"Not yet," I said. "Let's let him run the first transfer. He'll get cocky. Then we see."
"You got it, boss." Viper always called me boss, even though he technically outranked me in the Bureau's weird hierarchy.
"By the way, just got word the target is scheduled for a mixer at the Wildhaven in Beverly Hills later this week. Lots of bigwigs."
I made a mental note. "What kind of bigwigs?"
"Investment whales. Entrepreneurs. Startups. The target's a mystery angel investor."
"Keep it on the agenda."
"Yup."
I hung up. The taste of the hunt lingered in my mouth. I wondered what the target's childhood was like. Did his father really tell stories about Nash? Or was it all part of the script? I decided it didn't matter. Nobody in this world ever told the truth unless you made them.
I started the Ducati and eased out onto the road, eyes already scanning for tails, for threats, for any sign of deviation from the expected pattern.
Tomorrow, the target would wake up thinking he owned the world. He'd feel invincible.
He'd have no idea I was coming for him.
And that was the point.
Client's money had already sealed his fate.
5 kimmy
I stood in front of the mirror with my gaze downcast for a full minute before I could look at myself. When I did, the reflection didn't fit. The dress Geneva sponsored clung to my figure like a borrowed shadow, pale blue satin and all.
I was supposed to feel elegant, sophisticated, maybe even beautiful. And I guess, if someone else wore the gown, it would have been true.
Instead, I felt like a child in a costume, pretending at adulthood. There was a tag still above the zipper. I wasn't sure I'd have the courage to go, so I kept it.
My phone buzzed.
Geneva.
The picture she set for herself was a cartoon owl in a graduation cap.
I answered. "Hey. How's your dad doing?"
"It's still touch and go but the doctors think he'll pull through." Pause. "Mom's a mess, but she's letting herself hope, so…"
I turned half a circle, eyeing my reflection from a different angle. "I'm glad to hear it."
"I can't wait to see what you bought. Send me a pic when you have a chance."
"Sure," I said just to get her off my back. Even now, I wasn't certain I'd be able to make it out the door wearing this dress.
"Thank you, by the way, for doing this. I know you hate events."
"Someone's gotta keep Terry from sharing his dumb ideas and hitting on the bar staff, right?" I joked, which surprised me.
Geneva's tone shifted, the business edge slipping in like a scalpel. "Okay. Now, let's talk shop. You saw the guest list I sent you?"
"Yes."
"You're mainly focusing on the guy from Altura Funding—Rory Castell—short, thick glasses, probably an ugly tie. He's easy to recognize. And the developer, Pierson. He'll be with his wife, who is terrifying but worth knowing. If she takes a liking to you, we're golden. And there's a last-minute surprise investor. I don't know who it is. The PR team says they're a localangel fund. Which probably means a rich crypto nerd or a Russian oligarch, but go with it. You'll know when they show up."
