Page 31 of Agency

No. Leaving evidence was bad. Going to prison, or getting liquidated my own self, would also be bad.

I lit another match and used it to ignite the rest of the neat, orderly compatriots in the book, then tossed the flaming book onto the car. With a quickwhoof, the gasoline combusted and became spreading fire. Within seconds, the new flame on the car was crackling in weird harmony with the flame already in the barrel, and my one night stand of an identity as Yvette was drifting into the aether, never to be heard or seen from again.

Pulling my hood up against the cool night, I turned and walked out the warehouse lot. Using a hole in the chain link fence, I went out to the street.

And there, I stopped. I pulled out a packet of mint-flavored gum I’d actually remembered to put with my change of clothes, and popped an unwrapped stick in my mouth to try and remove the taste of Grigori Smolensky.

The peppermint-flavored stick worked. Kind of.

Left would take me to my new hotel, which I’d already checked into earlier in the day, off the books. The hotel wasn’t as nice as the last one, but I was only staying till morning. And, sure, I’d still checked into the one the agency had set for me. But, I’d booked this one also, right off the street.

I still didn’t know why I’d checked into a different room than what my team at the agency had arranged. Paranoia about killing someone in the Russian mob, maybe?

Maybe it was Morgan? Maybe it wasn’t?

Maybe it was just a bad feeling? Maybe it wasn’t?

But I had. And now I had to push down the wondering why and make this choice.

Right…? Right would take me to the Bothersome Beaver. The night was getting a little late, though. And, besides, Morgan probably wouldn’t even be there, or returning. He’d said he would be… but what were the chances?

But, I really did need a drink–a martini would work even better than a stick of gum to get this taste out of my mouth. And some quiet time to sort out these thoughts and figure out what exactly I wanted to do next wouldn’t hurt either.

And, who knew? Maybe Morgan actually would wander back there.

And, if he didn’t? Well, sometimes the best way to strike gold a second time is to check the stream you’ve already been panning.

Chapter Nine

Jericho

“Dude says he’s tired.” Andrew held up his phone, verifying the text messaging flying back and forth between Morgan and him.

“You fucking serious?” I shook my head at Andrew as I put the Tahoe in park. Time was just past 2300, and that cool autumn night was really coming down. “First night we actually all get to go out together and grab a beer, and he’s pulling that ‘tired’ bullshit? Reminds me of my ex, Sarah. You remember her, right? That one down in Killeen? Next thing you know, he’ll be complaining about having a headache, too, and just wanting to cuddle.”

“Really? She never complained about having a headache with me.” He grinned for about two seconds, then was holding his arm as I slugged his bicep. “What the fuck, man? You said it was cool if I dated her after you guys broke up. I even checked with you, first.”

“I know. And it still is. That was for reminding me of my inadequacies.”

“Asshole.”

I grinned over at him, saying, “Anyways, ain’t we the ones that pulled a fucking double last night, and still gotta wake up in the morning?”

“I know, right?” Andrew asked with a shake of his head. “Said he was up late, and then the change in hours, and—”

“Blah blah blah,” I said, cutting him off. “Whatever, man. Come on, meter’s running. If we’re gonna do this, we gotta do this.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the boss?”

“Well, yeah. And that’s why it’s within my power to give you special dispensation for tonight after such a long, beat down of a day.”

“Thought dispensation was because we’re almost out of this godforsaken town.”

We’d finally gotten a break in the court case, of sorts. The defendant had, pretty much out of the blue, agreed to the DNA sample our client had been trying for weeks to get court ordered. Once that went through, and we knew our client was safe, we were going to be sailing out of St. Louis and heading to our actual assignment in Philadelphia.

Well, not sailing. More like driving.

“Well, yeah, that too. Celebratory dispensation. Besides, we’re not getting hammered. Pace yourself, make sure you stay hydrated and…”