“California for that trial.”
It was silent for a second. “I know that, dumbass. Where are you? I can’t track you.”
That was odd at best. We all had trackers. Tugging on my shirt, I looked in the mirror at my shoulder blade, and that’s when I saw it. The small incision.
“It’s gone.”
“Well, no shit, Sherlock. If it was there, I wouldn’t be telling you I couldn’t track you!”
“Would you stop fucking yelling at me? I’ve got a massive headache, people are trying to kill me, and I’ve lost my fucking phone. Again!”
“When was the last time you checked in with Cash?”
“I haven’t. I don’t remember being in contact with him.”
“At all?”
I glanced around the drab motel room, wondering what the hell I was missing. “Look, you said something about a job I interfered with. Did he happen to give you any details?”
“Yes, he called me and very calmly explained that one of my operatives joined him on a job. Then he asked if we could get together for tea and discuss possible outcomes.”
That didn’t sound at all like Cash. “Really?”
“No, not fucking really!”
Sighing, I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to make sense of what was happening. “Cap, my head is pounding. It would really fucking help if you could give answers without yelling at me.”
“I’m so glad that would help you. In the meantime, I’ve had to reroute a team out to your location because you can’t remember your shoe tie from a job.”
That was slightly harsh, but based on my current predicament, I couldn’t blame him for the sarcasm.
“What’s the address?”
I didn’t have that for him, but there was a very dirty brochure on the table that looked like it had been there since the eighties. “Starlight Motel. I’m outside of LA.”
“Sit tight, and do not move.”
That was easy enough. I was tired as hell and in desperate need of a nap.
And food.
Fuck, I was starving. If he was just sending the team this way, I had time to run out for something to eat. Walking over to the window, I peeked out from behind the mauve curtains, coughing when dust puffed in my face.
Scanning the streets, it was all clear. Not a soul in sight.
There was, however, a diner across the street. A single bulb flashed repeatedly from the Mickey’s Diner sign, while the rest lit up the parking lot with a dim yellow color.
It wasn’t the most appealing restaurant, but I was low on choices, and my stomach was aching with hunger. Decision made, I hit the lights and locked the door behind me, checking one last time around the motel. It was quiet.
Too quiet.
Pulling my gun, I checked the magazine. A single bullet. That’s all I had to defend myself against whoever was after me.Hopefully, I had lost them, or maybe they wouldn’t come after me again until I had a team.
As I crossed the street, I chastised myself for getting into trouble like this. I rarely went out on jobs, and when I did, the guys always ragged on me for the hell of it, laughing about how I was more of a desk jockey than a field operative.
And I’d just proven their point.
I strode up the steps of the old diner car, cursing when I nearly fell through the rusted metal steps. The door gave an odd jangle as I tugged it open. Glancing up at the bell, I grimaced at the grease coating the inside. When was the last time anyone had cleaned this place?