As he disappears up the stairwell, Agent Wilson turns to me. "You shouldn't let strangers in without consulting us first."
"He had a key," I defend weakly. "And the work order."
"Anyone can forge documents," Agent Cruz says, his cold eyes sweeping the store. "Anyone can make a copy of a key."
The familiar questions begin. Has anyone suspicious come in? Have I received any unusual phone calls? Do I feel safe?
Today, more than ever, the answer to the last question is a resounding no. Not with agents arriving off-schedule. Not with strangers appearing with keys to my apartment. Not with the trial date looming closer each day.
I lie anyway. "Yes, I feel safe."
The meeting is shorter than usual. They seem distracted, exchanging glances when they think I'm not looking. Something's changed, but they're not telling me what.
After they leave, Sam comes back downstairs, tool belt jingling softly with each step. He pauses at the counter where I'm pretending to organize receipts.
"Everything okay?" he asks, and there's something in his tone that suggests he's asking about more than just the meeting.
"Fine," I say automatically, the word I've been trained to use no matter what's happening.
"I'll be back tomorrow morning to start work. Is eight too early?"
"Eight is fine." The store doesn't open until nine, but I'm always here by seven, unable to sleep in the strange bed that still doesn't feel like mine.
"Great," he says, heading for the back door. "Oh, and Ms. Carter?"
I look up from the receipts. "Yes?"
"You might want to pick a different hiding place for your pepper spray. Under the counter is the first place someone would look."
My mouth drops open, but before I can respond, he's gone, the door closing softly behind him. I stand frozen behind the counter, staring at the space where he stood. He noticed the pepper spray. He knew exactly what I was reaching for when he first came in.
Who is this man, really? And what does his sudden appearance mean for my already precarious situation?
The bell above the door jingles again, making me jump. Just a customer. An actual customer interested in books.
I paste on my professional smile and try to focus on helping them find what they're looking for. But my mind keeps drifting to green eyes and the strange feeling that my life just got even more complicated.
Chapter 3 - Knight
I climb into the truck, pull out of the alley behind the bookstore, and circle around to park down the street where I have a clear view of the front entrance. The federal agents exit seventeen minutes after I do. The tall one—Wilson—scanning the street as they walk to their black SUV. Standard protocol. But something's off about how they move, how they keep checking their phones.
These aren't men focused solely on protecting their witness. They're distracted, antsy. Waiting for something.
I take out my burner phone and dial Reaper.
"Talk," he answers on the first ring.
"Made contact. Two agents showed up early, which spooked her. They weren't happy about my presence."
"Names?"
"Wilson and Cruz. Wilson seems to be the lead. Cruz doesn't talk much, keeps his hand close to his weapon."
"Cruz." Reaper's voice hardens. "That name's on our list of possibles. The corrupt ones."
I watch as their SUV pulls away. "They're leaving now. Heading east on Main."
"Follow them. See where they go."
