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They opted for a strawberry cheesecake and wound up laughing about their efforts to politely leave each other the puffs of whipped cream on the plate.
Vince Monroe returned to the stage. He was pleasant, talking about the requests he had received most, then moved into “Rocket Man,” saying that if he was the “second” piano man, he really needed to give a great tribute to Elton John—and fulfill a request by a beautiful redhead up on the high tier.
“He likes you,” Mark commented.
“Let’s hope it gets us something.”
They left soon after and he drove her home.
She was an agent. She had a gun. She was capable. He knew he could drive away.
Hey, everybody—including him, Ragnar, and Red—needed to have support at their backs.
He watched her walk to the door of her town house.
And he thought she paused briefly before she fit her key into the lock, then turned to wave and made a motion she was locking the door.
And still, he hesitated.
Was there something else she’d wanted to say to him? Or had it been something else?
Had she seen or sensed something?
He needed to respect her abilities. He drove away at last.
They had to move and quickly. Because there was another killer out there, and he would strike again.
