Page 131 of One Secret

'Not at our level, anyway,' she agrees. A thread of smugness is woven into her words.

'So, the hotel thing...?' I ask, stalling for time. I'm quick on the draw but not as quick as her finger will be on that trigger... There's no way I can get my weapon up without some kind of distraction in play. 'That's just a cover?'

'No,' Lana takes a step forward and to the left, re-aiming her weapon. Any ground I've made to cover Darcy disintegrates. And the look in Lana's eye says she knows it. 'I run this place. And a few others.'

'For Felix?' Darcy asks with a tone of disbelief. 'The egotistical prick who looks at you like you're his thoroughbred racing hound?'

I tense. Attacking the master Lana seems devoted to might not be the best—

But Lana's perfectly painted upper lip trembles. Like she's repressing the urge to curl it back in disgust.

Interesting…

Perhaps her acts of worship towards Felix Caruso are just that: an act.

'I have my reasons,' she says cryptically.

'Do you also have a reason to kill us?' Darcy challenges.

I'm measuring the distance between myself and Lana, wondering if I can charge her. Lana's markedly smaller than me. If I can tackle her, I can get control of her gun then draw my own. Worst-case scenario, if she got a shot off, I'd already be between her and—

'No,' Lana says.

To our surprise, Lana suddenly lowers her weapon. She even tosses my bag over. It hits me full in the chest, knocking the wind out of me.

'No,' she says again. 'I have no desire to kill either of you.'

Darcy and I speak at the same time:

'What's in it for you?'

'What are you after?'

Lana looks between us, apparently amused.

'Match made...' she mutters before shaking out her mane of golden locks.

As Lana checks the porthole of the closet door, I consider drawing my weapon. But, given we've only just managed to bring down the chance of flying bullets, this seems a foolish step backward.

Better to hear her out…

'Look,' Lana says, turning back towards us. 'I'm only interested in one thing. You give me a name and I'll pretend I never saw you. You screw me or rat me out to Felix and I swear to God, I'll hunt you both down like you're the last pair of Jimmy Choos on warehouse clearance, you understand?'

I do not. But the gist is clear enough.

'What name do you want?' Darcy asks.

Lana turns her gaze on me.

'I want whoever you used to find and track me here.'

'You want wha—?'

'I've been doing this a long time,' she cuts me off. 'I know what I'm doing and I know how to cover my tracks. Yet, you knew "Gabriel" was working with Felix. I want to know how and I want to meet the person who figured it out.'

So you can do what? Improve your work-stealth?

My expression—or more likely the absence of one—doesn't fill Lana with confidence and, the next moment, her weapon is back up.

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