“You’ll be good, Evie.”

I nodded even though he couldn’t see me.

“I will,” I agreed. “Thanks. And just…thanks. I know I wasn’t real gracious about this earlier but I’m, well…” Damn it all, I had to say it. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“No issues, babe. Now, you got ten minutes to get here, it’s a five-minute drive, and I don’t think, if he’s casing the joint, he’ll balk you got here early. But I want you here so I have an eye on you.”

My blood pressure spiked, and I spoke words I never in my life thought I’d say unless I was playing an RPG. “If he’s casing the joint, he might have seen you positioning.”

“He didn’t see me positioning.”

“But what if—”

“Honey, baby, Evie, get this. He did not see me positioning.”

I shut up, and this was partly to do with him clearly wanting me to let it go, partly to do with his utter confidence in his abilities, something that shared he was highly skilled in those abilities, and partly to do with double-barrel endearments before my name that were said gentle, but exasperated, and that was cute, and hot.

Damn.

“All right,” I muttered.

“Hit it. You get a bad vibe, you bail. I got you covered. You with me?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Go. Phone in your back pocket. Keys in your hand. You get out of your car, do not take your bag.”

“Okay.”

“You got this, Evie.”

I had everything.

Always.

Though now, for the first time, I had backup.

“Right,” I said.

“Go with your gut. Do not hesitate. Your gut tells you something, you do it. I got eyes on you, and however it goes down, we’ll deal, or we’ll rendezvous where we need to rendezvous. All right?”

“Yeah.”

“Turn on the transmitter and mute your phone then talk to me.”

I did as told.

I unmuted my phone and asked, “Got me?”

“Got you.”

Oh boy.

Those two words settled, and I had no control over how deep they went.

Which, by the by, was deep.

“See you soon, baby,” he said.

“Okay, Danny.”

I could swear I heard him mutter, “Fuck me, I like that from her,” before he disconnected.

I tucked my phone in my back pocket, got my keys from my bag and started up my car.

I spoke to him as I drove to the Storage and Such because I was nervous, because he might expect it so he knew we were still connected, and last, because I wanted that link.

No.

Needed it.

I didn’t say much of anything except what I was doing.

Like,

“Pulling out of the parking spot now.”

And,

“Indicating to get onto Colfax now.”

Etcetera.

I then pulled into the Storage and Such (telling Mag I was doing that) and I did it with my heart beating hard.

Man, oh man, did Mick owe me for this.

Seriously.

The Storage and Such was not well lit.

But I found unit six and stopped beside it.

I stayed in my car, letting it idle.

“I’m not a fan of letting a car idle,” I told Mag, then realized if I was being watched, they might see my lips move.

I quit talking.

I tried to distract myself with looking around, attempting to figure out where Mag was hiding (he was right, I could not see him anywhere at all, and there weren’t a lot of hiding places), assessing the distance and then calculating the time it would take for him to get to me.

I decided there were four different hiding places, and taking into account an average “fast” hundred-meter run (which I assumed Danny could pull off) was about fourteen seconds—and there were other parameters, including the fact he might have to get down from a roof—he could make it to me in between 0.27 and 1.23 minutes.

I could probably hold my own for 0.27 minutes.

I just hoped he wasn’t on a roof.

I got bored with this and snapped, “He’s late,” when my clock struck 11:37.

Two minutes later, a black car with a hood so long, I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen that long of a hood, rounded me at my side and angled in front of me before it stopped.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I hissed. “Why is he cutting me off?”

I needed an earbud.

Mag didn’t offer an earbud.

This dude would probably see an earbud, which was likely why Mag didn’t offer one.

Shit, shit, shit.

The guy in the long car got out.

He was tall, skinny, white, and dressed in jeans and a shirt I couldn’t see very well because it was covered by a big leather jacket.

Slowly, I switched off my car and got out too.

I left my bag behind.

But I had my keys in my hand.

He did not hesitate to walk to me.

I braced.

Mag was out there, watching.

He had me.

I had this.

“Evan Gardiner?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Twenty-two left, thirty-eight right, seventeen left. Trader Joe’s bag. Grab it. Keep it safe. I’ll text you in a couple of days with instructions.”

He then turned to walk away.

Wait.

What?

“Hey!” I cried, starting to follow him.

He turned back. “Twenty-two left, thirty-eight right, seventeen left.” He jerked his head to the sliding steel door on unit six. A door that had a combination lock on it. “Trader Joe’s bag. Keep it safe, Gardiner. Or Mick’s got problems.”

With that, he got in his car, reversed a little, then his massive vehicle chugged forward and rounded the units at the other end, disappearing.

I muttered to myself, “Twenty-two left, thirty-eight right, seventeen left,” as I approached the door.

I had to shove my keys in my pocket and get out my phone to engage the flashlight to open the lock.

This I did, and it made a huge, loud ruckus as I lifted the door.

The contents were shadowed, but I could tell there were a lot.

I swung my flashlight around, found a switch, flipped it, there was a hum and recalcitrant tube lights overhead came on. I entered just as my phone rang.

I dug it out of my back pocket, saw it was Mag, engaged and put it to my ear, searching for a Trader Joe’s bag.

“Okay, that wasn’t too bad,” I said.

“Nab the bag, do not look in it, put it in your car, and go. I’ll meet you at your place. I’m in position until you pull out,” he stated, and I didn’t know him very well, but he didn’t sound happy.

He also didn’t wait for me to confirm.

He disconnected.

It appeared this guy, or Mick, or someone collected a lot of junk.

And thus, it was not easy finding the Trader Joe’s bag.

Though I found it in an old cooler.

Mag (and possibly others) was watching so I didn’t look in it.

I just grabbed it, found it wasn’t heavy, but it made a noise that didn’t make me very happy. In fact, it made my breathing go wonky.

But I got out of there, pulled the door down, locked it, entered my car, stowed the bag, and got the hell out of there.

I drove five miles under the speed limit on the way home, which might be stupid, but I was freaked and I didn’t want to be freaked and in an accident where someone would find whatever was in that bag in my car and I might end up in the hospital.