Morana traced it with her finger, her mind racing. “And who in the outfit will have this on a ring?”
Tristan paused for a second, considering. “Maroni has one. Anyone else would have to be someone in one of the high positions.”
“I think that’s who the Reaper was,” Morana scrambled out of bed, rushing to her clutch where she’d stuffed the note.
She returned to bed, seeing Tristan leaning back on his elbows as he watched her curiously, his eyes lingering on her t-shirt for a split second before he asked for the note. Morana handed it to him, waiting to see what he said.
“You’re not going alone.”
That was predictable enough. “I know. It’s Saturday today. I was thinking maybe we should stake out the place tonight, just prep work. He could actually be there beforehand and we don’t-”
He cut off her words, swallowed the rest of her plan, and asked her to prove that nerdy, indeed, was the new sexy.
Tristan decided to walk them to the location that evening, wearing a casual black t-shirt and jeans he’d paid one of the hotel attendants to buy from across the street. Morana, although pleasantly sore between the legs, walked happily beside him towards the pier, watching all the people and the buzz, listening to all the chatter of children, street vendors, and excited tourists. Were it not for the gun she could feel under his t-shirt, she would believe he was just a guy strolling through the tourist spot with his lover on a weekend.
Morana enjoyed every second of it, spending time with him in a way she’d never thought she would. She asked him if it was okay to walk around like that without any security, and he’d just given her a look that shut her up. She forgot sometimes, knowing him as she did now, that to the outside world, he was still the feared Predator.
Looping her arm around his waist, tucked into his side, Morana thanked god she’d packed her comfortable flats as they crossed the busy pier.
“You know we should do a picnic one day,” she mused out loud, going where he was leading. “And maybe actually go to a restaurant.”
“We’ve been to a restaurant,” he reminded her.
Morana flushed, remembering that time in Crimson. Fuck, that had been hot. “I meant to eat.”
His lips didn’t even twitch but she sensed his amusement as he glanced at her. “I wouldn’t mind going to a restaurant for exactly what we did.”
“Me neither,” Morana admitted, feeling her face heat. “Maybe we could actually eat this time too.”
“You know we already live together, right?” he pointed out.
Morana sighed. “I’ve just never been on a date, okay? All I had was dinners with my father at the table and at least one guy trying to grope me.”
She felt him tuck her in closer to his side, pressing his lips to the top of her ear lobe. Morana felt a little smile tip her lips and continued asking him questions as they turned from the pier, following the river, but the crowd started to thin.
After a few minutes, Morana felt his body snap to attention as the location came into view. She looked around, seeing the secluded, old warehouse building made of wood and cement. It looked almost dilapidated in the falling night.
Tristan bent down and took out a spare gun from his boots, handing it to her silently. Morana nodded, appreciating the gesture and the fact that he trusted her ability to watch both their backs, and indicated the building.
She watched him switch to his predatory mode, and shook off her appreciation, focusing on the task at hand – scoping the place out.
Sliding into the building through an opening in the door, Morana entered after Tristan into the cavernous, dim space.
It was empty save for a chair to the side and some boxes stacked together. A very odd, unusual place for a meeting.
“I see your curiosity got the better of you,” the words came from behind her.
Morana whirled around, her gun pointed at the man limping out from the shadows. She felt Tristan come up behind her, his own weapon aimed at the stranger.
“Put those down, kids,” the man waved the gun away, his voice raspy from disuse or smoking. He stepped out into the light, his eyes coming to her. “I’m not going to hurt you, little doe.”
Morana tilted her head to the side, frowning. “Do I know you?”
His eyes crinkled, taking her in. His face was weathered and creased, half-covered in a thick dark beard, his eyes behind round, wire-framed glasses.
“You were at the funeral,” Morana thought out loud, lowering her weapon. An eerie feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.
He simply turned and headed towards the single chair, “Your timing isn’t the best, I admit. We might get interrupted. I have a meeting here soon.”