Page 47 of The True Garza

“That’s why neither of us will be doing anything,” he says. “Sacha is new. No one knows he’s with Red Cage. He’s foreign, so he’s the best person to play the new head. The others you saw tonight are from our Denver branch.”

“This is on the outskirt of Santa Monica, though,” I point out. “How will the mole come to us if there’s no way for Sacha to reach out to him?”

Our meals arrive just then.

Once the server has tabled our plates and left, True eats a forkful of couscous and continues, “We’ll draw the mole’s attention by staging shit. Salt Room Marina is dockside. We’ll have reports made of girls going ‘missing’ after being seen hanging out at Salt Room Marina and getting on docked yachts.”

“Reports?”

“We’re in LA. Wannabe actors are a dime a dozen,” he says, forking off a piece of mahi-mahi. “I don’t trust your uncle; he’s too ambitious. Your brother’s kind of a dickhead, but he’s one of the good ones. What’s your relationship with him like? Do you think you can trust him?”

“Charles?” I pause my fork of salmon mid-air, think about it, then shrug. “You’re right, he’s a dickhead.”

True chuckles.

“But, when it counts, I can trust him.”

True nods as he chews. “If you’re sure you can, then I’ll need you to coordinate with him. Let him in on the plan so when the fake reports are made, he’ll be the one ‘following up’ on them.”

“Oh, he’s gonna both love and hate this,” I mumble around a short chuckle. “He wanted to help me, so he’ll jump in, no hesitation. But he’s gonna hate that I’m letting your guys help me instead.”

“Or he’s gonna be smug that we want his help at all.”

“Oh, that, too. Definitely.” I chew and swallow some sweet potatoes, ruminating on the plan. “This is a well-thought-out plan, I’m not going to lie. Do you really think it will work?”

He lifts a brow at me. “Is my name True Garza?”

I roll my eyes. “Thank you for helping.”

“You’re Red Cage now. This is what we do for each other.”

“Is that the only reason you’re helping me?”

“You think there’s another reason?”

I give a one-shoulder shrug, take a sip of my drink. “Maybe it’s more than a ‘work family’ obligation. Maybe youwantto help me.”

“Of course I want to help you,” he replies with a frown. “That’s why I’m helping you.”

Yeah, I could’ve phrased that better. And now I’m left looking like an idiot. That’s what I get for trying to flirt with a flirt. Something I haven’tgenuinely done on purpose in ages.Of courseI’m garbling nonsense. I’m a mess.

I’m alsothirty-two, not sixteen. What the hell’s wrong with me?

He’s just a man, London.

An irritating one at that.

With an inward groan, I gulp down all the liquid in my glass.

“You good?” True asks when I set the glass down harder than intended.

“Uh, yeah,” I answer without meeting his gaze, then fork a spoonful of fish in my mouth. “Just thirsty, is all.”

“For water or for me?”

I start choking on the well-cooked glazed Salmon.

True’s chair scrapes across the floor as he shoots up to come help me. But I quickly hold a hand out to stop him. “It’s fine. It’s fine. I’m fine.”