Page 88 of Rogue

Run, common sense tries to spur me on.

But that’s the old Kylie. The girl who resorted to spying on the Pricks, taking careful notes of their actions, waiting for the perfect moment, their one fuckup, before contacting Homeland Security with solid, credible, detailed information they could act on. No excuses. No pats on the arm and snide remarks about getting in over my head or me watching too many vigilante Westerns.

That was the old Kylie.

The new Kylie is sliding into the booth.

Shaking the Prick’s hand, pretending not to know who he is and what he’s done, even when he takes her hand and squeezes it hard, testing her.

Sliding her Ruger out of her pants, placing her finger on the trigger, and setting the gun on her thigh, pointed straight at him.

The new Kylie is going to kill this motherfucking Prick.

Keep your temper in check. Don’t do anything careless. Think.

“Are you visiting Shelby?” I ask, giving him my best faux smile.

“He just returned from Paris—”

“Shut your trap,” he snaps at Veronica. “Run your mouth and you’re done.”

And after you run your mouth, you’re done.

“Oh. I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t think.”

He ignores her to take a sip of coffee, then pulls a face. “Liquid shit.”

“Not like what you find in Paris, right?” I comment.

This earns me a glare.

I give him an innocent grin as I finger the trigger.

“I wish we left town to have lunch. Dayton has a fabulous new-wave restaurant. A bit pricey but I hear the food is excellent.”

“How long is he in town for?” I casually ask Veronica.

He practically drops his coffee cup on the table. It causes the table to vibrate and the other two cups of coffee to rattle. Three cups of coffee . . .

“Long enough.”

“He’s an entremanure.”

“Entrepreneur,” he corrects her. Although I can’t figure out what his native language is—if his accent is Eastern European or Russian, his English is perfect.

“Really? How great is it to have one visit Shelby? Are you an investor or inventor?” I don’t really expect him to come out and confirm his connection with Franco. Still, the quicker he talks, the quicker we’ll get down to real business.

“I invest in inventions.”

My eyebrows shoot up, high enough to touch the once-white ceiling. Inventions. Drugs. Next he’ll be sharing stories about his Barbie-doll collection.

Inventions like . . .I let my curiosity show on my face.

He shakes his head, refusing to elaborate on my unspoken question.

“Ever hear of the Belousov-Zhabotinsky reaction, named after the Russian scientist who first observed it? It happens when ferroin interacts with bromine and oxygen to create a series of spheres. The interesting part is that once the reaction is complete, there’s a reverse reaction that brings the atoms back into their original state.” The perfect example of the ying-yang that is my life.

Veronica looks at me like I’ve been sipping too much happy sauce.