We ate in silence for a while.
When I looked up from my food, Rory’s grin was back. “So, your interest in this girl is just about getting intel on Delgado?”
“Exactly.”
Rory gave me a long look. “Bullshit. You’ve had chances to go at Delgado for weeks. Now, suddenly, you’re watching this girl from her alley like some Romeo.”
I held his gaze. “Like I said, I had time to kill.”
“You don’t kill time, Nik.” He let that statement hang in the air between us for a moment. “You followed her all day.”
I shook my head, throwing my napkin on my empty plate.
He nudged his plate aside. “You stalking this girl?”
“Fuck off.”
“That’s not a denial.”
I shot him a look that would have made most men rethink their next words—but not him.
He leaned forward, taking a breath to unload on me, but my phone buzzed. I snatched it off the table. It was Henri.
On fire escape. The girl’s up milling about. Will keep watch.
Good, Henri had placed himself on her detail. The man tended to handle things personally as much as possible; that was why I trusted him.
“Jesus Christ,” Rory muttered, chuckling low. “What’s your girl’s name?”
“She’s not my girl,” I muttered. Then I exhaled in resignation. “Lyla Laine Oakley. She’s using her dead sister’s name. Her real name is Lacey Grace Oakley. Age twenty. Parents and sister are dead. Been in Manhattan for six months. Works mornings here at Cipher. Nights at the club. No drugs. No vices that I can find. Just ambition and family trauma.”
Rory whistled low. “Using her dead sister’s ID to work in a gang-run strip club? That’s a hell of a survival plan.”
“She doesn’t know who owns it. She thinks she’s just dancing.”
“Still.” He leaned forward. “She’s one of Delgado’s toys. And you’re keeping tabs on her? That could draw a lot of attention.”
“No, it won’t. You’ll see to that. Work with Henri and ensure it’s kept covert. She can’t know.”
Rory nodded once. “Done.”
I glanced out the cafe window, my jaw tight. “She’s walking into a lion’s den tonight.”
“And you’re walking in after her,” Rory said.
I didn’t respond.
He smirked and said in a low voice, “Careful, Nik. You’re starting to sound invested.”
“It’s tactical.”
“And the fact you know her real name, her fake name, her apartment, her history?”
“Simple research.”
“Right.”
My phone buzzed again. Henri.
