Page 9 of Spring L.A.W.
“No,” she cut in. “We’re getting nowhere. He’s not talking. He’s not signaling. He’s just existing suspiciously. I say we go off-script.”
Daniel groaned. “You mean interact.”
“I mean talk,” Rayna said, already adjusting her sunglasses and striding forward. “Friendly, casual,non-threateninghuman talk. And by we, I mean me.”
Michael and Daniel exchanged a look.
“Want backup?” Michael asked.
“If I get murdered in broad daylight, avenge me dramatically,” Rayna said. “Otherwise, stay put. If he spooks, I don’t want him seeing your faces again.”
She turned into the alley.
It smelled like old grease and rotting pizza. A row of trash bins lined the left wall. Payne stood at the far end, hands in hispockets, frowning at the brick wall as if it had just insulted his mother.
Rayna cleared her throat. “Major Payne.”
He turned slowly, like he’d already heard her coming four steps ago.
“Ms. Blackstone,” he said. Not a question. Not surprised.
Rayna stopped five feet away, close enough for conversation but far enough to dodge a sudden roundhouse if things got dicey.
“You always spend your mornings lurking behind delis?” she asked.
“Only when the company’s good,” he replied.
Her smile was light. “How long have you known I was following you?”
“Since the Vintage clothing store window. I paused at the schoolyard, figuring if I looked like a creeper, you might confront me.”
Rayna laughed and flipped her long, fiery red hair over her shoulder. “I wasn’t planning on confronting you at all. But I got bored.”
“Aren’t you entertained enough by those two… What do you call them? Man-pets?”
“Yes. I find them very entertaining. But even if you have steak every day, sometimes a girl just wants a hamburger.”
His brows shot up. “Are you calling me a hamburger and my former subordinates steaks?”
She laughed out loud. “No. Sorry. That was just an unfortunate metaphor. Better than saying chicken, though.”
“How about Lobster thermidor?”
“Mmm… Now my mouth is watering.”
He looked at her as if his mouth were watering too, but not from the food discussion.
“Shall we take this to a restaurant?” he asked. “It’s long past lunch. Have you eaten?”
“I could eat.” She didn’t say what, or ratherwho,she’d like to eat. He was standing right in front of her. However, she let an unashamed smile lift her lips.
The placethey landed was calledThe Fourth on Fifth, a narrow, no-frills joint with exposed brick walls, laminated menus, and waitstaff who looked like they’d seen some things. A chalkboard near the door advertised “Lunch Specials All Day” in cheerful handwriting, but the only thing cheerful about the place was the waitress with lavender glasses and an impressive neck tattoo of a phoenix rising from her bra-strap.
They were seated in a booth toward the back, beneath a ceiling fan and a crooked photo of the Brooklyn Bridge. The hum of conversation, clatter of dishes, and hiss of the espresso machine formed a comfortable wall of ambient noise, enough to muffle their voices without forcing them to whisper.
Rayna watched Payne across the table over the rim of her mug. He hadn’t taken off his coat. His posture was too upright for someone “off duty,” but he had ordered a sandwich, so she gave him half a point for pretending.
“So,” she said, “should we keep pretending this is a casual lunch? Or are you going to ask me if I’m a threat to national security?”
