Her eyes widened, then hardened.“That’s my job.And it’s confidential.”
“Not confidential enough.”His accent stayed clipped.“Coastal’s a front.They move kids through fake adoptions.They’ve got people in your agency.They know you’re auditing.”
Her jaw tightened.“And you know this how?”
He exhaled, picking his truth.“I worked for them.Not with the kids.I got out.”
“Right.”Her voice dripped disbelief.“I’m supposed to trust some guy who tracks me to a bus stop?”
“You’re in danger.”Urgency sharpened his words.“They’ll send a tracker.Someone good.They won’t bother to stop for a chat.”
She scoffed, but her eyes flicked to the street.“What’s your angle here?”
“No angle.”He stepped closer, catching coffee on her breath.“Those files you pulled on Monday?Three siblings through Coastal?They’re not in Miami anymore.Gone.And bad people know you’re looking.”
Her defiance cracked, just a flicker.“How do you know my files?”
“Oren.Your coworker.He’s theirs.”
Her mouth opened, closed.Calculation in her eyes.Svetlana’s face hit him.Her same stubborn spark, refusing warnings until too late.
“You’re in deep, Keisha.”His voice roughened.“Deeper than you know.”
Her eyes flashed.“Those kids are my job.I don’t need some stranger telling me how to do it.”
“They’re gone.”Guilt twisted his chest.“But you can save others.Drop the audit publicly.Tell Oren you found nothing.Then call this.”He offered a folded paper.
She didn’t take it, arms tight across her chest.“Get away from me.I don’t know your game, but stay out of my cases.”
Her fire mirrored his own, years back.Stubborn.Blind.Doomed.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said, harsher than planned.
“Won’t be my first.”She stepped toward the curb, bus nearing.
He spotted movement across the street, Mikalai’s neck tattoo gleamed.An eight-pointed star.His eyes locked on Keisha, predator-cold.
“We gotta move.Right now.”Sergei edged between her and Mikalai’s sightline.
“I told you to leave.”She checked her phone.Bus minutes away.
“That guy across the street.Neck tattoo.”Sergei kept steady.“He’s here for you.”
Keisha glanced over, wariness flickering, not fear.“Another friend of yours?”
“Not a friend.”His hand hovered near her arm, stopping short.“He’s their tracker.”
Mikalai stood, hand in jacket, phone to ear.Reporting.Military stance.Sergei knew it from his enforcer days.
“He doesn’t follow to talk,” Sergei said, leaning closer.“He makes people vanish.”
Her sneakers scraped, pulling back.“I’ve got a bus to catch.”
Thunder rolled, rain imminent.Air thick with electricity.
“Keisha.”Desperation crept in.“The kids you’re protecting—”
“Are why I’m not listening to some guy who stalked me here.”Her words cut fast.“This could be a setup.You could be with them.”
