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I grab a thin cotton jacket and slide my boots on before locking up my apartment. I’ve got one hour to get to the coffee shop in the next town over. As long as traffic is nonexistent, I should make it there with twenty minutes to spare.
But that’s what his code meant. One sugar to meet me in an hour. And he’s waiting for a window to skip out of the office. He should also be watching his weight. However, I won’t say that either, so long as he’s useful to me.
And he is.
For now.
I take the elevator down to the parking garage and click the key fob to start the engine of my Mercedes AMG GT 53. It was a guilty pleasure purchase, but I feel powerful and seductive behind the wheel.
“Morning, Ms. Smith,” the older man calls from the guards’ booth. “I checked the log, and everything looks good.”
“Thank you, Roland,” I tell him, grinning over my shoulder. “And good morning to you, too.”
Roland Perez is a godsend and loyal to the bone. I gave him this assignment six months ago because he’s too old to be a useful foot soldier. But the man has eyes and ears everywhere, so I couldn’t retire him. He watches our cameras, checks our cars for bombs, and still swears he’s as nimble as he was in twenties.
He’s around the same age as my grandfather and lucky to have lived so long as a member of any cartel. But I don’t doubt his prowess after seeing him in action. The younger members show him as much respect as any advisor, and he deserves it.
I climb into my car and ease up to the gate with my window down.
“Have a great day, Rolly.”
“Be safe, Ms. Smith.” He levels me with a serious expression, deepening the few wrinkles on his forehead. “A reaper walks in the streets today. Don’t let him pick you up.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
I turn left out of the parking garage, wishing for the scent of gardenias to fill my car. From late spring to early fall, white petals speckle the town of Crimson Bay. Late February gives us no sweet smelling blooms, but the weather tells me we’ll have an early spring. Buds are already growing on the bushes lining the busy streets.
Roland’s warning plays in my mind, making me wonder what he’s heard.
Maybe more than gardenia petals will litter my city in the weeks to come.
The north side of Rose Bay is a forty-minute drive from my apartment in Crimson Bay while obeying the laws of the road. Which I don’t do until I hit the border. I shave three minutes off my time, parking in front of the gym next door to my destination.
Rose Up Fitness Center is nestled in a quaint strip mall, neighboring Bean There Coffee Bar. Freshly roasted goodness wafts through the parking lot as customers come and go. And my mouth waters as I walk in the door.
Bean There is never not busy… The line is ridiculously long, but they take orders at record speed with unnerving smiles plastered on their faces.
“I’ll take a small black coffee, please,” I tell the barista, passing her cash before she rings me up.
She grins brightly. “Yes, ma’am. Name for the order?”
“No name.”
“Uhm,” she splutters. “I need a—”
“Just write no name on the cup. I’ll know it’s me,” I say, ignoring my change as I walk away.
I perch on a high stool with my back facing the wall while I wait for Agent Trevor Harrison to show up. I’m early, but that’s how I like it. It gives me the opportunity to scope out my surroundings and calculate an exit strategy.
Bean There is a book lover’s haven, yet somehow, it straddles the line between modern elegance and lofty library. The atmosphere is homey and warm, boasting squished booths perfect for chatting with friends.
The bar along the wall welcomes solo caffeine addicts, hoping to avoid conversation. This position also gives me access to all the exits, although that won’t matter if Trevor ever flips on me. They’ll still take me in for questioning, even if all my documentation says I’m Gemma Smith with an untraceable family history.
That thought causes me to huff in annoyance.
The fact that I entertain Trevor’s possible duplicity should be enough to cut ties with him. But I can’t do that yet. I need another agent or four under my thumb before I let him loose. Keeping him quiet will be a problem for another day.
“No name,” a man yells from the counter, his brows knitting together. “No name?”
