Vengeance by A.J. Scudiere

Author:A.J. Scudiere [Scudiere, A.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780983587712
Publisher: Griffyn Ink

Chapter 12

Cyn walked into the restaurant with her computer bag slung over her shoulder. The ball cap hid her face, the ponytail and jeans made her blend in, and the gum and University of Tennessee logo on her sweatshirt meant no one was paying her any attention.

Choosing a corner table, where she could sit on the padded booth seat attached to the wall, she pulled out her silver, generic-looking laptop and began to swiftly set up the cords. She was booted up and online in a matter of minutes. Logging in under a numerical sign-in‒one of many that she rotated in an attempt to not be traced‒she began to look for acquisitions by the Shields and Krestev law firm in New York. The company was a front for the Kurev family, owning many of the houses they occupied, as well as several of the businesses that laundered the money they made.

The house they’d killed Svelichko in had been a Shields and Krestev owned property. It was one of the easiest ways to find the guys they were after. Lee was in a Kinko’s using their internet access to find the same thing. The two of them were hunting their next mark. Maybe a little inefficiently, being in two separate places, but necessarily so. They couldn’t afford to be seen much- and could afford to be seen together even less.

When the line at the counter thinned out, she popped up and ordered a panini and fresh squeezed lemonade, liking that the food was fairly wholesome and beat the hell out of the peanut butter sandwiches and protein shakes Lee made. Cyn sighed and missed her kitchen in Texas, and promised herself that she’d go back one day.

“I know,” The voice came over her as she took the first cold sip of her lemonade there at the counter. “They make the best lemonade.”

The voice had ruined it. She’d been enjoying the flavor, the act of drinking something refreshing that hadn’t had a chugging generator behind it, keeping it cool but not quite icy.

Cyn didn’t look up. Not all the way. There were Doc Martens planted about eighteen inches apart, and they were an intriguing shade of blue. The jeans were ripped, and not too baggy, almost but not quite clinging to a firm set of male legs. The waistband disappeared under a burgundy t-shirt that had surely started its life as a bolder color. The neck was muscled like the arms that had hooked thumbs into belt loops, and the jaw above it was impossibly square and hadn’t been shaved for a while. Cyn didn’t make eye contact. Her lips tightened and she offered that smile that said, ‘sure, whatever you say’.

His head tipped, going after a glimpse of her eyes, and Cyn let him, only because to avoid him would draw more attention. Nonetheless, it was violating.

“I haven’t seen you here before.”

She shook her head. Not able to form words. But wanting to say, ‘and you’ll never see me here again.’ She couldn’t come back.

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