Sneaky

Dante

“Quickly.” I hang up the phone and sit back down at my desk. I don’t know what the hell made El call me like that, but I know the driver headed her way needs to move fast. Anything that scares her, scares me.

Which means it’s a bitch of a time trying to get my eyes to refocus on the work I was doing right before she called. I tap my fingers on the top of my desk, hum a song to myself, play music out loud. Nada. Finally, I give up, pour myself a glass of scotch, and take a long sip. Peaty. Rich. Steadying, thank God. When I sit back down at my desk, the words don’t swim off my computer screen.

Windows crowd the monitor, all different transcripts of different reports from Teo since he’s gone under. He said something when he came out this last time that scratched an itch in my brain, and I’m trying to figure out where that itch came from.

Klondike Paper. Apparently, it’s the name of an office the Russians control, one they don’t intend to let Teo into for a while yet. But I swear i