Page 139 of Dirty Grovel

The problem is, the closer we get to the meeting point—a rest stop located at one of Palm Beach’s most frequented gas stations—I start to get more and more nervous.

“I can do this,” I murmur to myself.

The baby gives me a reassuring little kick, like it knows its mommy is about to clean house.

“Hey, princess,” Oleg’s voice whispers, deep and full, right in my ear.

I jump in my seat, hands tightening on the wheel to keep myself from spinning right off the road. I might not be spy material if a simple earpiece can throw me completely.

“Oleg,” I gasp. “Forgot you were there.”

He chuckles. “All good?”

I turn down Metallica. “Yes.”

“Still confident?”

I’m not sure white-knuckling the steering wheel is a ringing endorsement for my nerves, but what Oleg doesn’t see can’t hurt him.

“Definitely.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs proudly. “Let’s go over the steps one more time.”

“Again?!”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“Iamprepared,” I insist. “I was dreaming of this plan in my sleep. And in case I need to remind you, I’m the one who came up with it in the first place.”

“You haven’t taken into account unforeseen circumstances.”

“Because they’re unforeseen,” I argue. “If they weren’t, then they’d be… seen circumstances.”

“Cute.”

“Aren’t I?” I tease. “Take a breath. This is going to go smoother than smooth can be.”

A tingle runs up my spine the moment I say those words. Did I just jinx myself?

I snort quietly.Of course not. No such thing as omens.

It’s just the luck we make for ourselves.

My dashboard tells me that we’re two minutes away from our destination. “Fall back and spread out,” I tell Oleg.

“Roger, princess. Falling back now.”

The rest stop appears ahead like a stage set for the final act. A second later, I spot the asshole of the day, straddling his overcompensating Ducati like the douchebag he is.

He’s clearly on edge, because his body is hunched over the bike, his eyes zeroing in on every vehicle that passes by.

When he finally sees me behind the wheel, a smile splits his face. He looks like the cat that caught the canary.

Little does he know that, in this situation,I’mthe cat.

Which means the role of canary is up for grabs.

He’s more than fucking welcome to it.

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