Page 17 of Velvet Vaughn

She was going to walk into Leo’s condo tonight wearing her professional face, sweep his unit, then sit at his table and make him tell her what had happened. Anja would ask the questions that needed asking. At some point between now and midnight, she’d have to decide whether the drawer stayed shut or if she let it crack open a finger’s width and find out what she could live with.

See, Kayla? That was honesty. Anja wasn’t above this. She’d just been pretending she was.

She switched the radio on and let a low rock guitar line fill the Escalade because she needed something to drive with. Silence had started to feel like company she didn’t want.

#

The Gateway Arch came up in her windshield around hour three and three-quarters, catching the moonlight in a long silver curve that arose out of the Missouri side of the river.

She’d been running surveillance-detection routes in her head since Vandalia, a habit from her Pittsburgh homicide years that had never really left her, and had been watching traffic for the last forty miles. Nothing had stood out, but that didn’t mean nothing was there. Not that she actually believed anyone was following her, but it paid to keep the skills sharp.

She took the Poplar Street Bridge across the Mississippi, the river a dark ribbon beneath her. Downtown St. Louis opened on the far bank in a glow of lit-up buildings. The streets were alive with pedestrians in evening clothes. A cluster of Cardinals fans in red jerseys ambled down Market Street away from Busch Stadium, laughing about something she couldn’t hear through her cracked window. The air wafting in smelled of the river and barbecue.

When she was three blocks out from Leo’s building, she instructed her phone to dial his number.

“Pulling up.”

“I’ll meet you in the garage.”

“Negative. Stay in your unit. I’ll come to you.”

“Anja—”

“Leo. Stay inside.”

The pause on his end lasted half a second, and then she heard him exhale. He’d been about to argue, then thought better of it.

“Copy.”

She appreciated that he didn’t fight her. Civilians under pressure argued about everything, and the ones who didn’t were usually either veterans or quick studies. Leo had no military background, putting him squarely in the second category.

“I’ll be there in ten. Put a fresh pot of coffee on. I want to read your face while you tell me what happened today.”

“You want to read my face?”

“Tells are cheaper in person.”

Another surprised half-laugh. “Coffee’s already on.”

“Good. Ten minutes.”

Anja ended the call and took the turn into the underground garage. She parked in the visitors’ section, killed the engine, and sat for a slow sixty seconds with her hands on the wheel, observing the garage around her in the mirrors and through the windshield.

She typed a quick text to let Leo know she was on the way up, got out, shouldered the go-bag, and walked toward the elevator with her jacket open and her right hand loose at her side where the Sig sat high on her hip under the hem. There were five cars on this level. Three of them looked as if they’d been parked for hours, with dust on the rear windows and no heat signatures visible through the glass. The other two were fresh: a gray Audi in the near corner, its engine ticking as it cooled, and a white pickup by the elevator bank with a set of golf clubs in the bed. Nobody was in either cab, and she didn’t hear any footsteps echoing on the concrete.

Clean enough for the first pass.

She took the mirrored elevator and thumbed the button for the top floor.

The car rose with the drone of a well-maintained cable system, and Anja caught her reflection in the back wall because there was no avoiding it. Blonde strands had escaped the braid she’d put in four hours earlier in Bloomington. A faint flush warmed her cheekbones that had nothing to do with the heated air inside the car. Her chin was set at the familiar angle it always took before she walked into a room she didn’t trust. She looked ready to work.

She also looked like someone stepping into a chapter she hadn’t named yet.

Both versions were here, and neither was about to take control of the other. She’d sort out the balance later.

The elevator opened on the top floor to a hallway with two doors that was hushed and tastefully lit. A runner stretched down the center and light jazz drifted out from behind the other door. Anja stopped in front of the one with Leo’s unit number on the brass plate. She adjusted her bag in her grip, squared her shoulders, inhaled deeply, and knocked twice firmly.

The door whipped open, and Anja tried to calm her racing heart.