Page 61 of Raven's Mark
The screen blinks. Cipher's fingers hover over the keyboard, ready. Carmichael's jaw is tight. Knox and Beckett are already positioned for counter-surveillance. Rook has his rifle.
Everything is in place. Now all she has to do is walk out the door and let them take her.
17
RAVEN
The block north of Maria's is quieter than the rest of Main Street, and I'm grateful for it.
I pull into the first open spot and cut the engine. Through the windshield, the early afternoon sun bleaches the limestone storefronts white, and the foot traffic is thin enough that nobody's going to notice one woman sitting in a truck for thirty seconds longer than necessary.
My lips still feel bruised. Jesse kissed me like a man leaving a brand before I walked out, hard and possessive and meant to mark, and even now I can feel it pulsing beneath the operational calm like a second heartbeat. I push it down. Later. There'll be time for later, if I do this right.
My scan of the street is slow, unhurried, the kind that could pass for someone checking her phone or counting change. A man sits at one of the outdoor tables in front of the coffee shop across from Maria's, facing the street. I clock him without looking directly at him and slot the observation away. The bookstore two doors down from the bar has someone sitting on the bench outside, angled toward the street. A dark sedan sits parked on the corner, occupied but going nowhere.
All three positions, right where Cipher said they'd be.
My pulse kicks once before I get it back under control. This is just another room to clear, another threshold to cross, and I'm the one holding the primary variable.
I'm the bait.
The thought should scare me. What it actually does is settle something that's been wound tight since El Paso and everything I'd built my career on fractured at the foundation. But before that, there were years of chasing this network through dead ends and compromised operations, never gaining real ground, never getting close enough to do lasting damage. This is the chance to yank it out by the roots, and the satisfaction of that settles into my bones like something I've been starving for.
I grab my keys and climb out.
The walk to Maria's takes under two minutes. My hands stay loose at my sides, my gaze moving at a natural pace, the unhurried stride of someone who belongs on this street and has nowhere particular to be. Halfway there, I pause at a storefront window and pretend to study a display of handmade jewelry, letting my reflection show me the street behind me before I move on. The watch on my wrist feels heavier than it should, given everything riding on the transmitter embedded in its band. The earrings too, and the necklace resting against my collarbone. Torque's handiwork. Jesse's insurance.
The phone buzzes in my pocket. Cipher's text appears on the screen when I check it without breaking stride.
All three watchers confirmed. Coffee shop, bookstore, corner vehicle. Eyes on you.
Good. The phone goes back in my pocket, and I push through the door into Maria's.
The bar is dim after the sun’s glare, and I give my eyes three seconds to adjust before I move. Country music drifts fromthe jukebox. What appears to be a handful of locals are spread across the room, none of them paying particular attention to the door. The bartender's back is turned, restocking a shelf.
Then she turns around, and her eyes go wide.
"Sarah." Maria sets the glass down and leans across the bar, her voice dropping low. "Girl, what are you doing here? This town isn't safe for you right now, and you just waltz in and sit down like it's happy hour?"
"Hi, Maria." I settle onto the nearest stool and keep my voice even. "Shiner Bock, please."
"Don't you 'hi, Maria' me." She doesn't reach for a glass. Her glance flicks toward the door, then back to me, and the worry in her eyes hits me like a fist to the gut. "Does Jesse know you're here? Because last I heard, people were looking for you, and this is the last place you should be."
"He knows."
Maria doesn't look convinced. Her phone is already out, and before I can say another word she's punching in a number, jaw set. She presses it to her ear and waits. "Jesse, your girl just walked into my bar. You want to tell me what the hell is going on?" A pause. Her attention cuts to me, then away. "Fine. But if she gets hurt, that's on you."
Your girl.
The words settle deeper than I expected, slipping past the operational calm and taking root under it. I let them sit there without examining them too closely. Jesse Hollister would burn this town to the ground before he let anything happen to me. I know that with a certainty that has nothing to do with the transmitters on my body and everything to do with the way he looked at me before I left. The way he always looks at me, like I'm the only thing in any room that matters and the most dangerous threat in it at the same time.
She hangs up and sets a Shiner Bock in front of me, her expression somewhere between relieved and furious. "He says you're fine and I should stay out of it."
"Then stay out of it."
"Jesse Hollister is a damned fool." She leans in again, quieter this time. "Are you safe?"
"I'm working." The words come out with enough authority that she reads them correctly. Her jaw works, but she straightens and moves back to her side of the bar, picking up the glass she'd almost dropped and resuming the restocking with deliberate efficiency.
