LITMIR.BIZ

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a nod. She wasn’t wearing a low-cut blouse or a high-rise skirt but a skintight black shirt and form-fitting leather pants. Her body may have been covered, but still she caught attention from the locals as soon as she walked in. “Who’s the hat in the corner?” she followed up. “He’s in my seat.”

      Shorty paused his pouring to glance over to the man.

      “He was a local way before you,” he answered. “Though I haven’t seen him in a while.” He shrugged. His bar might have been a hotbed of criminals converging, but Shorty was clean among all the scum. He ran his business right, serving whoever had the cash to pay. “They call him Spike, if I remember right.”

      The man was called Spike and was nastier than the scabs grown on the inside of some of the patrons’ arms. Thin, tall and with pale blond hair that was perpetually greasy, Spike also had a twitch. Even in the dim light of the bar, Eve could see that. She supposed she’d form one, too, if her job entailed gun-running for the infamous Moretti.

      Then again, that’s exactly what her goal was.

      Eve ordered a beer on tap and pulled a pen from her bag. She took two of the paper coasters no one used and scribbled on the top corner of one when Shorty turned away. When her beer was ready, she took it and the coasters over to the bar stool next to Spike. She sat down with a twinge of excitement.

      “This seat taken?” she asked. His eyes, a dull blue, scanned her body, pausing on her more intimate areas before returning to her face. She met his stare with smile.

      “It is now,” he replied, perking right up.

      Spike had been profiled as a man who craved attention from beautiful women but had gotten turned down by so many that he’d grown a complex against them. He’d eat up the attention, fall over himself to please his target, but the moment something didn’t go his way, he’d resort to violence. Aside from drug charges on his record, he’d also had two nasty past assault charges.

      Eve sat on the bar stool and slid the unmarked coaster beneath her drink. The other remained in her hand.

      “I haven’t seen you around here before,” she started. “But Shorty says you’re a local? Must have been on vacation the past few months.”

      “You could say that.” His eyes narrowed. “I’ve never seen you here before. You’re no local.”

      Eve had been ready for his suspicion. It was well deserved, but he wouldn’t know that for a while.

      “I had to relocate recently,” she said, pausing to take a big swig of her beer. “Let’s just say my career took a turn, and now I’m looking for new opportunities.” She half shrugged. “I heard this was a good place to start.”

      Eve knew how Spike operated within the syndicate. He was low on the totem pole, a physical mover of product between transactions, but he knew the people who could connect her to the higher-ups. She also knew that Spike rarely stayed in one place long, only cycling back to his favorite bar between jobs. This might be her only shot at getting an introduction in the foreseeable future. Before he could reply, she put the other coaster on the bar top and slipped it over slowly, tapping the top corner with her index finger. Spike’s eyes widened as he took the symbol she’d drawn in. He put his glass over it.

      “And what kind of business are you in?” he asked, voice lowering. “In a place like this it can’t be anything good. Unless you’re a cop.” Even as he said the word, fear and anger moved across his expression. It was her turn to snort.

      “I’m definitely no cop,” she defended. “I’ve got the arrests to prove that.” She contorted her face into obvious resentment.

      “Oh, yeah?”

      “Apparently cops don’t appreciate unregistered guns.”

      Spike’s suspicion didn’t ebb, but his interest did grow.

      “So what? Now, outta all the bars in the city, you’re here talking to me?”

      She gave him a sly smile.

      “Let’s just say we have a mutual friend that said this bar has the best beer on tap on this side of the city.” She winked. Spike sat up straighter, his chest slightly puffing out.

      “Really? Did our mutual friend tell you what that is?” He pointed to the scribble on the coaster. The MM looked distorted, cut off by the bottom of his glass.

      “I didn’t need him to. I’ve known what that is for a while.” Spike’s eyebrow rose. “It’s a rumor,” she explained. “It’s a promise. It’s stability and power. It’s a career someone like me craves.” She dropped her volume. “It’s why I’ve been coming to this shithole bar for months. I have product, I have experience, and now I’m looking at you.”

      Spike appeared surprised, yet still intrigued.

      “And who the hell are you?”

      “Eve,” she said, outstretching her hand. “Now, let’s talk business.”

      And so Eve Johannsen was born.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      “By now Spike probably has realized he shouldn’t have trusted me as much as he did,” Lara said to Dr. Oliviero. “But I think he liked the attention.”

      “The attention?”

      “I made sure to respect him. I was interested in what he had to say, and I let him know it. We met back at the bar a few times before he finally set up a meeting with someone who could get me in. All I had to do was pass the background check.”

      “Which, I assume, was very thorough.”

      Lara nodded. “Dismantling Moretti’s organization was a big thing for us. We had only the best working on my cover, creating a comprehensive, solid background. One that, even through back channels, would check out.” Another memory surfaced as she spoke. “But, still, I was nervous. The man in charge of vetting me had earned a reputation for being thorough.” She took a breath. “The last time I saw Spike was the first time I met Andrew.”

      “Tell me about that,” Dr. Oliviero said. He still didn’t have his notes out, but she suspected his memory was sharp. She wasn’t sure. Her attention was on the past.

      “It’ll be okay so long as you’ve been straight with me so far,” Spike said, a cigarette between his lips. They stood in the alley behind a dive bar not so different from the one where they’d first met. It was well past midnight, but the crowd inside was still buzzing. Their regular spot had changed at the request of the man who would help decide if she was in or not.

      “Like I said, if I was a cop I would have already turned you in,” she said with a sly smile. “And I definitely wouldn’t have bought that auto rifle from you.”

      Spike smirked around his cigarette

      “I ‘spose that’s true.”

      They shot the shit for a few more minutes before a car parked in front of the mouth of the alley. Eve’s body tensed. The gun in the back of her jeans burned her skin, ready to be used if necessary. She had no backup near. They hadn’t wanted to risk being detected.

      “That’s him,” Spike said. He threw his cigarette on the ground and twisted the heel of his shoe over it. “Good luck, Eve.” Spike walked away as the new man walked up.

      Eve’s eyes widened at the sight of him.

      He stopped a few feet away.

      “Eve Johannsen,” he greeted. No question in his tone. She pushed her shoulders back and nodded.

      “That’s me.”

      “My name’s Andrew Moore,” he said in introduction. “And I’m the judge and jury for what you’re trying to become a part of.”

      “So,

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