We drive to town and park on the main street of Rustenburg outside Mint’s office. Ian is dressed in dark-blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and his favorite brown leather jacket. Like me, he’s wearing a baseball cap. Both of us have guns. Mine is still tucked away in the ankle holster under the wide leg of my jeans, and Ian’s is in the glove compartment.
We sit quietly and watch. At nine, the shop assistant, Olga, arrives. Mint shows up shortly after. He goes out again at ten and is back by eleven.
“Time to rock and roll, baby doll.” Ian turns in his seat to look at me. “I’m still not happy about letting you do this.”
“I’m just letting him know I’m back in town. That’s it.”
Ian didn’t say how he managed the phone hacking. I suspect Leon helped with that.
I pull on my gloves and reach for the door handle, but Ian holds me back with a hand on my arm.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks.
I frown. “My gun is in my ankle holster.”
He shakes his head. “A kiss.”
“What?”
“For good luck.”
Nice try. Rolling my eyes, I free myself from his hold and get out. He follows, walking two steps behind me down the road. Inconspicuously, I push the microphone from its casing and grip it between a forefinger and thumb.
The chances that the cops are still patrolling the town after a year are slim, and it’s the last place they’ll expect us to show up. Still, I’m nervous. I glance up and down the street, keeping vigilant as I cross and push open the jewelry store door.
Before entering, I look over my shoulder. Ian leans against the lamppost on the other side of the street. He insisted on accompanying me despite my protests when we went over the plan. Now I’m grateful for his reassuring presence as the door shuts behind me.
The shop assistant looks up from behind a display of engagement rings. Her eyes bulge behind her glasses. “Cas!” She squints. “Is that you?”
“Hey, Olga.” I step up to the counter. “How are you?”
“I, um, well, ah, and you?”
“Great.” I put on my brightest smile while sticking the bug underneath the edge of the counter. “Is Mint in?”
She cranes her neck toward the door behind her. The door leads to a kitchen and toilet at the back and a staircase that gives access to Mint’s office upstairs. The safe where he keeps the cut diamonds is in his office.
She looks back at me and rubs her nape. “He’s, um, busy.”
“He’ll want to see me,” I say sweetly.
“All right.”
Keeping her gaze on me, she picks up the phone and tells Mint I’m downstairs. I can’t blame her for her reaction. After I’d gone missing in Zim, there was speculation in the news about my involvement with the Phantom gang. Wolfe didn’t leak that information to the press. He must’ve been scared whoever I trusted with my blackmailing information would’ve made good on my threat and sent the photo incriminating him to his superior. Reporters connected the dots themselves when I was declared dead. I suppose Olga saw the news. She’s definitely surprised, just not as shocked as one looking at a ghost would’ve been, which can only mean my suspicion is valid. Wolfe did alert them. Olga knew I wasn’t dead.
I drum my fingers on the counter as I wait. My status of being alive must’ve come as a shock to Wolfe. I smile inwardly as I imagine his surprise when he went after Ian and found me. It took him less than a second to pull the trigger. Perhaps he reacted in shock. Whatever the case, his impulsive decision to put me back in the grave scored points for him. Like I told Ian, he now knows I was bluffing about releasing the evidence. Ian is right. Wolfe won’t stop until I’m dead—again—and since I’m already officially dead, he’ll get away with murder. Literally. Double points for Wolfe. Double bummer for me.
The security gate behind the door makes a clicking sound I’m well familiar with, having visited Mint several times at his office. The door swings open to reveal Mint’s pale, bony face. He steps cautiously over the threshold, looking like he’d rather bolt than say hello.
If he’d already called Wolfe from his upstairs office, Ian would’ve called me. The fact that my phone rests silently in my back pocket means Mint first wanted to see me with his own eyes before making that call, if he will make it.
I shove my hands in my pockets. “Hi.”
“Cas.” Like Olga, he appears surprised but not shocked. “I thought you were—” He coughs.
Rolling on the balls of my feet, I enjoy his discomfort a little too much. “Dead?”
He glances at Olga, who looks on with eyes the size of ping pong balls.