Opal cradled her phone, staring at the words until they started to run together. She could turn it down. Go home and eat whatever Sinner made for dinner. Maybe play a hand of poker or cuddle up in bed and talk about her day with him like they were really a couple.
Or she could do what she came here to do.
She accepted the job and shot a text to Sinner.
New job. Might be late.
She plugged the address into her GPS and set off walking. The neighborhood shifted fast, the way it did in cities—one street was clean and bright, the next was peeling paint and empty storefronts.
The warehouse sat back from the road, half its windows dark, held together by corrugated metal and grime.
She approached slowly, searching for a sign or a door that showed it was a business even as her instincts locked in.
Her senses sharpened as she picked out a side door with the street number painted on the wall beside it. Her boots were quiet against the cracked pavement, and she tucked her purse tighter under her arm.
She knocked, listening to the hollow echo in-side.
Suddenly, she caught movement from the corner of her eye and spun to see a man emerging from the shadows as though he wanted to see her before showing himself.
“You must be Kelly.”
She nodded and pasted a firm smile on her face, one she could snap into place without thinking.
“You’re the client?”
“Yes.” He eyed her. Not with hunger like the drug dealer did…with calculation.
She held out her hand, and he shook it. She noted how soft his skin was. Nothing at all like Sinner’s. Whatever this man’s business, it didn’t involve physical labor.
“I’m glad you could help me on such short notice. I’m really in a bind with the tax deadline approaching.” He strolled to the door, and she took the moment to memorize his appearance.
He had one of those faces people easily forgot and brown hair, cut close but not military-close. He was clean-shaven with no scars, piercings or tattoos. He didn’t smell like smoke or grease or anything that would hint at the nature of his business. She only picked up the scent of cheap soap.
She continued to study him from the back. After he unlocked it, he swung the door inward and flipped a switch, casting greenish-yellow light over the space.
It revealed a small, cramped office. Several filing cabinets lined the walls and the metal desk was piled with stacks of papers.
He shrugged. “It might take you a while. These are all my receipts for my business. I need you to sort them into categories and enter them into my tax return.”
She blinked at the overwhelming sight. “It is a lot.”
He hooked his hand around his nape. “Yeah. I got a little behind when my mother got sick.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll do what I can.” She took a step toward the desk, careful not to turn her back to him.
He reached for the deadbolt, and Opal’s heart stalled.
She let her gaze sweep the room in a single, fast inventory.
Rows of shelves. Stacks of boxes.
No windows she could get through quickly.
If that lock clicked, she’d have one exit, and it would be through the door he controlled.
“Oh, you don’t have to lock that.” She kept her tone light. “We can talk with it open.”
Her instincts were blaring with alarm bells.
