Chapter 9 #2
“None on Renner or the two muscle. Tasha has tattoos.” I describe what I can remember.
“How do they move, how do they speak?” Dawkins presses. “Start with Renner.”
I have to admit, he knows what to ask. The time slips away, the beach getting busier.
We’re at it for what seems ages, long enough for families to turn up with coolers, staking early claims to the best spots.
I just want to get back to Genesis. She’ll be awake by now. I should’ve left that fucking note.
Dawkins doesn’t seem happy with what he gets, but I’ve been as thorough as I can. The truth is, Renner’s group is careful, and they blend in. They’re not thugs for hire, they’re experienced operatives. I don’t point that out, but I know Dawkins has caught on.
“Very well,” he says at last. “We’ll need more next time.”
Next time?
“I’m not doing this again,” I say. “What part of undercover do you guys not get?”
“You’ll do it if I tell you to.” Mercer’s tone makes it clear it’s not negotiable. “And I want weekly check-in calls.”
“If I’m not busy.”
“This time every Saturday, then.”
Yeah. That’s when I’m busy.
“Whatever. We done?”
“No, Hale, we’re not done.” Mercer straightens her back, staring me down.
Which is a laugh; she’s nine inches shorter than I am.
Wearing heels on the beach. “The people who lost money in that vault have friends in places that make my life difficult. I’ve got four weeks before someone above me makes a decision I can’t stop. ”
Shit. “I need longer than that.”
“Four weeks. That’s what I’m giving you, because that’s what I’ve got. After that, this stops being your operation.” She pauses. “Renner’s location and the name of whoever is pulling his strings, minimum.”
And yet no one’s pulling his strings, not as far as I know. That was my little lie, and now I have to somehow make it true.
But Mercer hasn’t finished. “Three years you’ve been undercover now. Three operations. I argued against you taking this one.”
“Comforting,” I say dryly. “Thanks.”
“You’ve been under long enough that I can’t always tell what’s operational instinct anymore.” Her eyes narrow. “Is this getting personal with you?”
That’s a trap. I step into it deliberately. “Everything’s personal. This is my fucking job.”
She regards me for a long breath, then nods grudgingly. “That bank robbery, Hale. Why didn’t you flag it?”
“I didn’t have time—”
“Bullshit. You didn’t flag it because you didn’t want to,” Mercer says flatly, and doesn’t wait for my reply.
“Think about it. If you need me to pull you out, don’t wait until you’re dead.
” She tugs the leash of her Labrador, like she wishes it was around my throat. “Be one of theirs, or one of ours.”
“Don’t insult me, Mercer. I know my job.” I turn and walk away, done with this charade.
“Good luck,” Dawkins adds to my back, but at least he isn’t trying to shake my hand again.
I check the time as I reach my bike. 8:23. Shit. That took two hours and change, and I still have to get back across the city.
My boots are covered in sand, and I take a minute to stamp it off. Every second I waste grates, and it’ll take me longer to get back than it did to get here.
But it’s Saturday, and she was sleeping when I left. Maybe I’m worrying unnecessarily and she’s still curled up in bed, naked. If I had a key, I’d be able to slip back in without disturbing her.
A key?
Okay, too soon. Then she can climb out of bed, and come and let me in. Same difference. Still naked. And I’ll be forgiven with a grocery bag of bacon, waffles, and some OJ.
Shit, now I have to find a store too.
I accelerate out of the lot, my rear wheel spinning as it fights for grip with sand coating the asphalt, my Fireblade squirming beneath me. But I don’t care; I’m in a rush.
That meeting was a waste of fucking time.
It’s almost quarter before ten when I get back to Genesis’s apartment block, a bag from the local 7-11 stuffed inside my jacket with my alibi and our breakfast.
Shit. Her bike isn’t parked out front. It was there when I left; it’s gone now. And she’ll have seen mine was missing, too.
There’s no point going up to her apartment. There’s only one more place I know to try. She has to be there.
Twenty minutes later, I pull up outside Renner’s Art District unit, and hit the buzzer. The door clicks open.
Tasha’s upstairs, Dario’s lounging on one of the couches. No Kurt, no Genesis.
“Where’s Gen—Raven?”
“Happy Fourth to you too,” Dario drawls.
“Not here.” Tasha doesn’t look up, focused on her laptop.
No, not merely focused; she’s avoiding me. Her bearing is tense, shoulders subtly hunched. Has Genesis been here already? Shit, what would she have said?
“Where did she go?” I ask.
No reply.
“Tasha?” I prod.
She looks up, mouth tight, eyes angry. “I’m not her keeper, and neither are you.”
Right…
“Sure,” I say, trying to keep it light, and pull out my phone expectantly. “What’s her number?”
“If she didn’t give it to you, what makes you think I will?”
No help there. I glance at Dario, but he only spreads his hands.
“Don’t look at me, dude. She was pissed when she came in, so I’m not gonna help you.”
Pissed when she came in? Fuck. God damn Mercer and her fucking meeting.
Tasha gives him a withering look.
“What?” Dario says innocently. “He already knows she was here.”
I hesitate, then lift the small bag of groceries I’m holding, playing my last card, figuring they must already have deduced we spent the night together. “I went for breakfast. She was gone when I got back.”
Tasha’s glare shifts from Dario to me, and her eyes narrow. “You’re a shit liar, Declan. No one takes that long to get breakfast. So now I’m wondering where the hell you did go?”
Dario tilts his head, watching me too.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“What’s it to you?” I ask. “A walk, okay? I went for a goddamn walk, then got breakfast. Do I have to account for everything? I just want to talk to the girl.”
“Yeah? Well, she doesn’t want to talk to you.” Tasha returns her attention to her laptop. “You fucking men,” she mutters. “Why do you keep screwing her over?”
Dario meets my eye and shakes his head mournfully.
This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.
I need Genesis to establish my place in this crew. If she turns against me, they will too.
“Fine,” I say, resigned. “Who wants some waffles, then?”
I have to do better than this. Keep her close. Beside me.
Beneath me. The thought comes fast.
Yeah… close, just not too close.
For now, all I can do is hang out here, and hope she comes back soon.