Page 6 of Madness & Mercy
Luca exhales through his nose. “He’s been here for the past twenty minutes. Ordered one coffee, black. No phone, no distractions. Just waiting.”
“Watching?”
“Not directly. But he’s clocked every car that’s passed. Every person who’s come and gone. He’s trained.”
I stare harder through the glass. “Armed?”
“Most likely. Looks like a shoulder rig under that jacket. His hand’s never far from it.”
I nod to myself. “Glasses. Brown leather. Scar on the cheek.”
“That’s him.”
“Still no ID?”
“Nothing solid. Face doesn’t ping on any system. I had Benny run him through every database we’ve got: cop, fed, merc. Came up empty.”
My jaw tightens.
That means one of two things: either he’s a ghost, or someone wants him to look like one.
“You going in?” Luca asks.
“I want to look him in the eye.”
“You want backup?”
“If I need backup in a coffee shop, shoot me yourself.”
Luca lets out a low breath that might be a laugh. “You just say the word.”
“You’ll know if I need you.”
“Text me when it’s clear,” Luca says. “If it’s not—”
“You’ll hear it.”
I hang up, sliding the phone into my coat.
Then I step out of the car and cross the street, my boots echoing in the quiet.
The bell above the café door chimes softly as I step inside.
Warm air hits my face, along with the smell of burnt espresso, old books, something faintly sweet. The kind of place that tries to look cozy but never quite shakes the feeling of performance. Small tables. Exposed brick. A barista with red hair pretending not to glance at me twice.
I don’t take off my gloves.
My coat stays buttoned.
I clock every exit, every reflective surface, every possible angle of ambush.
Andhim.
He’s sitting at a corner table, back to the wall, legs stretched out like he owns the floor beneath him. Glasses low on his nose. Leather jacket creased at the elbows. One hand wrapped around a coffee cup, the other resting near his side, close to the weapon I’m sure is holstered under that coat.
He doesn’t look up when I approach.
But I notice the tension in his jaw.
