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“Fine. David. The guy’s a pr—”
“Honestly, I don’t care if you make up, hook up, or fight it out. Get rid of the hostility and tension between you two. And so you know, it’s not like he’s looking forward to hanging with you either. The man’s pride is more than a little wounded with those shiners.” Beth winked.
“I couldn’t care less about the butl—about David.”
“Here are your instructions to meet David.” Beth handed her another piece of paper, but she didn’t look at it. “Seriously, Nic. Soon as you come to terms with this, then you can get the hell out of here and go home. I’m trying to be a friend.”
Trying to be my friend? You’re supposed to be my best friend.
Nicola cracked her knuckles and rubbed her neck. She picked up the slip of paper and turned it over. Blank. She took a moment to look at it, as if reading.Someone’s always watching.
Beth looked at her. “Got it, girl?”
Pocketing the paper, Nic said, “No problem. Consider it done.” The only thing crystal clear was her confusion. “Am I free to go now?”
“Sure thing.”
Nicola waved to the cameras and left.
CHAPTER NINE
Each passing minute in this godforsaken coffee shop irritated David further, both because the couriered package from his contact—code name: Mister Mars—was late, and because he’d smell like coffee grounds for the rest of the day. He tapped his manicured fingernails in annoyance.
A teenager with unkempt hair and neon yellow shoes clomped through the door, sweeping from table to table with a searching gaze. What passed as fashionable for today’s youth was atrocious. When the kid’s eyes landed on him, the yellow-footed courier scurried to his side.
“You’re late,” David scolded, his bruised face hurting from the scowl.
“I’m sorry. I got—”
He shook his head. The kid hadn’t confirmed who he was, and his hands were already opening the delivery satchel.
“Do you have something to ask me?” David harrumphed.Amateur hour.
“Uh, yeah. Yes. I’m supposed to ask you for a special word.”
“So ask. Don’t suggest. Ask.” He hated teaching in the field. It was another reason he couldn’t wait to leave the CIA. This teenager acted as though the delivery was as benign as a flowers and balloons delivery. Did he look like he’d just had a baby? Just graduated from college? No. David didn’t. He looked like a man who wheeled and dealed with high paying arms dealers.
“Er, um. Yes. Sorry. Can you please provide me the security word?”
David shook his head again in disgust. He cleared his throat. “The word is valor.”
The kid frowned and followed up as he’d been directed. “And you are?”
“My name is Mister Nero.” David thought the Mars-Nero code names were unnecessary, but Smooth Enterprises had always obsessed over ancient Roman history. They were the client. The paranoid client, even if they had reason to be after the assassination.
The kid deposited the small box on the table and skedaddled before David could tell him to get out. He opened it and took out the charged cell phone. Turning the screen on, he found the directory and selected the only entry.
It rang once, and David’s client, Mister Mars, answered.
“You’re late.” Mister Mars’s Austrian accent was smooth and slick as the spilled blood that had brought them together.
“And you should hire more qualified couriers. That kid wasn’t qualified for delivery positions.”
Mister Mars ignored his suggestion. “The CIA has no concerns about you?”
“None. They’re so sure I’m a team player that they’ve forced Nicola to work with me on an assignment. We’re to make up.” David laughed. “I’ll show her how good a Farm boy I really am.”
“What is your assignment, and how will it affect our work?”