My grip tightens around my mug, irritated by his professional demeanor. He doesn’t seem at all affected by what happened last night.
“He lives with his girlfriend,” Gabriel adds. “She left for work twenty minutes ago, according to the contact Sebastian had watching the house.”
“Contact.” The words come out flat.
Gabriel shrugs. “The Rockfords have resources. I put eyes on his house as soon as we confirmed his involvement.”
“While I slept.”
“While you slept,” he agrees without judgment.
I set my coffee down, the ceramic clinking on the counter. “So, what’s the plan?”
“Diaz is alone now, so this is our window.” Gabriel straightens away from the counter. “We go to his house and put pressure on him.”
My hand flexes. “I like the idea of pressuring him.”
“I’m sure you do.” Gabriel shakes his head with regret. “But we’re just going to bait a trap and see what happens.”
My irritation returns. I’m not used to this kind of slow movement to gather information. Why bait atrap when we can beat the information out of Diaz right now?
Gabriel moves back to the window, peering through the blinds. “Right on time.”
I join him, careful to maintain a distance between our bodies. On the street below, a sleek black car with tinted windows idles at the curb, chrome gleaming in the morning sun.
“Replacement for the stolen one?” I ask.
“Sebastian arranged it.” Gabriel checks the time. “Figured if we’re going to Oakridge, we should blend in. Your modes of transportation would stand out a little too much.”
The words don’t come out with any disparagement. He’s just stating a fact. In a place like Oakridge, the neighborhood watch would clock my motorcycle or beat-up sedan in an instant, while Gabriel’s new ride will blend right in.
“Let’s go then.” I push away from the window, eager to leave this apartment and the lingering remnants of last night’s mistake.
Diaz’s house sits on a corner lot with manicured hedges and a circular driveway where a new SUVgleams under the midday sun. Gabriel pulls up behind it, blocking the vehicle in the driveway.
Through the windshield, I study the stonework facade, copper gutters, and custom front door. It all screams money. Gabriel cuts the engine and climbs out, adjusting his cuffs. I follow a pace behind as he leads the way toward the house.
“How long has he worked for the Rockfords?” I ask as we approach the front door.
“Five years.” Gabriel scans the property. “He started at an entry-level position and moved up quickly. Sebastian flagged him as ambitious.”
Gabriel rings the doorbell, and chimes echo inside the house. My hand slips into my pocket, fingers brushing the small electronic device Gabriel had given me when we first got into the car. The small microphone disguised as a button was one of many gadgets to choose from, and it should go unnoticed once placed.
I’m used to being the muscle, not the one hiding bugs in people’s houses, and the role sits wrong.
Footsteps approach from inside, and the door swings open to reveal Hector Diaz. Medium height, a body he’s let go over the years, and a thin mustache. He freezes when he registers who stands on his porch.
“Mr. Rockford,” Diaz squeaks, momentarilydistracted by my presence before turning back to Gabriel. “This is unexpected.”
“Hector.” Gabriel sounds pleasant enough to fool someone who doesn’t know better. “May we come in? We have some matters to discuss.”
Diaz steps back, his throat working as he swallows. “Of course, of course. Please come inside.”
We enter a foyer with marble floors, sunlight streaming through tall windows and glinting off a crystal chandelier. Vacation photos of Diaz with a beautiful woman on the beach and on the ski slopes line the walls. More proof he’s living far above his means.
“Can I offer you anything? Coffee? Water?” Diaz leads us into a living room where leather furniture surrounds a glass coffee table.
Gabriel shakes his head. “This won’t take long.”
