I won’t be able to pray if I know someone is listening.It’s bad enough I couldn’t bring my tattered King James with me.
Jagger might be okay with playing the bad guy 24/7, but I amnotgoing to make it without devotion time.
He lets out a low, dismissive chuckle.“Sorry to burst your bubble.Deep cover means just that.No privacy.Even in private.”
While I’m still trying to process what that will mean, he changes the topic.
"You want dinner?"he says, looking me over."I’ll be back at seven.Wear a nice dress and heels.This is important."
I bite down a retort.Dresses mean no place to hide Mercy, and heels mean I can’t run."Where are we eating?"
"Somewhere romantic."His jaw tightens on the last word."But don’t wear lipstick.If I have to kiss you, I don’t want it getting on me.”
He's already out the door before I can respond that I didn’t agree to kissing him either.
Jagger
She wore lipstick.
It’s a subtle shade of dusky rose.
But it’s there.
I'd be more ticked off she ignored me if she didn't look like she was worth every risk I'm taking.
She’s wearing a green dress—sleek, minimal, fitted enough to make half the room forget their own names, me included.Dark waves loose around her bare shoulders, as if practicality had lost the argument.
She opens her hands.“Well?”
“Well, what?Flattery doesn’t work on you.”
The tiniest smirk appears as she pulls the door closed and assesses me.Under her scrutiny, I feel like I'm the one being auditioned.
Her eyes track from my boots—polished, for once—up dark jeans that actually fit, to the black button-down with sleeves rolled to my forearms.My ink is on show, but that’s the point.
She tilts her head."You’ll do."
"High praise."
We head down the narrow staircase, our steps echoing in the cramped space.Outside, the Quarter pulses—music, voices, the slick gleam of wet pavement reflecting neon.
The Audi waits at the curb.I open her door, then slide behind the wheel and start the engine.
The interior goes quiet, insulated from the street noise.
"We can talk freer in here," I say."Swept it before I left.RF detector came up clean.But it won’t stay that way for long."
She reaches up and adjusts the passenger mirror, tilting it back.For half a second, I think she's checking her makeup, but then I catch what she's doing—tracking something behind us.
“That catering van hasn’t moved all night.Part of the vetting process?"
Not bad.Most civilians would miss that.Whoever this Silas Hightower is, he trains his people well.
I start the engine and ease into the Quarter traffic.In the rearview, the van pulls out two cars behind us.
"Every move we make tonight goes straight to Marquez."
“What if we need privacy?”she says.
