A Sense of Danger

by Jennifer Estep

She made a derisive sound in the back of her throat. “It’s a mom-and-pop diner, not an organic juice bar.”

  “Point taken.”

  Charlotte trudged up the steps and yanked open the front door. She nodded to the old woman sitting behind the cash register, who I assumed was Zeeta, given the faded black nametag on her blue shirt. Zeeta grunted back, and her aura pulsed a sour, putrid green. She wasn’t a fan of Charlotte Locke.

  “You’re late,” Zeeta accused in a low, raspy voice. “Again.”

  A muscle ticked in Charlotte’s jaw, and her hand curled around the strap of her purse like she wanted to swing it out and brain the older woman with it. I hid a grin. Good to know I wasn’t the only one she not-so-secretly wanted to murder.

  “Sorry. I had to stop and pick up my…friend.” Charlotte jerked her head at me. “He’s going to hang out for a while. I thought you might appreciate the extra business.”

  Zeeta eyed me, her aura still pulsing that same sour green. She sniffed. “Late is late, no matter how much business you supposedly bring in.”

  That muscle ticked in Charlotte’s jaw again, but she didn’t say anything else as she swept past the other woman, dumped her bags on the back counter, tied on a white apron, and got to work.

  I slid into the back corner booth, one that gave me a view of the entire diner as well as the parking lot outside. I ordered an egg-white omelet with ham and spinach, plain whole-wheat toast, and an ice water with lemon. Charlotte took my order and handed it to the young guy in the kitchen, Pablo, according to the nametag on his blue work shirt.

  “How was the peach pie?” Pablo asked in a friendly voice.

  “Oh, it was great,” Charlotte replied. “It really hit the spot after a…rough night.”

  Pablo nodded and smiled, apparently not hearing the slight hesitation in her voice.

  Charlotte smiled back at him, seeming to have some genuine affection for the young cook. That one simple motion completely transformed her features. Her eyes brightened, her cheeks lifted, her shoulders relaxed, and her aura glowed a cool, soothing blue. In an instant, she went from ordinary to extraordinary. The change startled me even more than seeing her legs in those white tights.

  Charlotte must have sensed my curious gaze because she glanced in my direction, and the smile dropped from her face like a stone sinking to the bottom of a lake. In an instant, she had morphed back into a cold, prickly analyst, despite the fact that she was still wearing the tacky waitress uniform. She stared at me a moment longer, then went over to refill someone’s coffee.

  She ignored me, but for some reason, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from her, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to get Charlotte Locke to smile at me like that.

  * * *

  While Charlotte waited tables, I ate my omelet, which was surprisingly good. Then I plucked some files relating to Henrika Hyde out of my briefcase and read through them, prepping for the Redburn mission. I also kept an eye out for cleaners and other potential enemies, but a steady stream of people entered the diner, ate their food, and left, and no one showed any untoward interest in either Charlotte or me.

  The evening passed by quietly until around nine o’clock, when a man strode inside the diner. He was tall and muscled with short black hair and ebony skin and was dressed in a tight, long-sleeve black shirt, black cargo pants, and black boots. Despite the casual clothes, he had cleaner written all over him, and I didn’t have to feel the energy pulsing off his body or see his smoky gray aura to know he was just as dangerous as I was.

  The man’s head swiveled back and forth as he scanned the diner, looking for potential threats just as I had earlier. His gaze focused on Charlotte, then his head turned, and his light brown eyes locked with mine. Surprise and interest filled his face, and he sauntered in my direction, his long, confident strides eating up the distance between us.

  “This seat taken?” he asked in a low, deep voice.

  “It is now.”

  The man slid into the seat across from mine. He leaned back in his side of the booth and crossed his arms over his chest, studying me the same way I studied him. After several seconds, he tipped his head. “Gabriel.”

  “Desmond.”

  He didn’t say anything else, and neither did I, although we both kept staring, silently sizing each other up. Danger recognized danger.

  Charlotte finished with another customer and headed over to our booth. She glanced back and forth between the two of us before focusing on Gabriel. “What can I get you?” she asked in a wary voice.

  “The usual,” he replied. “Please.”

  She walked off and returned a few minutes later with a cup of coffee and a large piece of cherry pie topped with vanilla ice cream, which she deposited in front of him. Gabriel nodded his thanks, although he didn’t make a move toward his cup or plate. Instead, he kept staring at me, his arms still crossed over his chest, his right fingers drumming out a slow, steady rhythm on his left elbow.

  Below the table, out of sight, my hands clenched into fists, and I started thinking about how I would kill him. I’d start by snatching his cup and tossing the hot coffee in his face. Then, while he was screaming and flailing around, I’d grab the fork on his pie plate, lunge forward, and ram it into his throat—

  Charlotte let out a loud, derisive snort. “If the two of you are done puffing up your chests, maybe you can tell me what you want, Gabriel.”

  “I came to talk to you,” he rumbled back to her, although he kept his eyes fixed on mine. “I thought you might want to know that four bodies got fished out of the Potomac this afternoon. The cops haven’t identified them yet, but one of my guys was on the scene, and he gave me a heads-up.” Gabriel paused. “My guy recognized one of the bodies as a Section cleaner. Rosalita.”

  Charlotte didn’t react. Didn’t blink, swallow, sigh, or shift on her feet. She didn’t do anything to indicate that she already knew about the bodies, and her aura didn’t so much as flicker with the faintest trace of worry or concern. It was an impressive show of seemingly bored impassivity. “So?”

  “So I saw Rosalita last night. Spotted her lurking around the diner parking lot when I was leaving. Funny coincidence, don’t you think? Her coming here last night and then turning up dead today?”

  “What are you implying? That I killed her?” A merry little laugh tumbled out of Charlotte’s lips. “Please. You know me better than that.”

  Gabriel finally fixed his gaze on her. “Oh, I do know you, Charlotte. You could kill a cleaner, if you had to. We both know you’ve done it before.”

  She grimaced, and the two of them exchanged a look I couldn’t quite decipher. In that moment, they seemed to have some deep, dark, shared history, and I was surprised by how…excluded that made me feel. I shouldn’t care what sort of relationship Charlotte had with this man, but for some reason I did. But that was only because I didn’t want him messing up my plans for Henrika and Anatoly. Yes, that was it.

  When Charlotte didn’t respond, Gabriel’s gaze flicked back to me. “Or perhaps your boy here did it. He could definitely kill a cleaner, or four.”

  She bristled. “He is not my boy.”

  Gabriel tilted his head to the side, still looking at me. “Really? Well, if the two of you aren’t knocking boots, then why is he here?”

  “Maybe I like the ambiance,” I replied.

  “Ambiance,” he drawled. “Right.”

  Gabriel turned toward Charlotte. “If you’re in trouble—”

  “I am not in trouble,” she snapped, cutting him off. “And even if I was, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

  “You’re my investment, so that makes it my business.”

  Charlotte’s jaw clenched, her eyes glittered with anger, and her aura blazed a bright neon-blue. Her fingers also clenched around the pen in her hand in that familiar, unconscious, I-want-to-stab-you-to-death motion. Gabriel grimaced. Even he realized that had been the wrong thing to say.

  “Well, your investment has
to get back to work.” She ripped his order ticket off the top of her pad and slapped it down on the table. “Pay Zeeta on your way out the door.”

  Charlotte glared at him again, then whirled around and stalked over to take someone else’s order. Gabriel watched her go, and his gray aura dimmed with regret.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  We sat there in silence. I watched Charlotte out of the corner of my eye, but she was smiling and chatting with the other diners. If not for the color in her cheeks and the continued blaze of her aura, I wouldn’t have known anything was wrong—

  “You know, I’ve always thought that tacky waitress uniform is kind of hot.”

  Surprised, I jerked my gaze back over to Gabriel.

  “I especially like those white tights,” he continued. “Then again, I’ve always been a leg man. Seems like you are too.”

  I didn’t respond, and the two of us studied each other in tense silence again.

  “I know you’re a Section cleaner, just like I used to be,” Gabriel continued. “I don’t know what you have going on with Charlotte, but you’d better treat her right.”

  I raised my eyebrows and smirked at him. “Or what? You’ll come beat me up?”

  “Nah. I’ll just kill you.”

  His aura pulsed a vivid gray, burning as brightly as the neon signs in the diner windows. He meant what he said and had the confidence—and deadly skills—to back up his bravado.

  “You might find that far more difficult than you imagine,” I replied in an icy tone.

  This time, Gabriel raised his eyebrows and smirked at me. “Well, I certainly hope there’s more to you than just that slick suit and pretty face. Otherwise, I would be severely disappointed.”

  Before I could snap back at him, Gabriel leaned forward and speared me with a cold, hard look. “Charlotte is a good person. Stubborn as a mule, but truly good. I consider her a friend, and if there is one thing you should know about me, Slick, it’s that I watch out for my friends.”

  “Really? All your friends? Or just the ones who owe you money?”

  He stiffened at my insult.

  “What was it that you called Charlotte?” I snapped my fingers together, as though the answer had just come to me. “Oh, that’s right—an investment.”

  “That came out wrong.”

  “Did it?”

  “Yes, it did.” His eyes narrowed. “And you’re in no position to point fingers at me, Percy.”

  This time, I stiffened.

  “Oh, that’s right. I recognize you. Desmond Percy, cleaner extraordinaire, the golden boy of Section 47. Tell me, is your daddy, the General, still around? Still running the show and screwing people over left and right?”

  His words punched me in the gut. The General didn’t merely screw people over—he destroyed them. Everyone, that is, except for Adrian Anatoly. Despite what Anatoly had done to Graham, to all those other Section agents, to me, my father had dismissed the situation as being beneath his notice and not worthy of calling in any favors to aid my mission.

  Anatoly is just another terrorist, my father had barked at me over the phone while I was still in the hospital recovering from the Blacksea ambush. Someone will get lucky and kill him someday.

  Well, that someone was going to be me, and that day was fast approaching. My father might not have helped me, but his name and the fake emails and orders I’d sent from his Section accounts certainly had.

  Gabriel smirked at me again. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  I still didn’t say anything, and his face slowly turned serious again.

  “As for Charlotte owing me money, well, maybe you should ask your old man about that.”

  His words surprised me. “What do you mean?”

  “You know about Charlotte’s father, right? The Mexico mission?”

  Every Section cleaner knew about the Mexico mission, even though it had happened some fifteen years ago. It was a painful reminder and a stark example that while we might work for a government agency, that same agency would disavow any knowledge and leave us to rot if we were ever captured—or executed, as Jack Locke had been.

  Gabriel leaned forward and lowered his voice. “My old man was working for Section then. He was part of the support staff for the Mexico mission. Jack Locke and some other cleaners were sent to eliminate a drug cartel leader, a real nasty piece of work named Feliciano Salvador. But things went wrong, and everyone was killed, except for Locke.”

  “So what? Everyone knows that.”

  He leaned forward a little more, his eyes fixed on mine. “So, not everyone knows that Salvador made a ransom demand to Section, to your daddy, specifically. Fifteen years ago would have been back before your daddy was a general and on the Section board of directors. Back when he was still stationed here in D.C. and in charge of the cleaners. Maybe you remember that time?”

  He was right. I had been in D.C. back then, spending a long, hot, unfortunate summer with my father, and I remembered all the tense, hushed calls about the Mexico mission.

  “The ransom demand was three million dollars,” Gabriel continued. “Of course, Section wouldn’t pay it, since they don’t negotiate with anyone.”

  “But?” I asked, even though I knew I wouldn’t like his answer.

  “But Jane Locke, Charlotte’s grandmother, didn’t want to lose her son, so she borrowed the money from my family, the Chases, and she asked my dad, Leon, to deliver it, which he did. But of course, things went bad,” Gabriel said. “Your daddy wanted another crack at Salvador, so he secretly sent a team of cleaners to the exchange—but they screwed up. Salvador bolted, and Jack Locke was killed in the crossfire.”

  Gabriel’s aura pulsed a bright gray again, and his voice rang with a truth I couldn’t deny. His meaning was crystal-clear—that my father had put his own goals and ambitions above the life of a fellow cleaner and Section agent. I would have liked to claim that the news shocked me, but it didn’t. Not in the slightest. I knew the General better than anyone, so I knew exactly how cold and calculating he could be.

  Gabriel sat back in his side of the booth. “Here’s another funny thing about the Mexico mission. The three million in ransom money vanished. As far as my father could tell, Salvador didn’t get it, and my father didn’t know where it went or who ended up with it. Then again, money has a tendency to disappear during missions.”

  Knowing the General, he’d had something to do with that too, although I didn’t voice my thought.

  “So that’s how Charlotte and her grandmother first got into debt,” I said, finishing his story. Because of my father. I didn’t have to say the words. We were both thinking them.

  Gabriel shrugged. “My father helped them with it the best he could, letting Jane pay back the money a little bit at a time. She had actually paid off most of the debt, but then she got sick, and her medical bills started piling up. So Charlotte took out another loan from me. And now, well, here we all are in this diner tonight.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

  He shot me another cold look. “Your family has already fucked over the Lockes once before, and a man died because of it. You fuck over Charlotte the same way, and I won’t be lazy enough to dump your body in the river. No one will ever find so much as the smallest piece of you, no matter who your daddy is. That’s a promise, Slick.”

  His deadly warning delivered, Gabriel slid out of his side of the booth, got to his feet, and strode away without a backward glance. His story lingered, though, along with the uncomfortable truths he’d revealed about my father—and myself.

  All this time, I had been so focused on avenging Graham that I hadn’t stopped to consider what impact my plan would have on Charlotte—namely, the danger I was putting her in. Oh, I imagined that someone would have tried to kill her sooner or later, but I’d probably accelerated the timeline by coming to D.C. and roping her into my scheme to take down Henrika Hyde.

  Maybe Gabriel was right. Maybe I was just like my father and ab
out to fuck over an innocent woman—and get her killed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Charlotte

  In between helping the other customers, I watched while Gabriel and Desmond had their little macho cleaner tête-à-tête. Snatches of their back-and-forth conversation drifted over to me.

  “…Mexico mission…”

  “…everyone knows that…”

  “…borrowed the money…”

  “…why are you telling me this…”

  “…a man died…”

  I couldn’t hear everything they said, but I got the gist of their conversation. Gabriel was telling Desmond what had happened to my father and why I was in such deep debt to him. Anger spiked through me, and my fingers fisted in the damp cloth I was using to wipe down the dining counter. My debt was personal, private, and strictly between Gabriel and me. Desmond had absolutely nothing to do with it, and I certainly didn’t want his sympathy—or worse, his pity.

  I also didn’t blame him for what his father had done to mine. Desmond had been a college kid back then, just like me. He couldn’t have changed what General Percy did, just as I’d never been able to convince my father to quit taking such dangerous missions and spend more time at home with Grandma Jane and me.

  Gabriel finished his conversation with Desmond, slid out of the booth, and paid Zeeta for his uneaten pie and coffee. Then he stepped over to me.

  “I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, or why those cleaners are dead, but you need to be careful, Charlotte,” he said. “I’m going to be busy the next few days on a new job, but if you need anything—anything at all—you call me.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not in trouble, so I won’t need anything.” My voice sounded weak even to my own ears.

  Gabriel snorted. “Fine. Don’t tell me what’s going on, but don’t let your stupid, stubborn pride get in the way of saving your own skin.” He jabbed his finger at me. “Especially when a Percy is involved. You hear me?”

  I gave him a short, reluctant nod. As much as I didn’t want to accept his help, I would do it to save my own skin, just like he said. Survival was one of the few things more important than my own stupid, stubborn pride. “I hear you. Loud and clear.”