“Besides, the FBI isn’t going to let me give you a beating before I give you the money,” I growl. That’s something he’ll probably understand—how much I want to give him a beatdown. “Ask Mitchell about that. See if he remembers from highschool what I did to him for messing with my sister. And I’ve gained fifty pounds since then.”
“Then you won’t care if I change things up,” Bryce says. He goes on before I can interrupt that I’m going to walk away with the money. “There’s a park about two blocks south. Meet me there.”
“How do I know you’re actually going to be there?” I ask, trying to sound annoyed.
“I need that money.” His voice takes on a coolness that belies the coldhearted man beneath the charming exterior. “I’ll be there.” He hangs up.
I don’t look at Agent Porter as I stand and throw five bucks on the table, then hoist the backpack full of money over my shoulder. Well, full of real money on top, should Bryce check, and fake on the bottom. I don’t even bother texting Caleb about the change in plans. The FBI is monitoring everything anyway, and sending a text right after Bryce calls me would look suspicious if he’s watching me. And he’s probably watching me.
I leave the restaurant and look around. I spot the park he’s talking about and head in that direction. As I’m checking the street before I cross to the next, I see Agent Porter exiting the restaurant from my peripheral vision. He turns the opposite direction as me. He must believe Bryce is watching too. We’re so close. No need to spook him.
If worse comes to worst, I can take Bryce down myself and hold him until the FBI shows up. Probably not protocol, but unless he’s done some serious bodybuilding since the last time I saw him, I’ve got more than fifty pounds on him, not to mention several inches in height.
I walk quickly to the park, then stay on the sidewalk as I enter it, choosing a bench nearby. I sit down, scanning the area around me, looking for Bryce. A few minutes go by, and nothing. I clench my fists. What game is Bryce playing now?
I’m bouncing my leg up and down when my phone rings again.
Bryce.
“I’m not playing this game,” I snap.
“Me either,” he says coldly. “I’m not taking chances. Drop the bag in that trash can and walk away.”
“Not what we agreed to.” I give a dark laugh. “The deal was I get to face you. If you’re not coming, you’re not getting your money. In fact, my next stop is the FBI. I’ll have them get up on this phone and see how close they can get.”
“Thought you said you didn’t want Baylee involved. You just going to throw her to the wolves like that?” His returning laugh is soulless. Man, I hate this guy.
“We both know that’s not going to hold up to serious scrutiny, right, Bryce?” I challenge. “You just want the money. The only reason I’m here is to try and keep her out of this completely, like I said, but yeah, walk away and see what I do.” I’m losing hope that he’s going to show up, and I pray that at least this conversation is enough for the FBI to close in. That’s one thing Bryce doesn’t know. Caleb is probably tracking him right now. I hope Bryce is close enough for me to see the FBI arrest him.
There’s silence on the line, and it lasts long enough that I pull my phone away from my ear to see if the call is still connected. It is, so I put it back to my ear and wait patiently.
A car door opens nearby, and I look up to see Bryce stepping out of a small, blue sedan. He’s wearing a dark hoodie even though it’s still warm in Houston in October, and his hood is pulled up over his Astros baseball cap. He’s also wearing sunglasses. I hang up and start walking toward him. I’ll let him have this one last moment of safety thinking he can grab this bag from me, hop back in his car, and speed away.
He only takes two steps away from the car before he stops. When I get within a few feet of him, I slide the backpack off my back and toss it toward him.
He eyes me as it lands at his feet. “Not gonna punch me?” he says, his tone mocking.
I glare at him. “Got something way better in mind.”
His jaw clenches as he lifts the backpack. He quickly checks inside, shoulders relaxing when he sees the money, like he thought I got him out here to hand him a bag full of newspaper or something. He sifts through the top stacks and then zips the backpack up, satisfied.
“And what would that be?” he asks. There’s triumph in his voice, and I almost laugh at it.
“This.” I take a step back.
Agent Porter comes from behind me, a figure I saw advancing casually in the window of Bryce’s car. He’s got his gun drawn now. Three more agents surround us, all with guns drawn on Bryce.
“Get on the ground!” Agent Porter shouts.
Bryce looks around him frantically, but there’s no escape.
“Get on the ground!” Agent Porter repeats, and a couple of the agents echo him from behind Bryce.
“Can I make him?” I ask, smirking. I catch a snort from Agent Porter as he advances another step on Bryce.
Bryce finally complies, kneeling and then lying, stomach down, on the sidewalk. Agent Porter keeps his gun drawn, while another agent, a woman dressed in exercise gear, gets down to handcuff him. Another agent, the waiter from the diner, pulls off Bryce’s sunglasses and the baseball cap.
Bryce glares up at me. “Baylee’s going down for this.”
