s so beautiful outside today.”
Just like Tyler requested.
She beams at me, treating me like I don’t resemble a call girl with her John. “Of course. Right this way,” she says, refraining from calling me Mrs. Demarco in case it’s the name of my date.
So I guess they’re used to this sort of thing.
“You’re making me look like a hooker,” I hiss under my breath.
Jake covers a laugh with a forced cough, and I stop myself from kicking him with my stiletto heel.
“Pretty sure you did that all by yourself. Trying to stand out?”
