Page 81 of Shockproof

“Yeah, well, the next dayafterour little parking garage…thing,” he carefully words as if unsure I know what he’s referencing, “I remember running into her – or now that I think about it a little harder – beingfoundby her on my way to return some gear. She did that whole flirty small talk shit, but then told me if I ever wanted to leave, she knew The Agama Foundation was hiring. I thought it was some weird allegiance mind test setupbyHE to weed out those disloyal and wasn’t about to be stupid enough to fall for it. I assumed I just…passed the shit…because the next thing I know you’re under the radar recruiting me to help out with this whole situation.”

“And she’s on her wayright nowto the Thai restaurant,” I quickly announce. “Melissa says they get it together every few months, and I bet if I run the data that those dates will match with The Accountant’s.She’swho he’s there to meet!”

“For payment,” Blu quietly claims. “He comes here quarterly to meet her for payment to keep her off the official books to make no direct link back to him.”

“Get Arley home now,” Slater damn near growls his order. “Sweep procedures and lockdown.”

“Roger that,” Reynolds affirms and prepares to pull out into traffic.

“Angel Cake,” he attempts to calmly state, yet the rigidness of the words flooding the vehicle prove otherwise, “promise me you’ll follow.Every. Safety. Protocol. To the fucking T.”

“I promise, Cowboy.” Buckling myself in, I do my best to offer him some much needed reprieve. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Chapter 13

Slater

One of the most important things to remember about striking is timing.

In this business?

Timing is everything.

The difference between unharmed and injured.

Capturing or evading.

Living or dying.

I may be a little off when it comes to shit in the romance department – I.E. wanting to get my girlfriend pregnant before I’ve actually proposed – but when it comes to a mission?

I’m exactly where I need to be.

At exactly the right moment.

Always.

Giving the side of my face that’s feigning confusion a contemplative scrub, I repeatedly look in both directions as if lost. One hand lands on my hip while the other points, pretending not to know which way I’m supposed to be headed. I glance at my phone. Back up at nearby street signs. Down again. Dramatically demonstrate every tourist red flag to the two members of The Accountant’s security team waiting nearby in his SUV.

The one on the passenger side keeps a watchful eye unaware that I’m doing the same.

We need them taken out quietly to minimize the chance of our target being spooked.

Without backup coverage to assist in covering the other entrances and exits of the building, we need The Accountant to continue his typical routine, unsuspicious that the two men he’s expecting to protect him have been removed from the situation.

After one more confused look, I pretend to be overly exasperated and make eye contact with the guard.

I immediately toss an overly friendly wave attached to a mildly goofy guy wave.

“You look like Elmer Fudd without his shotgun,” Blu cackles in my ear.

“’Xcuse me,” my friendly hand gesture occurs during my cautious approach to the vehicle. “’Xcuse me, sir?”

“Should I be wery wery quiet?” my second in command mocks from our vehicle parked at the end of the block on the corner. “Are you hunting wabits, Elmer Wudd?”

I’m gonna be huntinghimif he doesn’t shut the fuck up.

The male in the vehicle cracks the window just a couple inches which is all I need for plan A to be put in motion. “You lost?”

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