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Max pushes up off his seat with a nod. “She’ll be easier to read than the others.”
I feel a swell of protectiveness for Honeybee. She’s like a little sister to me. If she’s betrayed us, itmustbe under duress. Max is part of the crew, and I believe he has our best interests at heart, but I’m surprised he doesn’t seem to find it shocking to think that one of them has turned.
Still, given some of the drama the Castellanis have been through over the last year, I guess it makes sense he’s more cynical. No one knows the full story except them, but things spill out. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Ciro Castellani, the old Don, was murdered, or that Leo Bernardi defecting to the Castellanis made some waves.
Max seems to take it all in stride, though. I need to figure out how he does that, so I can do it too.
Later, he stops me at the front door, just before I open it. “We can’t afford to let feelings cloud our judgment,” he says gently. “It’s not about the person we’re questioning. It’s about keeping therestof the crew safe.”
“Of course,” I say, trying to assimilate his approach. But try as I might, I can’t make the idea that Honeybee is a traitor any easier to swallow.
Or Van.
I grab my jacket. “Let’s go.”
* * *
The rain is relentless today, as if the heavens have opened up in protest at our mission. We’re almost at the hospital when I spot Honeybee hurrying down the sidewalk, her bright blue hair like a beacon.
“That’s the coffee house she was at the other day, too,” Max says as I pull over to the curb. “I recognize the brand.” We watch, unnoticed, as she enters and sits down with a man in a booth.
“And that’s the same asshole we saw her with the other day,” I say.
“Might be time to find out who he is.”
We exit the car, keeping a safe distance from each other to avoid too much attention as we head separately into the café. I feel the reassuring weight of my gun pressing against my side, ready if needed. But what if Honeybee really is the mole? Just the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach.
The scent of fresh-brewed espresso wafts over me as I hurry in the door. I slide into a booth inside, shrouded by a midmorning crowd, and Max joins me minutes later. Honeybee and the man have chosen a table near the back, speaking in hushed tones. I strain to overhear their conversation, but they don’t seem to notice us, their conversation intense and focused.
The coffee shop is warm, packed with people, but the atmosphere between the two of them is chilly. Honeybee’s cheerful face has been replaced with a sullen expression, and she stares hard at the table instead of at her companion.
“Listen, you ungrateful little brat,” the man snarls, loud enough for me to hear over the crowd. He leans forward, eyes malicious as grabs Honeybee’s wrist, squeezing until she cries out, and that’s my limit.
I’m on my feet before I realize I’ve moved. In two strides I’m at their table, wrenching the man’s arm away from Honeybee. “Get your fucking hands off her.”
He whirls in his seat to face me, surprised as he looks up, and then his eyes slide to the gun peeking out from under my jacket—not entirely by accident. “Mind your own goddamn business,” he says.
Max comes up behind me and offers a hand to Honeybee, who takes it gratefully and slides out of the booth. Max stands in front of her, leaning over our mark along with me.
“Who the hell are you two?” the guy sneers, looking us up and down with undisguised contempt. He turns to Honeybee. “You got a double set of pimps taking—”
He breaks off as I put one hand on his shoulder and the other on my gun. “You want to think hard about what comes out of that mouth next.”
He goes pale, but he’s still pissy. “She owes me,” he snaps.
“Whatever you think she owes you, it’s been paid in full.”
“What if I don’t see it the same way?” the man challenges, leaning back in his chair. “Anyways, we’re friends. Right, Honeybee?”
I grab his face and wrench him back to look at me. “Don’t talk to her. Talk to me. Who the hell are you?”
Somehow, despite my hand on his face, he manages to give a smug smirk. “I’m her husband.”
“No he’s not,” Honeybee bursts out.
He grins on, despite my fingers pressing into his cheeks. “Close enough.”
Ah. So this is the ex Honeybee has told me about—in confidence, when I first tested her out as a possible recruit. I know all about him, and it takes everything in me not to pull my gun right here and make the world a slightly better place.
