My legs tremble as I exit the vehicle, knowing that I’m out of time. I fill my pockets with the one surprise Ihave going for me and hurry toward the door. There are only two options for where to stash the pistol. Beneath the chunk of concrete beside the door, probably used to prop it open when deliveries are being made, or the weeds. I choose the weeds.
Turning to check behind me, making sure I’m not being observed, I tuck the gun beneath the leaves of a thick dandelion. Then, taking a deep breath, I brace myself, wrap my hand around the knob, and open the door.
The interior is dim. Though strings of bare bulbs zigzag across the ceiling, only the center row has been turned on, leaving the sides of the building in shadows.
It’s hot, despite several ventilation fans spinning slowly on the ceiling. Towering stacks of boxes and crates crowd the room, creating ample places to hide. The man I’m here to meet must be using one of them, because he’s nowhere in sight.
I force myself to take a step inside, then another. The door closes behind me with a bang, casting the room in further darkness. The familiar fingers of a panic attack trace icy fingers along my neck. I draw deep breaths, trying to keep them from wrapping around me with a choking squeeze.
“That’s far enough.”
The voice startles me, even though I was prepared for it. I turn toward the corner where it came from, peer into the darkness between two shipping crates. Garrett Glover emerges from between them. Even through the gloom I can see the smirk on his face. And the pistol in his hand.
“So you’re the woman I’ve heard so much about,” he says. “First things first. Are you armed?”
“No.”
“Pull up your shirt. Prove it.”
Lifting the hem of my shirt up to my ribs, I turn in a slow circle.
“Sorry, I’m afraid that’s not good enough. Pull it higher.”
I jerk the material up to my armpits and spin until I’m facing him again.
“Are we good?”
“Oh yeah. We’re good.”
I tug the shirt back down.
“I can see what Jake likes about you. I mean, other than,” he gestures at me, waving up and down, which I assume is a reference to my body. “But what do you see in him?”
“Well, for starters, he’s never aimed a gun at me.”
Garrett laughs. “You’re a spitfire.”
“You have no idea.”
“We could remedy that.”
I snort, unable to contain myself. His smile falters.
“Some might consider that a risk,” he says.
“If it is, it’s one worth taking.”
“You’re a lot like Janine, aren’t you?”
“I’m nothing like Janine.”
“I disagree. Say what you will about her, but she isn’t afraid to speak her mind, even with a gun aimed at her. And she does whatever it takes to get what she wants.”
“Like me dead?” I ask.
Hetsks. “I can’t say I entirely agree with that. Seems like a waste to me.”
The man steps out into the light where I can see him. Though he’s still cloaked by shadows and half a dozen yards away, I’m shocked by the resemblance between him and Jake, much more obvious in person than it hadbeen in the photograph.
