Page 57 of Cyclone

I tucked the phone into my bag, and headed for my truck, the file folder tucked tight against my chest.

New job.

New beginning.

New life.

And for the first time in forever, I wasn’t scared.

I was ready.

31

Jude

The next morning, I pulled into the tiny strip mall parking lot and cut the engine, heart hammering in my chest.

Across the lot, nestled between a tanning salon and a pizza place, was the store I was supposed to watch — a sporting goods place called “Canyon Outfitters.”

According to the text Owen sent me five minutes ago, my target—an employee named Austin Price—had just clocked in.

Now it was my turn.

First surveillance assignment.

No pressure.

I slouched down in the seat of my truck, pretending to scroll my phone like I wasn’t a complete amateur about to blow my cover.

The plan was simple: watch Austin, see if he slipped any merchandise into his backpack at the end of his shift, and follow him home if needed.

Simple.

Right?

Right.

Thirty minutes in, my phone buzzed again.

Another text from Owen.

I just drove by. You need to relax. You look like you’re on a stakeout for the FBI. Smile or something.

I rolled my eyes and tried to adjust, pretending I was just some bored girlfriend waiting for her boyfriend to get off work.

When the front door swung open, I sat up straighter.

Austin.

Tall, wiry, baseball cap pulled low, backpack slung over one shoulder.

He wasn’t headed home.

He was headed toward the back alley behind the shops.

Crap.

I fumbled for my phone, trying to open the camera app with sweaty fingers.

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