Page 23 of Tell Me All Your Lies

Grant grins widely back.

I step off the elevator and hear him behind me as we head to the double doors to leave the agency.

“Tomorrow, 0500 hours. Meet me at the Skyline Diner. We need to go over our plans.”

“See you there, darling,” he says with a faint laugh.

The diner ismy favorite one in the city. It’s close to the agency and my office, but it’s more than that. It reminds me of simpler times. Almost as if it has been frozen in a past era.

The owner is a wrinkled older man who still works the cash register and counter. His granddaughter handles the rest of the tables. It’s usually relatively empty, but it really shouldn’t be—they have the best cinnamon rolls in town.

I’m here before five in the morning, wanting to get settled in before Grant’s arrival. His words from yesterday are still weighing heavily on my mind.

I was off-kilter when Dodger told me the latest news and updates. He wants me to pretend to be married to Grant to infiltrate the Carolinas mafia. It wasn’t far from what I was originally thinking, but I never considered the possibility that my partner in this would be Grant Sinclair.

Capturing the Marlin will be one of my crowning moments in the field, more so than my conquest of the Kingpin. What I need is for Grant to allow me to take the lead on this so I can bring them all down together.

I’m not sure what to think after everything he said in the elevator.

I hate Grant Sinclair with every fiber of my being, yet his words penetrated me deeply like no one else has done before.

I take a sip of my black coffee. The jingle from the front door fills the diner, and I know it’s going to be Grant. Glancing down at my watch, I see it’s five a.m. on the dot. As expected, Grant is punctual, a trait he shares with my old friend, Dodger.

Grant scans the mostly empty diner and spots me immediately, giving me a small nod as he walks toward the red faux-leather booth I’m sitting in.

He slides into the opposite side as his camel trench coat molds to his body with his easy movements.

“Collins. Come here often?” he asks as he folds his hands on the table.

“I do.”

Our server comes over right away and sets a coffee mug in front of Grant. He graciously accepts it and asks for a water as well.

“Caffeine and hydration,” I comment.

“Important for this hour.”

“Did I get you out of bed too early? Sorry if I’m messing with your beauty sleep.”

He smirks as he pours a creamer pod into his coffee.

“For you? I’ll get up at four a.m. and head across town any day.”

“Right.” I scoff.

I readjust in my seat and pull out a folder I made for Grant. It has more details than the one we were both given by the agency.

Sliding it over, he stops it in the middle of the table.

“Collins. I have no doubt that you’ve laid out everything as is, but I think we need to have a conversation before diving into the Carolinas mafia.”

“I agree.” I sigh.

“I know this organization,” he starts.

I go to interrupt, but he puts his hand up slightly.

“I know you do too. But it’s different for me. I’ll explain everything eventually.”

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