Blade (The Alpha Elite #11)

Chapter Forty-One

Blade

S he wasn’t there.

Not in the bar, the restroom, the back office, the parking lot, or the adjacent alley. Hacking the security feeds didn’t give me any new intel. She hadn’t stepped foot in the place.

But I still fucking waited.

Two goddamn hours later, I called it.

Then I made the decision to take out that asshole’s target. Driving to AES, I did a quick in and out to gear up and make it look like I was taking an assignment. On the way back to my place, I noted the same green Jeep and silver Toyota parked in the private lot of the building next door.

Fucking squatters.

Back in my penthouse, I quickly pulled up a secure connection and plugged in the GPS coordinates. Backtracking an exfil before planning my infil, I ran it all down until I had it tight with contingencies in place. Five minutes later, I had my arrangements booked and my laptop wiped.

Then I opened my safe, stowed my AES cell and wallet, and grabbed two of my alternate ID setups with passports that no one knew about, including November. Pocketing a new wallet with credit cards and the passport I’d use for getting in theater, I then stowed my exfil ID in a hidden compartment inside my go bag, along with three clean burners and a wad of cash.

Another five minutes, and I was in one of my trucks November didn’t track, heading to the airport. A half hour later, I did what I hadn’t done in twenty fucking years and got on a commercial flight.

Seven hours into the flight, cramped as fuck in coach, my burner vibrated with a text.

Crazy Chick: Look at me taking melatonin at 5am like a rock star. How’s YOUR life?

Me: Why can’t you sleep?

Refraining from asking her where the fuck she was and where the fuck she’d been last night, I rationalized if she was with some son of a bitch, she wouldn’t be texting me. I also couldn’t do shit about it from thirty-five thousand feet if she were.

Crazy Chick: Is that a trick question?

Crazy Chick: Do caramel lattes run through my veins?

Me: Double negative.

Crazy Chick: Why not make it a triple?

Jesus.

Me: Why can’t you sleep?

Crazy Chick: Why can’t you? You’re up answering my lame texts. And don’t tell me you’re just getting up. Who the hell voluntarily wakes up at 5am?

I do.

Me: Me.

Crazy Chick: You spelled psycho wrong.

Me: I’m psycho because I’m awake?

The asshole next to me snored in my face.

Crazy Chick: Bingo.

Me: Ever hear of time zones?

Crazy Chick: Nice try. I’m not taking that bait.

I didn’t fucking reply.

Crazy Chick: Fine. What time zone are you in?

Me: PST

Crazy Chick: Omg, seriously?? You’re on the West Coast? Like California, West Coast? Wait. That still means you’re up late. Just California, West Coast late. But still.

Christ, this woman.

Me: Not West Coast .

The dots appeared, then stopped, then showed back up.

Crazy Chick: Well? Don’t leave me hanging.

I contemplated ending the charade and telling her who the hell I was, but I needed intel first.

Crazy Chick: Okay, now this is just weird, and you have to tell me. Vegas? Tahoe? Oh shit, don’t tell me you’re in Los Angeles. Or worse, Seattle. Omg, you are, aren’t you?

Me: Psycho Standard Time.

Crazy Chick: Wait. Did you just make an actual funny joke??

Me: Affirmative.

Crazy Chick: You can’t make a joke with like a five-minute delay. That kills the timing. No one does that. Unless you’re old. Or have memory issues. You and your West Coast self should stop eating sushi. All that mercury in tuna destroys your memory.

What the fuck?

Me: Aluminum is linked to increased dementia risk, not mercury. And the data is weak.

Crazy Chick: You say aluminum, I say mercury. Let’s call the whole thing off.

Me: You have issues.

A stewardess came over the loudspeaker to announce fucking meal service.

Crazy Chick: No kidding! Why else would I still be awake at 5am when I went to bed at the perfectly respectful hour of witching o’clock? And don’t think I didn’t notice you ignored the whole age comment.

I frowned.

Me: You’ve been lying awake for five hours?

Crazy Chick: Nail, meet head .

My cock pulsed, and I typed a warning.

Me: Keep that up.

Crazy Chick: What, insomnia? NO problem.

Me: Dirty talk.

Crazy Chick: Ha, I dirty talked and didn’t even realize it. Do I get a prize?

Yeah, my cock the next time I saw her.

Me: What do you want?

Crazy Chick: A house, a yacht, a closet full of clothes that fit, and a big slobbery dog that loves me for-EVAH.

Crazy Chick: …

Crazy Chick: But a bag of Lay’s would be fine too.

Me: That’s how this all started.

Crazy Chick: Are you calling me an addict?

Me: Are you?

A lot of shit could happen in two years.

Crazy Chick: I mean, I don’t think I need the Frito Lay clinic or anything. Let’s not go overboard here.

Jesus.

Me: Go to sleep.

Crazy Chick: Oh, gee, thanks. That sooo helped. I’m sleeping already .

Me: Melatonin should be kicking in.

Crazy Chick: Melatonin mocks me.

Me: Then why’d you take it?

Crazy Chick: I was desperate, okay?

Me: Negative .

Not okay.

Me: Besides being awake, why were you desperate?

Crazy Chick: HA! Another joke. You’re on a roll .

Me: Wasn’t a joke .

Crazy Chick: *sigh* Fine. I just wanted a few hours of sleep because I need to be up and alert by dawn for something, and don’t ask me why because I’m not going to say.

Alert by dawn? What the actual fuck?

Me: What something?

Crazy Chick: I said don’t ask.

Didn’t care.

Me: Don’t care. What something?

Crazy Chick: We always talk about me. Even I’m tired of myself. Let’s talk about you.

Me: No.

The three dots appeared, then disappeared.

A minute went by.

Then another.

Five more and she still hadn’t fucking replied.

Refraining from elbowing the snoring asshole next to me in the face, I double-checked my arrangements for when I landed.

Then I powered down the damn burner and silently cursed Church.