Page 5 of Dragonfly

I smile at him—because while my gun might be stowed in my purse, a smile is just as much a weapon for a woman like me—and confirm that the address that came through the app is correct.

It’s not too far. Because I need to kill two birds with one stone by taking passengers and making money the same time as I search the streets of Springfield for some sign of Damien—either walking around like he owns the city, or driving around in this flashy red car of his—I keep my app set to rides on the East End. For the right price, I’ll go anywhere, but when he nods that I got the right destination, I’m not surprised he’s heading to an office building in the heart of Dragonfly territory.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll be going to meet Damien. I’ve already done twelve local rides this morning, and I was getting ready to break for some fast food when I decided to pick up this guy. I consider it a waste of a day if I don’t see Damien at least once so that would make it worth it.

There’s got to be a pattern. A method to his afternoons, a way to plot where he might be in the evening. Odds are I’ll never find a way to get to him inside of his protected manor, and I don’t want to risk gunning for him when he’s out in the open. That would be a suicide mission, and no matter what, I’m going to be the one who survives our confrontation.

I have to. I’ve got a cat who needs me.

It’s been days since I last set eyes on the sophisticated mobster. Saturday night, I watched him walk out of an upscale Italian restaurant, that petite blonde hanging off his arm. The man in my back seat was with them, a silent shadow who followed them all the way to the parked car. He started it first, making sure it was safe, then climbed out and stepped aside to let the other two in.

I was in my car, idling in a small parking lot next to the bakery. When Damien and his date pulled out, I slipped into traffic behind them, cursing when he brought her to his house.

I haven’t seen him since. For all I know, they’re still in there—and that doesn’t help me at all, does it?

When I’m driving, I keep the radio tuned to a popular top 40 station in Springfield. The volume’s low so that I don’t annoy my customers, but it’s still enough background noise to drown out the thoughts bouncing around my brain.

Because it is low, though, I notice when one of my passengers is taking a call. Usually, I tune it out because it’s not my business, but when it’s a Dragonfly talking? I’m all fucking ears.

His voice is still way softer than I would expect as he talks into his phone.

“Hey, Lou. It’s me. Yeah. I’m on my way. Yeah, I had to order a ride because the boss was busy.” He pauses, and from the moment he said ‘boss’, I’m already way more invested than I should be. “My truck? Nah. I let Kieran borrow it a couple of days ago.”

Kieran? Why does that name sound familiar? He must be one of the gangsters that I’ve seen meeting with Damien.

The person on the other end of the phone must say something because it’s about a minute or so before my passenger speaks up again.

“I don’t fucking know what’s going through that kid’s head. I heard a rumor his ex is back in town and he’s trying to make it work with her… right. Yeah. I remember how he got five leaves the summer she left him… yup. Five. I’ve told Damien he’s too rabid to be let loose, but you know how the boss is. He likes his enforcers feral.”

Leaves? Enforcers? I can only guess what they’re talking about, but since I don’t know for sure, that’s just another reminder that no matter how long I’ve been stalking Damien Libellula, there’s still so much I’m missing about his job and his life.

“Anyway,” continues the passenger, “until he gives me my truck back, I’ve got to find a way to get where I’m going… yeah. I know I’m running late, but I’m not that far out and—hey!” He raises his voice, and I just know he’s talking to me before he snaps, “Watch it!”

Huh?

Fuck!

I slam on my brakes just in time to miss smashing into the back of the car in front of me.

That was my fault. So distracted by the Dragonfly’s conversation, I didn’t notice that the light had turned red. The SUV in front of me had already stopped, and if it wasn’t for my passenger shouting to catch my attention, I would’ve hit it.

Luckily, I don’t, though my car jerks as I stop short. He curses under his breath as he pushes against his seatbelt before falling back in his seat. My own belt cuts into my neck. I hear a thud and know that my purse tipped behind me, falling from the center console where I kept it and into the backseat, spilling half of its contents on the floor.

My heart fluttering in my chest, I turn my head in time to see that the big guy has bent over, already shoveling all my shit back into my purse.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says gruffly. “No harm done.”

Considering he’s not my target, I’m glad. “Still. I should probably get my brakes checked. They didn’t respond the first time until I had to jam down on them.”

It’s a likely excuse. My car is at least twenty years old. It runs well enough to be a rideshare car, but it’s obviously seen better days.

“I noticed.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll clean that up.”

He pauses, glancing over at me. “You sure? I’m almost done.”

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