But is it good enough?
Let it be enough.Please.
A knock on the door."Time," Jagger calls.
I gather the documents, slip them into a leather portfolio, and open the door.
He's leaning against the wall, arms crossed.His eyes slide to the portfolio, then to my face.
"Done?"
"Done."
"They good?"
I meet his gaze."If they aren't, this is the last forgery I'll ever make.”
His mouth quirks—not quite a smile.“I trust you,” he says.
Heat creeps up my neck at his sincerity.“Getting sentimental?”
His lip curls as he looks me over.“Never,” he murmurs.“Not even for you.”
Eight
Jagger
Checking behind me every minute, I keep my hands steady on the wheel.Eyes on the road.Mind running through contingencies.
We’re on I-55 North, an hour in, and the silence has turned deliberate.Adena sits in the passenger seat, portfolio on her lap, staring out at the Louisiana swampland rolling past.Behind us, sealed in a false compartment under legitimate medical supplies, are approximately fifty thousand pills—enough fentanyl-laced counterfeit prescriptions to kill a small town if distributed wrong.
“You okay?”I ask, breaking the silence.
She glances at me.“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About?”
Her jaw sets as she shifts toward me.“About not liking working for free.”
If the truck is wired, that’s all normal chit-chat.The woman’s not just skilled at forgery—she’s adept at coded speech, too.I almost smile despite the tension.“You signed up for it.”
“I did.”She looks back out the window.“Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”
The miles roll past.We cross into Mississippi.The landscape doesn’t change much—still flat, still green, still humid even with the AC running.The first drops of rain hit the windshield.I turn on the wipers.
“We’re driving into a storm,” Adena says, watching the darkening sky ahead.
I flick a glance in the rearview.Something’s off.
A black SUV sits behind us, the same one that’s been there since we passed through a small town about fifteen miles back.Same vehicle.Same distance—like it’s tethered to us.My grip tightens on the wheel.
The rain intensifies.Sheets of water wash across the glass faster than the wipers can clear them.The sky turns dark as dusk, even though it’s barely past noon.The SUV accelerates, closing the gap.It pulls into the left lane, coming up fast.
“Two vehicles,” Adena says, checking the mirror.“Both sides.They’re moving.”
