Iris (Mike Bravo Ops 1)

“There’s no way a councilman is working alongside drug lords and doesn’t have other people to do his dirty work. Plus, other than his phone records, which indicates something sketchy, I’m not really convinced this is cartel related.”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Maybe this is the meeting we’ve been waiting for.”

“I hope so. His life has been so boring up to this point. Do you know one time I was following him, he went to the ballet? I thought I was going to die of boredom. Plus, you have to, like, be quiet and stuff? Worst nine hours of my life.”

“Ballets aren’t that long.”

“Felt like it.”

When we pull into LAX, Atlas directs us toward the charter terminal. “Okay, he has ordered his usual town car from a chauffeur company, so we’re looking for a black sedan.”

“A hired black sedan coming from the private aircraft terminal. Gee, should be easy as fuck.”

“Saint has the plates for the entire fleet. We just need to find the right one. Hopefully no other clients are arriving soon.”

I click my earpiece back on. “Saint?”

It takes a second, but then he’s there. “What do you need?” His voice is calm and professional. It’s kinda sexy.

“Plates of the chauffeur company Rowling uses.”

He rattles them off, and I put them down in my phone so I don’t have to try to remember them.

The private suites are at least away from the rest of the bustle that is the LAX nightmare of traffic circles and never-ending terminals. The problem with that is security is even tighter on this side. If we don’t have a reason to be here, they will move us on. If we’re caught hovering or scoping out the place, we could be seen as a potential threat, and I don’t really feel like being hauled in for questioning.

I’ve been there and done that on so many different occasions. That’s one downside to doing covert and unofficial ops for higher-ups. If we get caught, there’s a lot of phone calls and red tape to get through to be believed.

“How’s his flight plan?” I ask Saint. “On time?”

“No delays. He should be landing in ten minutes.”

“That’s not enough time for a lap around,” Atlas says.

“Drive really slowly.”

“That won’t look suspicious or anything.”

We drive past a parking lot, but it has a boom gate, so we can’t go in there without a pass.

“I told Trav we should get ride-share stickers for the car, but will he listen?” I ask.

“Noted.” Trav’s voice scares the shit out of me.

“Nice to announce you’re back, boss,” I say.

“Why do that when it’s amazing what my employees do or say when they think I’m not listening. Like fucking in the back seat of one of my cars. You and Saint are paying for that detailing bill by the way.”

“We weren’t fucking. And we didn’t leave cum anywhere.”

“And this conversation is making me really uncomfortable,” Saint says.

“Can we focus on the pressing issue of possibly missing this guy?” Atlas slows down a bit more.

Saint hums. “According to this map, if you follow the private suites route to the end, there’s a turnaround area, and on the way back, there’s a taxi stand.”

“Which are usually manned,” I say.

“Right. But you could maybe stay in the line until you’re told to move. Tell them you’re an Uber and couldn’t find where you were supposed to wait.”

And it’s reasons like this that show how much of a critical thinker Saint is. I’m envious of his brain as much as I feel sorry for it.

As we pass private town cars waiting for their clients, I try to spot any of the plates I have in my phone.

“There.” I point. “That one.”

“Keep looking, though,” Atlas says. “They might have another booking.”

“They don’t,” Saint says.

“How do you know?” I ask.

“Their system was insanely easy to hack considering they’re a company that works for high-profile clients.”

I can practically hear Saint’s smirk.

“So, I’m guessing Saint’s doing well on tech, then?” I ask Trav.

“Exceeding all expectations. Ghost is excited to get into the field.”

Old me would have been annoyed that Saint is a natural at yet another thing, but this me, who’s falling for the man, feels only pride in my veins.

Still, I don’t let that get in the way of my own brand of affection. “Great. Another thing he’s good at without trying.”

“Don’t need to know what you two get up to in the bedroom,” Trav says. “I’ve already heard enough.”

I groan. “Are we ever going to live that down?”

“Never,” Atlas answers for me. “Trav told us all you were going to make your own sex tape.”

“No, I said they would be good at porn if I fired their asses and they needed a new job.”

“I’m starting to think porn might be less embarrassing than this,” Saint says.

“Aww, poor baby isn’t used to being the butt of the joke. Don’t worry, babe. I can show you how to embrace it.”