Page 92 of Golden Touch
Oh God. My blood pressure spikes, and I realize that up until this very minute, I hadn’t believed that Razor would actually show up. He’s got to know that it’s a trap.
Which probably means he thinks he can outsmart us.
Sweating now, I glance around the Dairy Queen parking lot for the millionth time. It’s empty. The place doesn’t open for another three hours, which is almost certainly why Razor chose it from the short list of options I gave him.
In fact, this spot is scarily private. Cars pass by every minute or so on the road, but the only human I’ve seen was when a supply truck rolled into this parking lot ten minutes ago to unload a pallet of canned soda and bottled water by the side door. Then he left with a friendly wave in my direction.
I felt like chasing after the truck and begging him to stay.
“Biker is two minutes away now,” Benito says. His crew is monitoring the road by drone.
“Mm-hmm.” I lean my head against the headrest and try to look bored.
If only.
When I volunteered to lure Razor to this parking lot, I tried to picture myself facing him in person. The bravest part of me is looking forward to it. That’s why I’m wearing a kickass little wrap top and my tightest jeans. I also straightened my hair and did some of my best work on my makeup.
He didn’t break me, damn it. I want him to notice.
There’s only one problem. Right after he notices how good I look, he’ll put his own devious plans into action. And I don’t know exactly what those plans are. I do know, however, that Razor wouldn’t show up here if he didn’t firmly believe he has the upper hand.
“Hey, Livia—there’s also a flatbed truck heading in your direction. There are two Valkyries club members in it. They’re about three minutes behind the biker, trying to look casual. They’re hauling landscaping equipment.”
We’d guessed he’d bring backup, but my stomach drops anyway.
“Mm-hmm,” I say in acknowledgment.
“Don’t panic,” Benito says. “We expected this. Black truck. Orange decals on the door.”
I groan.
“Deep breaths. Thirty seconds to the biker.”
My car windows are cracked open, so I can already hear the unmistakable low growl of his bike. It’s a sound that once thrilled me, and now only makes my hands feel sweaty.
“Thumb drive in one pocket. Recording device in the other,” Benito says calmly. “Don’t forget to demand your passport. It’s showtime. As soon as you greet him, I’ll give the go-sign to the team at the garage.”
Right. A few minutes from now, when Razor and his closest henchmen are preoccupied with me, a team of cops will raid Razor’s shop, office, clubhouse, and home. The judge who reviewed last night’s phone call—together with the other information I’d provided—has awarded Benito every search warrant he’d requested.
It’s great news, but I’m having trouble celebrating as Razor turns into the parking lot, and my heart leaps into my throat.
The bike stops about five paces from my car, and he gets off, looking just as I remembered—rugged and imposing, handsome face scowling.
I exit my car, my movements deliberate, and our eyes meet in a silent clash of wills. Razor keeps his usual scowl, but his eyes flicker with a mix of surprise and something darker as he takes in my appearance.
“Hey,” I say, and my voice isn’t even shaking. Much.
“Hey,” he replies, his tone casual, but there’s an edge to it, a hint of the control he used to exert over me. He takes a step closer, the air charged with danger.
But I don’t flinch. I’m not the same person I was a year ago.
“You’re looking good,” he says, eyeing me possessively.
It gives me the creeps, and now I wish I’d worn a potato sack instead of a cute outfit. “Did you bring my passport?”
He pats the pocket of his leather jacket. “Of course. Now show me what you’ve got.”
“Here’s the thumb drive.” I pull it out of my pocket. “It’s all spreadsheets of VIN numbers and fraudulent title transfer dates.” Wary of getting close to him, I extend my hand as my heart hammers.
