Page 16 of A Touch of Treachery (Section 47 #3)

Despite the cold, a steady stream of customers came and went, scarfing down pot roast, along with burgers, fries, patty melts, and other diner classics.

Pablo had taken control of the menu, and he had elevated every dish with quality ingredients and unique flavor combinations, like the BLT, which featured thick, crispy strips of brown-sugar-glazed bacon, microgreens tossed in a zesty lemon vinaigrette, fried green tomatoes, and onion jam.

I worked for more than an hour, dealing with the dinner rush, before I was finally able to take a break and eat my own dinner.

Pablo’s fork-tender pot roast melted in my mouth, while the roasted carrots and onions added sweet and tangy notes to the dish, and the potatoes au gratin were just as cheesy as Pablo had promised.

I had just cut myself a hunk of the chocolate-strawberry cake when the front door opened, the bell chimed, and a familiar presence filled the air, like a shadow sliding across the floor.

I smiled, put my piece of cake on a plate, and cut another generous slice. I grabbed both plates, then turned around. “Perfect timing. I was just about to have cake.”

A muscled man who was a couple of inches over six feet leaned his elbows down on the counter, although the motion didn’t make him look any shorter.

His short black hair gleamed under the lights, as did his light brown eyes.

He was dressed in black, from his leather jacket to his cashmere sweater to his corduroy pants.

People say clothes make the man, but not in this case.

This guy exuded the supreme confidence of someone who knew he was a total badass.

Gabriel Chase, a former Section cleaner, grinned, his white teeth flashing against his ebony skin. “You know I’m more of a pie guy myself.”

I rolled my eyes. Gabriel and I had known each other since we were kids, and we’d had this debate many times before, especially since I’d started working at the diner.

“And you know I think pie is inferior to cake. Most pies are all crust and not enough filling. If I want to eat crust, I’ll eat a piece of bread. ”

“Hey!” Pablo called out through the service window. “Not my pies. They have the perfect ratio of crust and filling!”

“Agreed. Your pies are excellent. That lemon-blueberry pie last week?” I blew him a chef’s kiss. “Scrumptious perfection.”

Pablo grinned, his ego placated, but I’d only spoken the truth. His pies were excellent, but excellent pies were few and far between in my experience.

I held out one of the plates to Gabriel. “A cake is all soft, fluffy goodness, often filled and covered with even more melty, fruity, chocolaty goodness. That makes cake infinitely superior to pie.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes right back at me. “Has anyone ever mentioned you take food way too seriously, Char?”

“You have. Multiple times. It’s one of your many character flaws.” I pulled the plate away from him. “But if you don’t want any cake . . .”

Gabriel straightened up and snatched the plate from me with quick, effortless grace. “I didn’t say that.”

He took his plate, along with mine, to our usual booth in the back corner. I poured Gabriel a cup of coffee, grabbed a glass of water for myself, and joined him.

I glanced up at a neon sign shaped like a freestanding carton of fries hanging in the window beside the booth.

The sign was glowing a bright, steady red, except for three small dark red tubes tucked in with the other fries that looked as though their lights had burned out.

They weren’t really lights at all but rather the vials of Redburn that Desmond had found during the Tannenbaum mission.

I’d thought hiding the vials in plain sight was the safest, smartest thing to do. Even Desmond didn’t know exactly where they were in the diner. Just as I didn’t know exactly where he’d hidden the other vials of Redburn in his safe-house apartment.

Gabriel didn’t even glance at the vials nestled in the sign. Instead, he sliced a fork through his dessert and shoved the big bite into his mouth. “Mmm-mmm-mmm! Maybe your crazy cake theory is right. At least when it comes to this cake.”

I dug my fork into my own piece. It was amazing . The chocolate cake was light and moist, while the strawberry filling offered a perfect pop of tart, sweet creaminess, and the dark chocolate ganache added a layer of rich, gooey decadence. Mmm-mmm-mmm, indeed!

Gabriel and I didn’t speak for a few minutes, both of us too busy enjoying our cake. I slid the last bite into my mouth, then sighed with happiness. My sugar rush was on, and I was going to enjoy every second of it.

Gabriel picked up his coffee cup and toasted Pablo, who was still standing in the service window. Pablo tipped his chef’s hat, then disappeared into the kitchen.

“So,” Gabriel said. “Why did you text and ask me to swing by?”

“What can you tell me about Bryce Finkley?”

Gabriel eyed me over the rim of his cup. “Why are you asking about Finkley?”

“I ran into him today, and I didn’t particularly enjoy the experience.”

I filled Gabriel in on the botched Vault mission and how Finkley had accessed the Section 47 servers and made off with potential valuable—and damaging—info.

Gabriel let out a low whistle. “Strolling into a Section facility, even one that’s just used for storage, is pretty bold, even for someone like Finkley.”

“Someone like Finkley?”

Gabriel nodded. “Yeah, Bryce used to be a cleaner, the same as me. We went on a few missions together. He’s a smart, tough guy who has the big three enduro traits: strength, speed, and stamina.

Bryce was also willing to do whatever it took to eliminate our targets, no matter the potential paramortal powers exposure or collateral damage to innocent people. ”

“Do you know why he left Section? Supposedly, he was accused of stealing drugs, weapons, and money from raids.”

Gabriel shrugged. “No clue, but the Section higher-ups will definitely axe you for stealing. Happened about five years ago. I heard all the usual rumors but nothing concrete. It was the same bullshit people said about me, so I didn’t put any stock in it.”

His mouth flattened out, and his fingers curled around the coffee cup like he wanted to crush it with his bare hands. Danger-danger-danger , my synesthesia warned, but I ignored the whispers. I didn’t have many friends, but Gabriel was one of them, and he would never hurt me.

A few years ago, Gabriel had gotten embroiled in a scandal involving the daughter of a Section general.

Officially, he’d been booted out of the spy organization, but I knew that Gabriel had used some sort of blackmail to force his way out, although he’d never told me exactly what had happened to sour him on being a cleaner.

After that, Gabriel had founded Chase Industries, his own private contracting firm, and he had built a reputation for being professional, effective, and invisible.

Protection details, kidnapping rescues, witness protection.

Gabriel and his crew did all that and more, and he’d made a fortune using his Section skills in the private sector.

An image of General Percy dressing me down filled my mind. Today was definitely one of those days when I envied Gabriel’s ability to be his own boss and choose the missions he wanted, instead of being yanked around like a dog on a leash the way I so often was.

“What does Bryce Finkley have to do with that sour look on your face?” Gabriel asked.

“It’s not Finkley so much as who showed up after the mission. Jethro Percy.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, and he let out another low whistle. “The big boss was at headquarters?”

“Yeah, and he was none too pleased with me.”

I recapped Percy booting me off the Hyde mission, along with my demotion to level three with the other analysts.

Gabriel winced. “That sucks. I’m sorry, Char.”

“It is what it is. You know how much my father hated General Percy. Well, the feeling is definitely mutual.”

“That’s the legacy of Section 47,” Gabriel said in a sardonic tone. “Grudges galore.”

I snorted. “More like a legacy of lies.”

We both fell silent, thinking about all the ways Section 47 had used us—and abused us—over the years.

I looked at Gabriel again. “Speaking of lies, are you finally ready to tell me what you were really doing at Tannenbaum Castle?”

He jerked back in his seat, and his startled gaze snapped up to mine. Gabriel opened his mouth, but I held up my right index finger in warning, then pointed at my ear.

“Lest you forget, I always know when you’re telling the truth—or lying to my face.”

“You and that damn synesthesia,” Gabriel muttered. “Sometimes I wish I had your magic instead of my own phasing power.”

Gabriel had the ability to move his body through any solid object, from the metal side of the diner car to a marble wall to a steel vault. One second, his body was whole. The next, it was like a shadow sinking into whatever surface it touched.

Even among paramortals, phasing was an unusual power, which Gabriel put to good use. He’d told me more than one story of how he’d rescued a kidnapping victim simply by walking through whatever obstacles stood between him and the person he’d been hired to save.

“Nah,” I replied. “Being able to walk through walls is way cooler than hearing lies and seeing shades of danger.”

Gabriel grinned. “You’re right. Walking through walls is way cooler.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and looked at Gabriel, who stared right back at me. Several seconds ticked by, and the only sounds were the scraping of knives on plates and the gurgling of the coffee pots.

Gabriel’s smile twisted into a scowl. “Has anyone ever mentioned you have an excellent death stare?” he groused. “Like you are calmly plotting the most vicious and painful way to murder me with my own fork. It’s disturbing.”