Just the Messenger Read Free Page B

twenty yards behind the man but never lost sight of him. He smirked at the strange procession they’d been making lately. He kept following Warren, while Grace kept following Marco.
    Through lots of coffee and sucking up, Marco had ingratiated himself with the reporter enough so that Warren had agreed to let him tag along on some of his minor stories. Next week, Marco would start riding in the news truck with him, becoming his personal associate producer. If Bell lived to next week, that was.
    Right now, he was getting dangerously close to the underground coffee shop where the cocaine dealers operated. Bell was ballsy. Marco knew once the man had an angle, he’d walk right in. Right in to his death. If the reporter stuck his nose into that café, he could disrupt months of IIB operative work. Marco’s organization had moles set inside the shop. Waiters, cooks, even a few posing as first-rung dealers. When the next shipment came in, they would strike. Unless Bell struck first. Then they’d have to abandon the mission and start all over again to protect innocent lives. Bell was important for their information, but he was working toward an opposite end.
    Marco caught a glimpse of a brunette as he turned his head. Grace.
    Not now, honey.
    Warren Bell walked down a ramp and into the underground café.
    Marco broke into a sprint, praying to get there before the gunshots.
    * * * *
    As she rounded the corner hot in pursuit of Marco Valencia, Grace thanked God she had thought to wear practical shoes. Was the man actually running from her? Of all the possible outcomes of her lumbering observation of Marco, she hadn’t expected this. Her sneakers squeaked sharply against the concrete, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a door swoosh shut to her right. It was half-hidden under the streetscape with only its top hinges visible, and she moved toward the ramp leading down toward it. Once she caught up with Marco, Grace still wasn’t sure what she would do. She’d decided to aim for seduction, first. When he trusted her, she’d convince him to concentrate on another project. She didn’t think she was capable of murder. The whole thing seemed like a work of fiction.
    To enter the shop, she had to walk around a jutted building front and down another small incline. The black paint on the door was peeling. She leaned against the wall to catch her breath and whipped out her phone.
    At strange door near Central Park. 012 inside. Will follow?
    After Gene’s surprise visit to her new apartment, she’d not seen her boss again. Instead, he’d sent her a “company” cell phone and began calling and texting her on it. “012” was Marco. “015” was the news reporter Warren Bell. She hadn’t had to use that code yet. Gene said he wasn’t part of her mission. He’d sent her pictures of the reporter, telling her that he was trouble and she was to steer clear of him.
    Gene had never mentioned the kiss again, never expressed worry for her welfare. She’d pined for a few days, the emotions stirred up calling to her in ways she hadn’t dreamed possible. The blond man haunted her dreams, dominating her and sometimes loving her. And when she awoke, it often took her a half hour to come back to the cold reality that was her lonely life. Eventually, with no contact to go on, she’d had no choice but to decide that it meant nothing to either of them and resolve to do her job and do it well, with no romantic strings to anyone.
    Her phone beeped.
    Dispose of 012. Is a threat. Back up coming.
    Dispose of Marco. She decided right then she wouldn’t kill him. She couldn’t kill a fly, and Gene had given her no training. For the millionth time this week, she wondered what she was doing in this role. The posh apartment from “Hardy Photography” didn’t ease her conscience. It only made her more certain that whatever they were really doing, they were trying hard to hide it. And when people tried to hide things, those things usually