Yeah. The fucker wishes.
Gambit
Thanks again, man. I owe you.
It’s followed by a meme of two soldiers clasping forearms, captioned Ride or die.
I picture his sister arriving alone. A low burn flickers in my chest. I glance out the window and clock the sign. JFK. Next exit.
I make a snap decision. “Head to the airport. Arrivals.”
“You got it.”
Why did I just say that?
Gabe was adamant that his sister’s transportation was airtight.
Am I… hovering?
The tires squeal, sharp and angry, as Travis yanks the wheel and just makes the on-ramp.
Fine. I might be helicoptering a little.
No. I’m being practical.
If anyone knows what’s been eating at Gabe lately, it’ll be his sister.
Of course, I don’t even know what she looks like.
I’m about to text Gabe for a photo, but that would be awkward. Besides, I don’t need it. She’s on a flight from LA. At this hour, how many could there be?
Since a Donovan badge grants me access to pretty much every restricted corner of the airport, I’ll just pop by the gate and look for someone who resembles Gabe and Tatum’s love child.
Travis pulls up at arrivals, and I don’t wait for him to open the door.
“I’ll be two minutes.”
“Copy that, sir.”
He gives a crisp nod, eyes sweeping the perimeter behind dark lenses. Satisfied, he slides the Donovan Security pass into the windshield like it carries weight.
Because it does.
I hop out and make my way through the crowd, ignoring the voice in my head asking, Why the fuck am I doing this?
It’s not like I don’t have somewhere to be.
Two minutes.
I just need two minutes to… I don’t know, introduce myself. Maybe help her to her car. Make sure she’s okay.
The knot in my gut is weird and tight. No good reason for it. Still, I need to know she’s okay.
I stab the elevator button harder than necessary.
“Any day now.”
When it finally arrives, a dozen people spill out, all camera bags and raised phones, bumping into me like I’m part of the furniture.
