Page 57 of Hard Luck (Blackstone House)

Me

No, just add a tracker.

If we needed to lead him somewhere quieter, he wouldn’t be able to follow with a flat tyre, would he?

Apart from being big, there wasn’t much about T-Rex that was distinctive. Brown hair, round face, not-quite-straight nose. I couldn’t see the colour of his eyes from where I was sitting. His jeans were loose-fit, although not as baggy as mine, and his ball cap bore the logo of Nevada Storm, the local hockey team. Either he was trying hard to fit in—unlikely, since his tradecraft wasn’t exactly stellar—or he lived in Las Vegas.

After a brief discussion with Deana, he pointed toward a table and she nodded. He took a seat facing us. This asshole would never make a spy.

Cole and I started with coffee, and perhaps I’d done the Woodstock Grill a disservice because Marcel didn’t have a friend who worked in the kitchen and their coffee was actually good, although the owner had accidentally-on-purpose groped Dice a couple of years ago. Now she was banned from the premises.

“What’s good to eat here?” Cole asked.

“Everything. But if you want to keep fitting into your pants, I’d recommend coming here once a week at most.”

“Or doing a whole lot of exercise the night before.” His mouth settled into that filthy grin that made me do stupid things. “Hey, they have avocado toast on the menu. I didn’t think it was that kind of place.”

“It’s for that one person who won’t eat regular toast.”

Her name was Kendall, aka Barbie, and she spent her teenage years in California. Her mom ran a yoga centre in Antigua with her fifth husband, who was a reformed lawyer, and she thought Barbie worked in a dog shelter. The ruse had held up because Belinda Cummings was allegedly allergic to dogs. Barbie flew out once a year to visit and always came back five pounds lighter and slightly more murderous than usual.

Cole laughed and made his choice. “I’ll have the house special.”

Three eggs served however you wanted them, home fries, bacon, corned beef hash, and regular toast. A mountain on a plate.

“Better loosen that belt a notch.”

“What are you having?”

“The same plus coffee. Good thing we still have two more nights together.”

“Two more nights for now. When I get back from San Galli, we’ll have plenty more time.”

Hell. I’d figured the discussion was coming, but this was absolutely the wrong time and place to be having it. Infact, the only person with worse timing was Deana, who picked that moment to saunter over with her order book.

“What can I get for you folks?”

“Two house specials and two coffees, one black, one with cream. Thanks.”

“Uh, okey-dokey.”

She stood there for a second before retreating, no doubt wondering why I (a) was being even more abrupt than usual, and (b) had a man with me. I wasn’t about to enlighten her, not on either count. Oh, and now Dice was here. Terrific.

Deana spotted her hovering by the door and immediately began clearing the dirty mugs from the next table. Cole reached across and took my hand. Fuck. The temptation to snatch it away was strong, but firstly, he didn’t deserve that, and secondly, I couldn’t start a fight that might blow the op. Not that I thought he’d start yelling, but he might walk out.

“Bella, why throw away a good thing? I’ll only be gone for a month, and we can pick up where we leave off when I come back.”

Shit, shit, shit.

“Relationships aren’t my vibe. It’s not you—you’re a great guy—it’s all me.”

“We could keep it casual. No pressure.”

I shook my head, suddenly unable to speak. I’d miss Cole. He got me, sexually at least. He’d fuck me exactly the way I wanted it, and he didn’t tell me my tastes were wrong or weird or disgusting. The problem was my job. Maybe if I really did write obituaries for a living, I would have taken a chance and agreed to more, but I couldn’t let Cole any deeper into my life, and I’d never leave the Choir.

The thought was a revelation.

It wasn’t Bastian’s duplicity holding me back anymore. It was my own.

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