Page 105 of Talk to Me

“Same.” With Remington’s agreement, all three were firmly on the same side again.

“Usually when I do that, it’s because I can see what you can’t,” I said and that was when I saw their point. They might see or notice something I didn’t. Surrendering operational control was not my favorite thing, but I wasn’t going to be behind my computer for this one. I would be out there, in the field, taking a risk.

I really had lost my damn mind.

“Fine, done. If any one of us calls it. I’ll walk away.”

Their relief sent a dagger of guilt plunging through me. They were doing a lot for me, this was the least I could do.

“Okay, coffee and planning.” McQuade pointed at me. “Possible locations, I want us to control the where, so whatever deal you strike, make sure that’s on our side. Let’s start with where you were thinking?”

The tension ballooned again but this wasn’t with the same violence as before. No, it bubbled with anticipation and anxiety. I was really going to do this, which meant, we needed to go over everything.

“Go over the plan again,” McQuade said from the front seat as Locke drove. We’d left well before sunrise, the drive to Detroit was going to take several hours. I’d set the meeting for a little after two. Well past the lunch hour and before the evening crowds would fill the area.

Open, and public, but not so dense with people we risked anyone getting hurt. An icy heat kept sweeping over me each time I thought about the fact I would be meeting face to face with someone I had only ever spoken to online.

That apprehension would probably have been present when I met these three, had circumstances been wildly different. The only objection Remy had made initially had been related to the fact the mobile unit wasn’t quite ready for this operation.

Still, it should be a simple meet and greet.

Should be.

“Meeting location is the coffee shop near the clocktower. We will make contact at the clocktower and enter the coffee shop together. Tiffin—my contact—will be wearing a navy, orange, and white hat with a sports logo on it.”

“Detroit Tigers,” Locke said over his shoulder. “Stylized D.”

“Does it matter?” I countered. “It’s a sports logo, I know the one to look for.”

“Aren’t you the one who usually reminds us that preciseness is important?” McQuade’s teasing tone stroked over me.

“Yes, fine. Navy, orange, and white cap with the stylized D for the Detroit Tigers. In addition to the cap, he will be wearing a black hoodie and carrying a denim backpack. If he has taken off the hoodie or is dangling the backpack rather than has it on his back, the meeting may have been compromised. Back off.”

Tiffin and I had spent an hour working out the details. It was complicated and as much as it might seem unnecessary, it was far from it. Tiffin and I had contact for years via the dark web. He’d always been a reliable resource. For this—for this I needed face to face before I read him into what was happening.

No way I’d drag a relative innocent into the possible crosshairs of some shady, disavowed government conspiracy. It was insane if I tried to think about it too closely. How was this my life?

“I’m wearing this dark purple ‘Get a Life’ sweatshirt. My hair will be pulled back into a braid and I have a pair of sparkly sunglasses.” They were the most ridiculous things. Locke had found them at a service station about seven miles away from the house. They were shaped like stars and sparkled in the sunlight.

Gaudy as hell.

I loved them.

“If something is worrying me, I’m to push them up onto my head. If something feels off or is wrong, take them off entirely. If I want immediate extraction, pull my braid free.” It was a lot simpler than Tiffin’s outfit.

“Locke and McQuade will be in the crowd,” Remington said. “I’ll have overwatch. Whoever is closest is the one who gets you out when extraction is called.”

“And if comms don’t work or it’s too noisy?” Because that was the biggest reason I would be taking the meeting instead of letting Locke play the part of Patch.

“In the event of communication failure, I’ll move to your line of sight,” Remington said. “I’m better at a distance, but I’ll be where you can see me and I can get to you. They won’t be far.”

“For the record,” Locke said. “I don’t like this plan.”

“Neither do I,” McQuade agreed. “But it’s the best of a shit situation. You’re wearing the body vest, right?”

He’d strapped it on me before I’d pulled the loose sweatshirt over my head. So the question wasn’t for him, it was for Locke and Remy.

“Yes,” I said. “Still not sure it will protect me from a headshot.”