Page 8 of Ship Outta Luck

“We need approval to make contact.” I keep my focus on Legarde. “I don’t like it. If she runs, with all the info her dear old dad left her, you and I both know this job is fucked.” The mere thought of this op going sideways makes my stomach churn.

I need this. I need this win.

“I swear to god, if you tell me that one more time, I’m going to lose it.” Pierce growls, kicking me in the shin.

Ten, nine, eight…I grit my teeth, gluing my attention to the parking lot below us.

A second woman bursts into our field of view, scurrying between the cars, platinum hair waving behind her.

“Who’s that?” I ask, keeping my voice even, knowing for all my trust issues I might be the biggest liar of all.

Because I know damn well who she is, but Pierce doesn’t need to know that.

Pierce scoots even closer to the edge. “It’s that other prof in Legarde’s department, the newer one. Charlotte Abbot. Goes by Charlie. Teaches Texas history.”

I briefly cut my eyes to Pierce. He sounds… interested. That little teaching fact sure rolled off his tongue real quick.

No time to wonder at that—it’s time to focus. Shit’s heating up on this op.

This op, that’s nothing like the one five years ago.

Seven, six, five…

Nope, to repressthatmemory, I’d have to start counting down from ten thousand.

“What do you have on her?” I make myself ask, just to give my brain something else to do.

“Not much,” Pierce says. “Friends with the target. Girls’ nights, wine nights, whatever. A shoulder to cry on after Legarde’s old man got popped. There was an opening at the beginning of the semester. She got lucky, scooped up a job like that,” Pierce says, snapping his fingers.

I stop myself from rolling my eyes.Luckyisn’t in my vocabulary, shouldn’t be in Pierce’s, either. Nothing about how Charlie got that job was luck, but what Pierce doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

The two women are talking now, Legarde scanning her surroundings. Like she knows we’re watching.

Unlikely. Everything has been smooth as silk so far.

“Allegedly popped,” Pierce smirks, correcting himself.

“Allegedly my ass,” I growl.

The circumstances surrounding Legarde’s father’s death were shady at best.

“Agreed. Everything was a little too neat for someonethatuseful to the Russians to up and die.” Pierce tells me this like it’s brand-new information.

I grunt, annoyed at him all over again.

“We just gotta find his drug sub before the Russians do and close this case. Then we can spend a day at the beach. Easy.”

“You talk too much,” I growl.

I blow out a breath, frustration making my hand twitch. The intel is as murky as the missing drug sub’s watery grave.There’s too much chatter, too much noise about the shipment. And the cartel is constantly increasing their reach, ramping up their interest in additional revenue streams. Running weapons, human trafficking, even working with domestic terrorists.

Well, if the DEA’s now missing informant is right.

Why couldn’t fucking assets stay fucking put?

Thanks to them and the fucking analysts, I’m sweating my balls off watching a bombshell I can’t approach. They suggested Legarde would be the easiest to leverage, the key to the whole damn thing.

Suggested.I snort, keeping my eyes on our best bet to find the sub.

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