“That’s Mrs. Higgins.” Barnaby’s voice went thick with longing as he pressed his face against the window. “She gets the oatmeal-raisin cookies. Hazel says they help with her digestion. The fiber is really good.”
“That’s just a sugar high.” My tone came out harsher than necessary, but I needed him to understand reality. “A quick rush that’ll crash in an hour. It’s a lie.”
A beautiful lie, if it was anything like the person who’d woven it. The woman with fire in her hair and curves that made me forget basic gym safety protocols.
No. Stop thinking about the pretty chocolatier. Focus on the mission. Focus on Barnaby. Focus on anything except how she’d smelled.
Okay, so maybe this stakeout was training for me, too. Barnaby wasn’t the only one with a problem. But I couldn’t let Hazel mess with my head before the real battle had even begun. The job I’d been hired for was too important.
Mrs. Higgins rushed off down the sidewalk with surprising speed for someone her age. For a few moments, the street was quiet. The morning sun climbed higher, making the inside of the Fiat uncomfortably warm.
And then, the door of the shop opened again.
It was her.
Hazel stepped out of her little store, holding a broom in her hand. Her hair was pulled back in what humans called a ‘messy bun,’ but loose curls had escaped around her neck and face. She wore an apron covered in what appeared to be chocolate smears. Or perhaps, the remains of well-balanced diets everywhere.
She was magnificent, in an infuriating sort of way.
Her gaze swept the street, checking the nearby cars, the sidewalk, the storefronts. And then it locked directly onto our vehicle. Onto me. And she started walking.
“She’s coming over!” Barnaby scrambled for cover, grabbing a newspaper from the back seat and holding it up in front of his face. The headline on his flimsy shieldread ‘Local Gym Offers Senior Discount.’ It felt like an omen.
My heart hammered against my ribs with the same rush I got before a fight. I stubbornly forced myself to calm down, to stop acting like a foolish kid with a crush. Getting caught had always been a risk of watching her store. I refused to be intimidated by a human chocolatier armed with a broom.
Barnaby had no discipline, no training in staying hidden. But not me. “We do not run.” I planted my hands on the steering wheel, ready to face whatever came next. “We face the battle head-on. That is the way of the warrior.”
“You’re insane,” Barnaby whimpered behind his newspaper fortress. “She has a broom, Brok. A weapon.”
“It’s a cleaning tool.”
“It’s a stick! Humans are excellent with sticks! They invented baseball!”
I ignored his desperate logic, keeping my gaze fixed on Hazel instead. She was so small, so tiny compared to me. I could probably lift her with one hand, hold her against the wall while I—
No. Bad thoughts. Very bad thoughts.
But there had been surprising strength in her when she’d jabbed her finger into my chest yesterday. A core of determination that spoke of someone who knew how to hold their ground despite being smaller.
That same strange energy from her shop coiled low in my gut. It was a distraction. A dangerous one. The kind that got warriors killed because they were thinking about soft skin instead of watching for attacks.
She reached the car and struck the driver’s side window twice with the wooden handle of her broom. Thwack. Thwack. Sharp and accusing.
Barnaby let out a whimper. I took a deep, bracing breath and opened the car door.
Getting out of the Fiat was… not exactly graceful. It was an awkward process that required bending my body at unnatural angles. My bones cracked as I unfolded myself from the driver’s seat. Less than ideal, and more painful than I’d have liked.
By the time I stood to my full height on the pavement, the top of Hazel’s head barely reached my chest. I had to look down at an almost vertical angle to meet her eyes. She didn’t seem to care.
“You’ve been parked here since 6:00 a.m.,” she said, glowering at me. “It is now 8:30. Two and a half hours. You’re scaring my regulars.”
That was… unfortunate. I’d spent decades in the human world and had been unnoticeable until now. I knew how to blend in, how to seem less threatening. But this mission required sacrifices, and I wouldn’t let anything stop me.
“I am legally parked.” I gestured to the parking meter, which still had forty-three minutes remaining. “No violations.” After all, an orc couldn’t get a parking ticket. It would be… undignified.
She crossed her arms under her breasts, immediately drawing my gaze to areas I should be ignoring. “Are you being deliberately obtuse? Your parking space is beside the point. Mrs. Higgins thinks you’re either a hitman or someone from the IRS. Both are very bad for business.”
Bad for business? That was supposed to be my line. Mrs. Higgins would probably benefit from fewer cookies anyway, but I was the one trying to prevent a complete disaster. I was worried about preventing Barnaby from relapsing and ruining the most important day of his career.
