I park and step inside, scanning the room. A few locals nursing drinks, a couple of off-duty truckers, a bartender wiping down the counter. No sign of my guy yet.
Fine. I’ll wait.
I take a seat at the bar, order a whiskey neat, and let my mind settle. I check my watch. The contact is late.
Jameson Quinn isn’t the type to miss a beat. He’s one of the most meticulous men I’ve ever worked with, a former intelligence officer turned private security consultant. We’ve worked a few jobs together in the past—high-risk extractions, asset recovery. He’s one of the few in this industry I trust. Sowhen he sent word that he had intel that could be useful in Mia’s case, I listened.
I swirl the whiskey in my glass, replaying the message he sent. He was vague, but that was Quinn’s style.
“Meet me. I’ve got something you’ll want to see. But not over the phone.”
That was all he said. But I knew him well enough to know it was important.
Half an hour passes. The bar empties out a little, and a gnawing unease settles in my gut. I pull out my phone, scrolling to Quinn’s number and hitting call. It rings, and rings. No answer.
That’s not right.
I try again. Nothing. My fingers drum against the table as I switch tactics and dial another number, this one belonging to a guy who used to work with Quinn. Another security specialist we’ve crossed paths with before.
He picks up on the second ring. “Marlow. Long time.”
“No time for small talk,” I say. “I’ve been sitting here waiting for Quinn, and he’s not showing. Have you talked to him today?”
A pause. Then, “Yeah. He’s here.”
I sit up straight. “Here where?”
“With me,” the guy says. “We’re working a job in D.C.”
My blood turns to ice. “That’s not possible. He told me to meet him tonight.”
Silence. Then, a muttered curse. “Damon, Quinn hasn’t been able to access his personal or work servers since this morning. He assumed it was a tech issue, but if someone’s using his name to lure you?—”
I’m already out of my seat, throwing cash onto the table as I bolt for the door. “Gotta go,” I say. “I’ve been set up.”
I hang up and sprint for my truck, heart hammering as I fire up the engine.
If they knew I’d come here, it means they’re watching.
And if they’re watching me… they’re probably watching them.
I slam my foot on the gas, racing back toward the safehouse.
CHAPTER 21
MIA
I roundthe corner into the kitchen, rubbing a tired hand over my face, and nearly collide with Asher. His hands barely brush my arms before he steps back, leaving space between us.
“We really have to stop meeting like this,” I try to joke.
His lips twitch, but there’s something guarded in his expression. “Guess it’s our thing.”
The kitchen is dim, the soft glow from the under-cabinet lights making it feel smaller than usual. Outside, the lake is still, reflecting the moonlight in an unbroken sheet of silver.
I move to the counter, grabbing a mug and filling it from the still-warm coffee pot. My fingers curl around the ceramic, needing the comfort of something solid. “What are you doing up?”
“Could ask you the same thing,” Asher says, crossing his arms as he leans against the fridge.
