With zero resistance, Zack sauntered toward him, hips possibly swaying. From the way Colton’s eyes darkened, the effort was very much appreciated.
“Food’ll be up in a few.” Zack poured the coffee with a steady hand.
“Thanks, Blue.”
That feeling of being watched prickled along Zack’s neck.
Leaning down slightly, he lowered his voice. “There's someone in my section. Two-seater in the corner. He’s been staring at me for a while now.”
Colton’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in his posture. Not tense, exactly, but more alert. “Staring how?”
“Like they’re trying to memorize my face. Won’t make eye contact, super fidgety, ordered coffee and nothing else.”
“You want me to handle it?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” Frustration leaked into his voice. “Probably nothing. Could just be someone having a bad day.”
Without being obvious about it, Colton shifted in his seat, angling himself so he could see the corner booth in his peripheral. A few seconds passed before he pulled out his phone, tapping something quickly.
“What are you doing?”
“Sending a photo to Grayson. He’ll run it, see if anything pops.”
“That seems... extreme.”
“Better safe.” Colton’s gaze met his, steady and serious. “I’m staying until they leave.”
* * * *
Colton waited two beats before pushing off from the booth.
Outside, light spilled over wet pavement, the aftermath of earlier rain leaving everything slick and shadowed. Heat refused to break, heavy air sticking to every inch of skin, and somewhere behind him, cars hissed through shallow puddles on Main.
He didn’t look like he was following. Years in security had taught him the value of acting casual. He squinted through the overcast glare, checked his phone like he had somewhere else to be, then trailed the stranger with just enough space to make it look like a coincidence.
Even rounding the corner, the guy never once glanced back. Colton studied the quick, twitchy movements. Shoulders hunched up around his ears. Hands deep in the pockets of his cheap windbreaker. When strangers passed on the sidewalk, the guy ducked his head and sped up before easing back to a self-conscious shuffle.
Probably didn’t want anyone to see his face. That was a classic tell right there. Colton’s mouth tugged in a half-smile. People almost never gave away so much in public.
He let the gap widen and slowed to check out a window display, pretending to focus on a rack of discount sunglasses. Over the top of a mirrored pair, he caught the flash of his target ducking around another corner.
Colton moved. Didn’t hurry, didn’t give himself away, just kept the guy in sight while ignoring the muggy air sticking his shirt to his skin.
The stranger was fast. Not a jog, not a hustle, but feet carried him down the block like he was on a damn mission. Maybe he was. Colton clocked the direction—a couple of blocks east, straight toward a chunk of town with only a handful of businesses, most of them not open this early.
Colton’s boots squelched once on a loose patch of sidewalk, but he slowed and let the distance stretch. No reason to draw attention. Guy never once looked behind him. Even better. Not a trained tail, then.
He kept his own stride even, pausing at a crosswalk when the light was red, pretending real hard he was just another resident on this gloomy-ass day.
The guy ahead ducked his head, hands gripping pockets. Shoulders hunched.
Colton trailed, keeping an even four car lengths between them. He didn’t dare risk getting too close, not while the sidewalks were this empty. Rain kept most people inside, save the idiots who had places to be and the predators determined to blend in.
A shadow flickered across the next block, caught his eye. Grayson, standing under the battered green awning of “Paul’s Pawn & Gun,” face buried in an honest-to-god newspaper, but his eyes flicked up as Colton gave a quick jerk of his chin toward the target.
Grayson’s body shifted. Years of working together meant they didn’t need to talk. He fell back from the corner, eyes locking on the fidgety bastard, and started tailing him from the opposite side of the street.
Target never so much as hesitated. If anything, he picked up the pace. He skirted the edge of the curb, dropping into a slumpy stride, and kept heading east.
