She grabbed her keys and headed out the door forty-five minutes early, giving herself the usual cushion of time to take a circuitous route.
Driving a direct route to meet a contact from her warehouse was a good way to die young. One mistake could result in anything from a strike team to a drone bomb. The cautious tomb raider could become an older tomb raider.
The pub where she was meeting Smite-Williams lay surprisingly close to Warehouse One, only fifteen minutes taking a typical route.
Shay did a quick mirror check looking for tails or suspicious drones as she turned a corner, one hand pulling on the wheel.
Is there such as thing as being too paranoid in a world as crazy as this one? Not since magic returned.
She let out a quiet chuckle. Changing careers from professional killer to tomb raider wasn’t earning her fewer enemies. Her own caution developed over a lifetime of violence still served her well.
Even before her first tomb raid, she understood how dangerous her new job would be, but it still struck her as ironic that she was routinely killing more people than she did when she was accepting contracts.
Death never brought her pleasure. It was a necessary part of business, and business was good.
Those Alpha Explorer assholes didn’t have to die. They should have played ball instead of going down.
Shay shook her head. “I didn’t make the rules. I stay alive by them.”
Shay pushed through the dense crowd in the pub, surprised by the number of people inside. A din of conversation and clinking glasses filled the place with a general level of noise. She arched a brow in surprise as she looked for her contact.
Smite-Williams had picked a well-populated meet. Shay preferred the opposite. More people meant more places for a killer to hide and more variables to account for in a fight.
Security by obscurity might not be perfect, but it was more reliable and less likely to result in unintended casualties.
Shay stepped around a couple hovering near the corner of the bar, waiting for a table. Greg had left her a text that Smite-Williams would be in the back. He was described as a handsome, pudgy man in his mid-fifties.
A balding man in a pale blue sweater and jeans bumped against her as he went the other way, smiling as he said, “Excuse me.”
Shay gave him a curt smile and made a mental note of his face, while checking her pockets to make sure nothing was removed or deposited. The crowds made it hard to know if it was a clumsy man or she was just made. She glanced back and saw him sit down at the bar without looking back. Wait till there’s a pattern. Let it go till then.
A man matching the description of Smite-Williams waved from the back. Two empty beer glasses sat in front of him. He was working on a third, and his ruddy cheeks suggested he was already well on the way to being drunk.
Shay looked him up and down as she got closer. His broad smile and easy-going manner undercut the idea of him being paranoid. The willingness to get drunk while discussing magic artifacts bordered on arrogant, but she didn’t give a shit as long as he could still carry a conversation and remember it later.
“You must be Miss Carson.”
“Dr. Smite-Williams?”
He made a face. “No one calls me that but my dean, and he’s a bit of an ass.” Smite-Williams chuckled. “After a few more beers, you can call me Father O’Banion, but for now The Professor works. That’s what most people call me.”
“Friends?”
“Friends and frenemies.” He smiled showing most of his teeth.
Shay slipped into a seat across from him, slightly uncomfortable with her back to the entrance. She resisted asking him to change seats with her. “Interesting place for a meet.”
“This place? Aye, I all but live here, and the owner is a man that… let’s just say I trust him with my life, and appropriate arrangements have been made. As long as we talk in this booth, it won’t be an issue.”
Shay glanced around, wondering what kind of spell was being used. No obvious signs.
“Like I said, appropriate measures have been taken.”
Shay looked back over her shoulder at the bar. Everyone was minding their own business. No one was casing the place or looking in her direction. She turned back, focusing on The Professor. “I hear you’re in need of a freelance field archaeologist…”
“That I am. There’s a magical artifact that I need you to recover. You’ve come highly recommended from a number of sources that I trust.” His smile slid into a smirk that didn’t suit him. “You’re new on the scene, aren’t you?”
“I get the job done. That’s all that’s important.”
“That you do, Miss Carson. Heard that too, which is why we’re meeting.” He punctuated his sentence with a sip of his beer.
“Glad to…” Shay’s face twitched.
Fuck. Missing small details gets you killed.
“Problem?” asked The Professor.
“You know my name.” Shay kept her tone even. “You shouldn’t know my name.”
The Professor laughed. “Of course, I do. Don’t worry, Mister Abbot didn’t pass it along. He kept your details out of it, per his usual and I respect that. Require it even. Doesn’t mean I don’t do my own research.”
He raised his hand, signaling the waiter to bring another beer. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m very good at collecting information, and I don’t work with people if I don’t know their names and faces. It keeps everyone more honest.”
Shay almost laughed. An older Peyton. “Fair enough. It’s not how I prefer to do business, but you’re the man throwing down the cash.”
“And I wasn’t asking for your permission. Cheers.” He lifted the new glass of beer the waiter put down.
“Bring me one of those.” Shay nodded to the waiter. “No, you weren’t. Do you want to tell me more about what I already know or get
