Page 6 of Tracking Shadows
He follows me out of the booth, the grin back on his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Deal.”
Outside, the night air is cool, a welcome change from the stifling heat inside the bar. I start walking, and Alexei falls into step beside me. The streets are quiet, the city settling into that strange lull between dusk and midnight, when anything can happen and no one will care.
“You know,” Alexei says after a moment, “we don’t have to hate each other.”
“I don’t hate you,” I reply, my voice flat. “I just don’t trust you.”
He chuckles, the sound low and almost genuine. “That’s a start.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
We reach the next bar, the one where our contact is supposed to be, and I pause outside, turning to face him. “This isn’t a game, Alexei. If you mess this up, we both pay the price.”
His expression shifts, the humor fading. “I know.”
For a moment, we just stand there. I can see the determination in his eyes, the same drive that fuels me, but there’s something else, too.
“All right,” I finally say, pulling the door open. “Let’s get this over with.”
The inside of the bar is even worse than the last one—dark, dingy, and with a smell that makes my nose wrinkle. But I push it aside, scanning the room for our contact. There, in the corner, nursing a drink like it’s his only friend in the world.
We approach him, and I can feel Alexei tense beside me. This is it. His moment of truth. We’re about to see if his way works or if I’m going to have to clean up the mess.
The contact looks up as we reach his table, his eyes narrowing when he sees me.
Good. He knows who I am. That’ll make this easier.
“Evening,” Alexei says, sliding into the seat across from the man. “Mind if we join you?”
The man doesn’t respond, just looks at me like he’s waiting for the hammer to drop. I lean against the wall, crossing my arms and keeping my gaze fixed on him, letting him know that if he doesn’t play nice, I’m more than ready to make him regret it.
“Don’t worry,” Alexei continues, still all smiles. “We just want to talk.”
The man snorts, taking a swig of his drink. “Talk, huh? What about?”
“Sergei Marakov,” I say, cutting to the chase. “We know you’ve been in contact with his men. We need to know where he’s hiding.”
The man freezes, his knuckles white around the glass. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I push off the wall, taking a step closer, but Alexei holds up a hand, stopping me. “Let’s not start off with threats,” he says, his tone light. “How about we make a deal? You give us the information we need, and we make sure nothing happens to you.”
The man’s eyes dart between us. “And what happens if I don’t?”
“Then you answer to me,” I reply, my voice low and dangerous.
The man swallows hard. I can see the wheels turning in his head, weighing his options, trying to figure out the best way to save his own skin.
Finally, he sets the glass down with a trembling hand. “All right. I’ll tell you what I know. But you’d better keep your word.”
Alexei leans back, satisfied. “You have my word.”
The man glances at me, and I give him a nod, letting him know that if he cooperates, he’ll live to see another day.
“Look, I don’t know much,” the man stammers, eyes flicking nervously between us like a trapped animal searching for an escape route. His hands tremble slightly as he clutcheshis glass. “But there’s talk . . . Sergei’s got himself in deep with someone they call the Broker.”
Alexei, leaning forward just enough to close the distance. He's almost too calm. “The Broker? Who’s that?”