The KOAN driver knows how to tail discreetly—but with his gut grazing the steering wheel, sprinting’s off the table.He’s a resource Hudson hired for driving, not for tailing someone on foot.
“Jake’s two avenues over,” Noah says.
“I’m changing into an Oxford.I can cover,” a male voice, presumably Jake, comes across the line.
A ripple of unease licks the back of my neck.Instinct—the kind that’s kept me breathing—tightens through my gut.I don’t like this.If he goes into a building, we’ll likely never see who he meets with.Hell, this could just be a meeting with his financial advisor.
“Did you get anything worthwhile on audio?”My question is directed at Quinn, who I know is on the line, probably watching what looks like a series of blue dots cascading down a grid of streets.
The Financial District thrums—a pulse of heels on concrete, a chorus of horns, exhaust that tastes like metal.The city beats against my skin, alive and indifferent.A thousand stories crossing paths, none noticing mine.In theory, it’s easy to blend in, but…
“Depending on who his contact is, the safest place to meet would be in an office building,” Noah says.
“Witnesses,” a male voice that I’m pretty certain is Hudson, says.
I flip open a compact mirror, taking in my applied wrinkles, brown contact lenses, and wig.Then I check the contents of the bag in the seat beside me.“If I pull my hair back into a bun, throw on a sweater coat and ditch the cane, I think I can blend into the office scene.Depending on what building he goes into, I can look like a client.”
If I’d brought an executive suit…but the catch is, I can’t look too respectable or notable.
Out the window, I read the green street sign and watch the yellow taxi through the windshield.
“He’s turning towards South Street Seaport.Do you think he’s… The ferry?”
He lives on Long Island.No one commutes to Long Island via the ferry.A familiar rush of adrenaline lights my fingers.This might pan out.
“Does anyone have a ferry schedule?”I ask.
Sure enough, the cab pulls to the curb.Eddie Thorne emerges in that careless way men do when they believe no one’s watching—tie loosened, wind curling his hair.The air smells of brine and diesel, the harbor’s exhale.He scans the area, looking up and down the street.
“He’s out,” I say.“I’ve got eyes on him.”
Shit.If he buys a ticket, there’s no way I’ll catch up to hear what he bought.
“Quinn.Schedule?I don’t know the ferry schedule.What’s he most likely buying?”
But as my car pulls up and I hop out, debating if I should ditch the cane, he bypasses the red and blue sign.
“Never mind,” I say as Quinn says, “Brooklyn.”
“He’s going for a stroll,” I tell the team.
“Alright.Jake, you head north, exit well above so you can stroll south.Brie, go ahead and exit.Stroll slowly.Goal is to observe.Let’s see who he’s meeting with.Noah, you come in hot and heavy like a man who missed his ferry.One headed to Jersey left three minutes ago.Run up, make a scene, then you can carry on like you’ve got an hour to waste.”
“Copy,” we all three say in unison to Hudson’s orders.
The chances of getting audio are slim, but we’ll get a face, and then we’ll have a name.We’ll study the CCTV footage later—derive how his contact arrived, where they came from.
Sure enough, Eddie joins an elegant older woman, steel gray hair, wearing a deep purple silk blouse and loose trousers of a similar eggplant shade.Black framed sunglasses conceal her eyes, but I sense as she hugs him, she’s scoping beyond his shoulder.
My cane clicks on the brick, each tap syncing to the thud of my pulse, and the tote I’m carrying slaps into my thigh.My shoulders curve in, stretching my back muscles, reducing my height in a practiced manner.
Where they’re meeting, CCTV should cover.But if I can get a photo, that’s better.
Too old for a lover, too poised for a relative—this woman was trained.Given her age and gender, she’s the perfect runner for a client.
“Stopping on a bench.I’m going to pass by, head to the railing and look over the river,” I say to the team, keeping my head low so an onlooker might assume I’m talking on the phone.
“Jake here.I’ve got eyes on you.Facing the river.I’ll stay back on the street.”
