Page 2 of Runaway Rogue

The tracker blinks up at me as I walk, secured to the side of my boot. I tried prying it off with the penknife from my backpack earlier, just to see if it would come off, and nope. That thing is stuck.

Of course, thebootcomes off. But then I’d be in nothing but socks around all these snakes and spiders, on this rocky slope that’s cooking my rubber soles. And what then?

No point running. I’ve got nowhere to go. All I can do is find Agent Dawes, and hope that Echo and his cronies won’t vanish me for my trouble. Or that Dawes won’t see it as a terrible betrayal and snap my neck.

Why me?The thought circles through my brain with each aching step, each scorching hot breath dragged into my lungs. The higher I climb, the more of the island comes into view, stretching away toward a turquoise ocean on both sides.Why me? Why me?

Agent Dawes barely knows me. I served him coffee a few times, that’s all. Mostly.

Seriously. Why amIthe rogue agent’s bait?

* * *

Three months ago

Customers at the cafe always come in waves. Ten minutes can go by with no line, ten heavenly minutes when we can wipe down surfaces and chat and roll our stiff necks, sipping from the water bottles we stash below the counter. Thenbam.Five people burst through the doors all at once, all antsy for a caffeine fix.

They huff and puff while they wait in line, tapping their toes against the shiny tiles. They check watches and fold their arms.

Then as soon as they’re all served, the rush fades away just like that. We’re back to prettying up the cupcake display and people-watching from behind the cash register.

“First date,” Miriam says, jerking her chin toward a nearby table. A young couple sit stiffly, neither slumped in their chair, and the woman tears a napkin to shreds as they talk. Her thigh bounces under the table.

“Or a break up,” I say.

Miriam scoffs. Her black hair is tied in a topknot, and her lipstick is dark purple. “Where’s your optimism, girl? Our coffees don’t break people up. We’re out here brewing the elixir of love.”

Ha. If only. Wouldn’t mind a sip of that myself.

“And yet our tips are so crappy.”

She nudges me with a generous hip. “Preach.”

I like shifts with Miriam. We fall into an easy rhythm as we work, and the people-watching is always top notch. She canreadpeople, sometimes from just the backs of their heads, and tons of her predictions turn out to be right.

She says it’s because her mama’s got the gift, and a little taste of it rubbed off on her. She even keeps stacks of her mom’s psychic hot line business cards, right by the glass jars of biscotti. It’s been months, and the boss still hasn’t noticed.

“Think your mom could tell my future?” I ask, leaning over to pluck up a card and turn it around in my hands. I’m half joking, but honestly, I’d totally pay for Mrs Toutant to read my tea leaves or whatever. I’m tired of month after month of living the same day, over and over.

Come to work at the cafe. Serve coffees, check stock. Wipe down tables and mop the floor. Then book club, or my running group by the river, and back home to my tiny apartment. Rinse and repeat.

I’m in a rut. Need something big to shake me loose. But Miriam gives me thislook, pursing her lips, and my stomach twists.

“No one is gonna tellyourfuture, Betty. That shit’s messed up.” The bell above the door rings as someone walks in, and she sighs and shakes her head. “Here it comes.”

‘It’ is a man in his late thirties, dressed in gray jeans, boots, and a black t-shirt. His face is weathered and tan, his dark hair cropped short and lighter at the temples. Though his clothes are casual, his posture is not.

This is a man who’s always on alert. The sort of man who never, ever gets jumped in an alley—not if the muggers know what’s good for them.

I straighten behind the counter, my heartbeat picking up speed.

Maybe it’s an animal reaction. Instinct, you know? My lizard brain whispering:danger.

Except I’m not scared as he approaches the counter, his dark eyes sliding briefly to the cupcakes then settling back on me. I’m not tensed to run.

It’s weird. I’m… exhilarated.

This is the feeling I used to get as a kid, thrown about by the waves at the beach. The feeling I got from running as fast as I could, sneakers slapping against the sidewalk, the wind streaming against my face. That same thrill. A single look from this man and I’m sparking back to life, my body humming as it comes back online after months on the fritz.Danger, danger.

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