Chapter Eight
Cora
Making myself leave the relative safety of my car to enter the café on Music Row felt like climbing the steps to the gallows.
Through the rain-streaked windshield I stared at the entrance.
Warm light spilled from its windows onto the wet pavement outside, promising comfort I knew I didn’t deserve and wouldn’t receive as long as this thing was hanging over me. I just didn’t know what to do.
I spotted Marcus through the glass, his broad shoulders, shaved head, and thick, dark beard unmistakable even in the dim interior.
He’d taken a corner table, his back to the wall.
Likely so he could have eyes on the door.
My stomach twisted as I killed the engine.
Somehow, facing him here felt worse than when I’d left the compound yesterday with that damn listening device already broadcasting everything to Reeves.
Assuming any noise from the fridge didn’t mask conversations.
I sat for a moment, trying to talk myself into continuing on.
Marcus had requested to meet here. He’d sent a text with the name of the restaurant, politely asking to meet.
Normally I’d have jumped at the chance, but my conscience rode me hard.
What I’d done kept me awake, staring at my ceiling all night while guilt gnawed at my insides. I knew what I’d done was wrong.
When I finally pushed open the door of my vehicle, the rain hit me in cold, heavy drops. I didn’t bother with an umbrella, letting the rain soak into my hair and dampen my shoulders. Maybe I wanted the discomfort as some small penance for what I’d done.
The bell above the café door jingled as I entered, announcing my arrival to a room of strangers who barely looked up from their laptops and conversations.
The place was kind of a local hangout as well as a popular place for tourists to listen to live music.
A musician in the corner strummed something slow and melancholy on an acoustic guitar, the notes mingling with the hiss of the espresso machine and murmured conversations.
The air smelled of coffee and cinnamon, of rain-damp clothing and the faint sweetness of pastries warming in the display case.
Marcus watched me approach, his dark eyes giving nothing away. He’d chosen a small table, creating an intimate setting in an otherwise very public place.
“Hey,” I said, the word coming out breathier than I intended. I slid into the chair opposite him, wiping rain from my face with shaking hands.
“Cora.” Just my name, but it carried a weight, an acknowledgment. If he noticed I couldn’t quite meet his gaze, he didn’t call me out.
A server appeared at our table, a girl with multiple piercings and rainbow-tipped hair. “Know what I can get you?” she asked, the tablet in her hands to take our order at the ready.
“Two coffees,” Marcus said before I could answer. “Hers with cream, no sugar.” My head jerked up at that. He’d noticed how I took my coffee. I couldn’t remember ever telling him that preference.
“Food?” the server asked.
“No, thank you,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. The thought of food made my stomach clench tighter.
Marcus’s gaze never left me as the server walked away.
Behind him, a couple argued in hushed tones over a shared muffin.
To our left, a man in a rumpled suit tapped furiously at his laptop keys.
Normal people doing normal things, while I sat across from a man I’d betrayed, wondering if he already knew and, if he did, what he intended to do to me because of it.
I’d love to say the only reason I’d come was because he’d named a public place, but the truth was, I’d have come anyway.
I deserved to be tortured for what I’d done so this had been a form of self torture, I guess.
“You look tired,” he said, breaking the silence between us.
I forced a smile that felt like cracked glass on my face. “Didn’t sleep much.”
“Bad dreams?” There was something in his tone that made me wonder if this was more than casual conversation.
“Something like that.” I twisted my hands in my lap, hidden beneath the table. “How are things at the compound?”
He tilted his head slightly, studying me. “Quiet.”
The server returned with our coffees, setting them down with a gentle clink of ceramic on wood. I wrapped my cold fingers around the warm mug, grateful for something to hold onto.
“Knight’s been busy,” Marcus continued once the server left. “Security upgrades. New cameras and such.” He took a deliberate sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim of his mug.
Outside, the rain intensified, beating against the windows in heavy sheets. I took a sip of coffee to hide my expression. Such a small detail, him knowing how I took my coffee. It shouldn’t have mattered, but the weight of guilt pressed harder against my chest at his kindness.
“Your sage still alive?” he asked, the question catching me off guard with its normalcy.
“Yes,” I said, an unexpected warmth blooming in my chest at the thought of the plant sitting in my kitchen window. “It’s actually doing well. I was worried I’d kill it.”
“Sage is resilient,” he said. “Hard to kill once it takes root.” His words seemed weighted with meaning beyond the plant, and I found myself searching his face for clues. Did he suspect something? Was this entire meeting a test?
A man at the counter dropped his spoon, the metallic clatter making me flinch. Marcus noticed, his gaze sharpening at my reaction. “You seem jumpy today,” he observed, his voice deceptively casual.
I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and missing by miles. “Just tired. Work’s been stressful.”
“Someone giving you trouble?”
“Something like that.” Not exactly a lie, but the deception tasted bitter on my tongue as it rolled out. I really was a horrible liar. Mainly because I hated when people lied to me and, therefore, I tried not to lie to others. Golden Rule and all.
A group of college students burst through the door, bringing with them the smell of rain and the ringing of laughter that seemed to belong to another world entirely, one carefree and minus all the intrigue and evil inhabiting mine.
They shook water from their jackets, oblivious to the tension crackling at our small table in the corner.
“I missed you yesterday,” Marcus said after another stretch of silence. “After you left.”
The simple admission caught me in the center of my chest, a direct hit to whatever defenses I’d managed to construct. I swallowed hard against the sudden tightness in my throat. I had to fight not to rub my chest where the ache tightened painfully.
“I missed you too,” I whispered, the truth of it surprising me.
Two tears slipped from my eyes and I ducked my head.
I had missed him. I’d been looking forward to seeing him again.
Of seeing everyone I’d met in the compound.
Because, despite everything Detective Reeves had told me, I still had trouble with the fact that every single person in Kiss of Death I’d met had treated me with kindness and respect.
The kiss I’d shared with Rancor had been the highlight of my life up to this point.
His expression softened just slightly, the barest hint of warmth in those dark eyes.
For a moment, we were just two people sharing coffee on a rainy afternoon, nothing more complicated than that.
But the moment passed like a shadow, reality reasserting itself between us.
He was still while I fidgeted. If he didn’t already know what I’d done, I couldn’t hold out telling him if I stayed with him very long.
“Something happened,” he said, not a question but a statement of fact. “Between when you texted me and when you arrived at the compound yesterday. Something that changed you.”
The coffee turned to acid in my stomach.
His perception was too sharp. And too accurate for my peace of mind.
I stared down at my hands, unable to meet his gaze.
“Marcus, I…” I began, but the words died in my throat.
What could I say? That I was spying on him?
That Detective Reeves had threatened to destroy the life I’d built for myself if I didn’t do what he’d told me?
That I’d already betrayed him once and didn’t know if I could stop from doing it again because my cushy life was more important than his freedom?
Yeah. Didn’t sound good to me either. He waited, patient as stone, for words I couldn’t find.
When he finally spoke, he measured his words carefully, like he tried to choose them so they’d have the desired effect.
Or maybe my guilty conscience liked playing tricks.
“Knight found something interesting yesterday,” Marcus said, his voice dropping lower, forcing me to lean forward to catch his words.
“After you left.” The café noise receded as my focus narrowed to the man across from me, his words landing like stones in still water.
“Surveillance equipment. Not ours.” He took another sip of coffee, his movements deliberate and unhurried despite the bomb he’d just dropped.
He didn’t take his gaze from me, studying me hard.
Which wasn’t unnerving in the least. “Police-grade, according to Knight. Very high-end. Very illegal without a warrant.”
My lungs seized, refusing to draw breath.
The rim of my coffee cup clicked against my teeth as my hand shook.
I set it down before I could spill, the ceramic making a hollow sound against the wooden table.
“Where?” The question escaped before I could stop it, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.