Page 210 of Their Arrangement
WOLFE
I sawhim before he saw me.
Same tan coat. Same slick hair. Same smug mouth that had once opened too easily in a steel elevator and whispered something about Cloe that made my blood run cold.
He was standing just outside the service entrance—too close to the private lot.
Too still.
Too casual.
Cigarette in one hand.
Phone in the other.
And a notebook.
I moved faster than I should have. Didn’t run. Didn’t stalk. Just moved with purpose. Because I knew exactly who the fuck he was. And exactly what the fuck he was doing.
When he spotted me, he smiled. The same lazy, condescending tilt of his head that made my fist itch.
“Hey,” he said, like we were old friends. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”
I didn’t answer. My eyes dropped to the notebook in his hand. He started to tuck it into his coat pocket.
Too slow.
I stepped in.
Grabbed the front of his jacket.
Yanked him forward.
Hard.
The notebook fell to the ground.
I kicked it aside. Pressed him against the wall near the dumpster. He grunted. Coughed. But he didn’t fight.
“You’ve got five seconds,” I growled, voice low, tight. “To tell me why the fuck you’re here.”
He opened his mouth.
Tried a smirk.
“Relax. I’m just waiting for a meeting?—”
I slammed him into the wall again.
His head hit hard enough to echo.
“No, you’re not.”
He choked on the next word.
I shoved my hand into his coat pocket, grabbed the notebook, flipped it open.
License plates. Dozens of them. Scrawled in messy, frantic handwriting. I looked up slowly.
