“Where’re you going, honey?” he asked under his breath.
He’d know soon enough. Even if he lost her, the GPS tracker on her car made sure of that. Probably the FBI had planted their own tracker too.
Thirty minutes later, he entered Good Old Days Bar & Grill on Harbor Drive. Tonight was the first time Valerie had gone out in the evening. It had to mean something. Maybe she was tired of being home alone, but he’d never seen her watch football in her apartment back in Virginia. He doubted she was here for the game.
The place was loud, with a half-dozen flat-screen televisions tuned to the Cowboys?–Giants game. Thanksgiving was still a couple of days away, but shimmery green garland draped every booth and circled every pillar in a desperate attempt at cheer. Glittery bells hung in the corners, and an anemic fake tree dressed in tiny beer bottles, football helmets, and hockey sticks sat in the corner by the door.
Every stool flanking the wide wooden bar was occupied. Valerie had staked out one at the far end, and she sipped a dark beer, her eyes on the entrance.
She barely registered his appearance, clearly looking for someone else. Not that he expected her to recognize him. The Vans snapback hat was just an extra precaution. He ordered a beer—some piss-pale American crap so he wouldn’t be tempted to drink much of it—and feigned interest in football.
Across the bar from where he stood, Valerie shook her head at the man next to her and he straightened, a slight frown on his too-pretty face. She glanced around and returned her gaze to the door.
Slowly, casually, Scott turned to lean his hip against the bar, giving him a view of the open area of tables as well as the entrance. So far, he’d seen none of the feds on her detail, but with luck, by the end of the night, they would have both Jay and Valerie in cuffs.
As much as he’d enjoyed the change of pace of this assignment, it was time to go home and get pretty Valerie, the fucking Benedict Arnold, off his brain.
Valerie sipped her beer and fingered the collar of her shirt. She still wasn’t used to wearing form-fitting clothes.
The sports bar was loud, with twelve flat-screen televisions around the room all tuned to the game, and the din of conversations and shouts overlaying the announcers’ voices. Green tissue paper pine trees hung from the ceiling, and a life-sized elf holding a bowl of mints stood sentinel just inside the door, a dismal reminder of the coming holiday.
The clientele was fairly clean cut. Apparently, this place appealed to the frat-boys-turned-suburban-dads and young professionals alike, along with a few surfer types.
Good Old Days was the only sports bar in Zachari with the Dallas game on its main screens tonight, and she was hoping Jay would show. He loved the Texas team as much as she hated the state they hailed from. Jay had given her a hard time about it, even going so far as to buy her a Cowboys T-shirt as a joke for her birthday.
After their success with Westgate, he’d disappeared. All she had was the voicemail he’d left while she was answering the door to the feds, warning her to get out of town. Since then, he’d been silent. How had he known she was in danger?
Now that the Cowboys were playing, she had a chance to find out. Jay’s offhand comment about Zachari at the company Christmas party two years ago had brought her to California. She had no idea if he was living here, but—like everyone—he was a creature of habit. That made the football game her best chance to track him down.
As long as Duncan, or law enforcement, hadn’t picked up her trail, she and Jay might get out of this alive.
She scanned the knots of people seated at tables and booths up front, but didn’t spot him. Behind the bar, a stocky young blonde with chin-length hair filled beer mugs pretty much nonstop.
“Need a refill?” the blonde asked, wiping her hands on a red apron. Earrings perforated both ears from tip to lobe, and she had snakebite piercings beneath her lower lip that, at first glance, looked like zits.
Valerie ordered another stout. If necessary, she would sit here all night. Might as well have a little more liquid courage.
The woman returned with a frothy glass a minute later and took her money. “Anything else I can get you?”
“Actually,” Valerie leaned in and tried to look concerned, “I got here late and I’m hoping I didn’t miss my friend. I thought you might remember if you’d served him. Tall, good-looking Indian man? His name’s Jay.”
The woman studied her for a minute as if trying to decide if she was legit, but then shook her head. “Doesn’t ring a bell, but unless they hang out at the bar for a while or tip really well, the faces are all a blur.”
Figured. “I understand. Thanks anyway.”
Valerie took a sip of the bitter drink and glanced at the TV screen over the bar without really seeing it, trying to pretend she wasn’t really watching the door.
Since arriving in California, she’d spent all of her free time either looking for Jay or trying to find a way into Aggressor’s computers. She’d been researching the employees and their families, looking for their backgrounds, hobbies, and interests by friending them on social media.
Once she set her traps, she’d go phishing. But if she found Jay, maybe she wouldn’t need to.
And almost like magic, two minutes later, he walked in the door and stopped in the entry next to the tacky Christmas tree. She launched herself off the stool and threaded her way through the thick crowd. At first, he didn’t notice. Then his gaze settled on her face, and his dark features registered shock. Face flushed, he strode up to her, grabbed her by the upper arm, and dragged her to the corridor leading to the bathrooms.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, glancing around him. “Were you followed?”
Her heart galloped. She’d never seen him like this. “Jay…” She shook her arm free from his painful grip. “No. I don’t think so.” If anyone already knew where she was, wouldn’t they have grabbed her by now?
“How did you find me?” he asked, his voice thick with displeasure. “What are you doing here?”
