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“Sounds reasonable,” Jane agreed.
Pegs checked her watch. “Time to hit the road. Vegas is six hours from here if you drive like a normal human who isn’t willing to risk a speeding ticket. You two better eat up and get on the road.”
Bridger gave a sloppy salute. “Yes ma’am.”
After they forked down the meal, Jane followed Bridger out to the driveway, the morning air crisp on her face. She spotted the nondescript gray Camry parked behind a wicked-looking black Harley. Bridger’s Jeep was nowhere to be seen.
He pointed at the expansive three-car garage at the back of the driveway. “My ride’s tucked safely away.”
No wonder Jane had a helmet under her arm. Of course, the retired spy rode a motorcycle. Why not?
“What about the plates?” Bridger asked his mentor.
The older woman rolled her eyes. “Tell me you’re kidding? I already took care of that. New and untraceable.”
Bridger winced. “Sorry. Sometimes I forget who I’m dealing with. I owe you.”
“Yeah, you do.” Pegs made a shooing motion with her hands. “Get a move on, kids.”
Bridger unlocked the car and they climbed inside. The interior smelled vaguely of vinyl cleaner and old coffee. Jane buckled her seatbelt as Bridger adjusted the mirrors. His injured arm didn’t seem to be hampering him as much anymore.
Jane waited until they were out on the road before speaking. “So what’s the plan when we get to Vegas?”
Bridger kept his eyes on the road. “ We’re heading to a magic show.”
Jane raised an eyebrow.
“Pegs’ contact is a magician. Goes by the name ‘The Incredible Romero.’ Apparently he’s got a headliner gig at the Desert Palms.”
Jane shook her head in amusement. Of course, Pegs’ shady info guy was a Vegas magician.
“So we just show up and he’ll spill state secrets during a card trick?” Jane asked wryly.
Bridger chuckled. “I’m sure it’ll be more subtle than that. Pegs trusts him completely. That’s good enough for me.” His expression turned serious. “We need to know what we’re up against with those agents.”
Jane nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. Even if the agents chasing her were rogues, they represented the very real FBI.
Bridger reached over and gave her hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before returning it to the wheel. The spark of connection between them kindled a warmth in Jane’s chest. No matter what happened in Vegas, they would face it together.
15
Perchedon the edge of the interstate halfway between Barstow and Las Vegas, the gas station looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 70s, all peeling paint and rusted edges. Bridger grunted. A place in that kind of arrested decay wouldn’t have many security cameras––if it had any.
He pulled up to the pump farthest from the mini mart and gassed up, careful to keep his head down and his back to the building.
Once he finished, he poked his head into the car. “Want anything?” he asked Jane.
She scrunched up her nose. “Redvines or Twinkies if they have them.”
He whistled softly. “That’s some serious junk food. I like your style.”
She laughed, which was the whole point.
He tugged the brim of his ballcap lower. “Keep your head turned away from the building,” he ordered and loped inside.
The kid behind the counter barely glanced up from his phone as the bell jangled. Bridger grabbed a couple packs of Twinkies and Redvines along with a cup of black coffee.
The clerk rang him up, eyes already back on his phone. Bridger slid a twenty across the counter. “Keep the change.”
