Chapter 5
five
. . .
Mia
I pull the door closed behind me, but this time there’s no relief. Putting Armin out of sight doesn’t quell my guilt.
I didn’t expect to get so emotional over him.
Anyway, it’s for his own good. I slip my shoes on and map the long walk to the subway from this inconvenient yuppie hideaway. I’ve got to stop wasting time.
The night air is stifling, thick. It has a hint of the ocean to it that echoes my childhood, or at least what there was of it before Nicole went missing.
But there’s a putrefaction underneath, a stench that reminds me of Harvey.
Doesn’t matter how many colorful lights they put on all these buildings and bridges, you can’t cheer away the rot of organized crime that pervades this place.
I’m struck with a sudden longing to turn back, to make sure Armin’s okay, that he doesn’t have an adverse reaction to the fuck-ton of Rohypnol I loaded into his drink.
My phone vibrates.
Part of me hopes it’s him, telling me off, though I know it’s not possible.
Where r u
Harvey. I wonder how much he knows, if I was spotted down at the Aerie. It’s not out of the question to do business there.
The light gunplay might have gotten back to him. And if anybody can ID the East Greenwich sheriff-turned-billionaire who won’t stop haunting my life, it’s Harvey.
I can’t just walk away from Armin: I have to run. As far from him as I can get. Not only for him. It’s for the good of the case. That’s what matters.
With a client
I hold my breath and wrack my brain for who I can use as an excuse this time, if he asks.
For a crime boss, Harvey’s a terrible micromanager. Smothering. Reminds me of my year three team lead at the FBI.
I don’t know why I expected men running organized crime to be different from men running the government.
My shoes clack loud on the smooth pavement of the parking lot. It’s not cold out here, and still, I wish I had a little jacket on me, a wrap or something to cover my shoulders. They feel exposed. But covering up isn’t a part of my usual costume.
I have to keep going. Faux luxury silo after silo. Feels endless.
I consider reaching out to the southside operative for a pickup, but that’s a no-go.
There’s no point in risking it, blowing my cover through unnecessary contact.The Valentis ran Halo City’s only ride-share business out of town last month because they couldn’t figure out how to get a cut of the proceeds.
If I call a taxi I can’t expect anonymity.
Just keep going.
A beat-up little Honda passes me off to the right, on the frontage road.
I hitch my bag higher on my shoulder and pray they’re not out trawling for hookers, or on the hunt for a random act of violence to commit. I’ve had some awful run-ins, but for the most part I’ve kept my sex worker cover sufferable by liaising with other FBI operatives.
And yet, a few of them expected otherwise. You only have to be a woman on this earth for a few minutes to learn there’s no such thing as a gentleman.
The Honda puts on its blinker, turns left. The taillight's busted out, and the paint’s peeling. It doesn’t match the condo complex.
They don’t live here.
I turn around and walk in the opposite direction as fast as I can.
Not fast enough. The Honda lights me up from behind, and then the headlights turn off completely, leaving my corner of the parking lot dark. I search for anybody at all in the immediate area, but it’s deserted.
The Honda’s engine revs, the car screeches to a halt behind me. I run for the closest door. It’s a slog in these goddamned sandals. I yell, “Help!” as loud as I can.
No lights flicker on in the darkened windows. In this city, they’re good at ignoring screams.
I scream, “Call 911!” I fumble to code into my phone, footsteps behind me.
My whole body freezes.
My phone hits the ground and shatters at my feet, and I drop to the ground next to it, splayed over the curb, face-first onto some yuppie’s square of mini lawn.
Searing heat rips through my back, coursing across my bare shoulders.
My mouth opens and an involuntary scream tears from me, guttural and unrecognizable.
I grunt into this luxury patch of grass in the middle of nowhere.
My arms and legs freeze, useless, seized with a pain I remember from training, a pain that can only mean one thing.
I’m being fucking tased.