"Who's your team?" I asked.
His gaze slid from side to side, just a little, making him look shifty. "Don't tell my parents, but the New York Rooks," he said. "They'd be ashamed I don't follow a Canadian team." He didn't look especially repentant.
"Your secret's safe with me," I assured him.
I was always more inclined to follow the local teams, so I understood their perspective and his. Besides, what I knew of the Rooks, they came close to taking the cup last season.
"They're no Kraken," Cass said. Spoken like a true West Coaster.
Archer gave him the side eye, like that was just as well.
"I didn't realize we had such a hot rivalry on our hands," I teased. "Am I going to have to take sides?"
"Only when they play against each other," Cass said with a grin.
"I won't watch those games then." I pulled apart the last of my muffin and popped a piece into my mouth. The last thing I was going to do was get involved in a difference of opinion over sporting teams. We had enough on our plates as it was.
Although, if the only thing we had to worry about was whose team was winning, that wouldn't be such a bad thing.
Which reminded me why we were here in the first place. I looked back out the window, watching the crowd hurry past this way and that.
A goth girl wandered by, talking into her phone. An older man walked in the opposite direction, supporting himself on a cane. A couple of kids laughed about something as they hurried past, hand in hand. The regular hustle and bustle of the city.
I caught sight of a tall man in a dark tailored suit, making his way toward the courthouse like he owned the place.
"Cass," I started.
"That's him." Cass was watching too. His lips twisted to the side. He jerked his head to flick his hair off his eyes, but it firmly stayed put.
My breath caught in my throat.
Forrest.
Full head of dark hair, with grey at the temples. A prominent nose under eyes that looked blue from a distance. Neatly trimmed beard. An air that somehow he owned the entire city. When he walked, people scurried to move out of his way. Several stared as he passed them.
He seemed relaxed the other night at my restaurant. Today he was aware of all the eyes on him, as if he was a movie star or a rock star. As if he deserved all the attention, and then some. He was basking in it, drinking it all up.
'He's a monster,' I wanted to shout at them all.
They wouldn't believe me. They'd seen him with their own eyes and decided he was some kind of god, a benevolent deityhonoring them with his mere presence. Arrogance oozed from every pore. It went through his veins like blood. He was entitled to be here, to be admired, to judge all of us.
Asshole.
He nodded at someone before heading up the courthouse steps. He stopped before he went in, turned around and scanned the street as if aware he was being watched.
I looked away before he glanced in my direction. By the time I looked back he was gone.
"This is a really public place," I remarked. We couldn't have walked up to him on the street and stabbed him without a lot of witnesses seeing us do it.
"That's where my plan comes into play," Archer said. "We have a couple of hours."
Cass was staring out the window, his brow heavily creased, visible even under his mop of hair. He absently adjusted his glasses.
"Are you okay?" I asked. "It's not too late to opt out."
"I'm not opting out," he said firmly. "We need to do this."
I nodded. "Okay, but if you change your mind…" There was always a choice. Anytime he wanted to back out, he could. We'd adjust the plan accordingly.
