She snorts under her breath.
I reach into the back seat, grab my balaclava, and hand it over.
She studies it for a second, like she’s about to say something smart, then just pulls it on. The knit hugs her cheeks and nose, resting under her eyes.
Only those pretty green eyes are visible now.
It shouldn’t be attractive.
It absolutely is.
“You sure you’re good?” I ask.
“Please.” She waves a hand. “Sneaking around is my specialty.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“Yes.”
She cracks the door open a touch. Cold air sweeps in, carrying city noise and camera shutters.
“Once I’m inside, then what?” she asks.
“Head for the lifts, then text me when you’re clear. I’ll walk through after.”
She nods, fingers tightening briefly on the handle.
Then she pauses then looks back at me.
Her voice drops. “You owe me for this, you know.”
I raise a brow. “Oh, I plan to pay up.”
Her eyes narrow like she doesn’t trust me not to mean that exactly the way it sounds, but there’s a smile there, hidden under the knit.
Then she slips out of the car and disappears into the space between streetlight and shadow, moving fast and neat toward the recessed entrance with her head down and shoulders tucked, like she’s done this her whole life.
The flashes keep going. None of them follow her. The reporters don’t even glance her way.
To them, she’s just another guest.
I watch carefully as she slips through the doors easily.
A minute later, my phone buzzes:
Jelly-bean:
Jelly-bean: Was that supposed to be hard?
I bite back a laugh.
I pull around to the main entrance, where the pigeons-turned-vultures wait.
They spot me immediately.
“Jabari! Over here—look this way!”
“Thoughts on the game?”
