Smart.
Too smart.
They would try to turn her before killing her.
Mikalai crossed the street, eyes on Keisha.Sergei’s hand twitched toward his knife.Not yet.
“Your files—” he started.
“How do you know about my files?”Her eyes narrowed, a curl falling across her cheek.“Unless you’re with Coastal.”
“I told you.They’ve got people in your agency.”
“And you’re not one?”She shook her head.“I’m close to something, and you’re trying to stop me.”
Thunder cracked, raindrops hitting the bus shelter.Mikalai closed in, diagonal, jacket hiding a glint of metal.
“Your bus is coming.”Sergei spotted headlights.“Mikalai won’t move with people around.Get off in a public place.Not your apartment.”
Her defiance softened, concern breaking through.“How do you know where I live?”
“I don’t.”A lie, necessary.“But they will.Your address, routine, people you care about.That’s their way.”
She searched his face.“Who are you, really?”
The bus hissed, doors opening.Rain fell harder, soaking Sergei’s hair.“Someone who didn’t help when I should’ve.”He offered the paper again.“Secure number.If you change your mind.”
She took it, pocketing it without looking.Not trust, but a crack.
“My brother,” she said, voice low over the rain.“If they know me, could they—”
“Anyone close to you is leverage.”The truth hurt.“Watch who you contact.”
The bus doors waited.Keisha stepped forward, then glanced back.“If you’re playing me, I’ll find out.And you’ll regret it.”
“I’m not.”He held her gaze.“But I’ll regret it if you get hurt.”
She boarded, silhouette fading into the bus’s glow.Doors closed, and it pulled away.
Mikalai was gone.No.Moving.Jogging to a sedan half a block down.
Sergei ran, boots pounding wet pavement.Rain stung his face, jacket heavy.Svetlana’s voice echoed.
You promised.
He couldn’t fail again.
He cut through an alley, lungs burning, emerging where the bus headed north.Its taillights glowed through rain.Mikalai’s sedan trailed, keeping distance.
A taxi approached.Sergei stepped out, arm up.It swerved, horn blaring, but stopped.He dropped into the back, water pooling on vinyl.
“Follow that bus.”He pointed, pulling bills.“Twenty extra to keep up.”
The driver, a middle-aged man with prayer beads on his mirror, glanced back.“Police stuff?”
“Family emergency.”Sergei showed the cash.
The taxi lurched into traffic, three cars behind Mikalai.The tracker stayed professional, not too close.Keisha wouldn’t know she was followed.
