Paxton’s involvement.
“Colton,” Sean mumbled as he left cash on the bar for the bartender, “what have you gotten yourself into?”
He left the pub and turned east down 19th toward his apartment. The late-afternoon sun played across the old buildings, and Sean wished Lucy were here to share the beautiful day with him. He stopped at the corner and was about to cross with the light when he glimpsed a reflection of a woman stepping into a doorway. He glanced discreetly over his shoulder and noticed her black, low-heeled shoes—she was waiting, not entering the building. He couldn’t see anything else to identify her. He crossed the street but turned north, away from his apartment.
Did Colton put someone on him? Colton knew where Sean lived; he hadn’t made it a secret. Or did Paxton hire someone? That would make more sense.
Sean turned into a corner grocery and bought a water bottle and pack of gum. While he paid he looked at the reflection in the curved mirror behind the cashier. He couldn’t make out any details outside the store but caught sight of a blondish woman in a beige blazer and dark slacks. The shoes were low black pumps, like the ones he saw in the doorway. It was her. She passed the store, but Sean suspected she was waiting on the other side. She looked like a fed, the way she moved, the way she dressed—what if she was Paxton’s mole?
He grinned.
The clerk said in a thick accent, “I say some-ting funny?”
“No.” Sean put his pennies in the tray next to the register. “I just thought of a joke.”
This was going to be fun.
* * *
Where the hell was Sean Rogan going?
After her meeting with Juan Martinez, Deanna had crossed Central Park and staked out Colton Thayer’s carriage house. She often found herself in the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rogan, but while she sometimes saw him entering, he always seemed to elude her when he left.
She’d followed Colton this afternoon and was pleasantly surprised that he met with Rogan. She only popped into the pub for a minute, exiting immediately, not wanting Rogan to see her. She didn’t think he’d recognize her, but she didn’t want to take the chance. She sat in the Starbucks down the street and watched the door with an eagle eye. Colton left first, nearly an hour after he entered. She expected Rogan to leave immediately, but he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t leave for another thirty minutes, and she’d feared he had skipped out the back. Just when she was about to give up, she saw him at the corner.
Deanna nearly had to sprint to catch up with him. He crossed the street, turned north, and entered a grocery store. They were on the border of SoHo and the West Village, two neighborhoods, either of which he could live in. All she had on him was that he had been in New York City for the last three weeks.
What she wanted was his address, so she could search his place. Not legally, but she was beyond that at this point. She needed a direction, some tangible proof of what he was up to, and then she’d find a legitimate way to get the information before going to her boss.
Rogan seemed to be walking in circles. He went around the same four blocks twice, going in and out of stores without purpose. He took the subway and she followed. One stop later, he got off.
She was hot and crabby, and chasing a crook around New York wasn’t her idea of fun on her day off. Either she confronted him or she walked away. He obviously knew he was being followed.
She approached him and he stepped into an art gallery without looking at her. Dammit, she would have rather talked to him on the street. Maybe she should leave it alone—she had no cause to arrest him. She just wanted to find out where he lived. She could demand ID and then fib and say she thought he was someone else. That might work—he had to produce identification to a federal agent. That way she could legally get his address. He might recognize her, but it had been twelve
“Colton,” Sean mumbled as he left cash on the bar for the bartender, “what have you gotten yourself into?”
He left the pub and turned east down 19th toward his apartment. The late-afternoon sun played across the old buildings, and Sean wished Lucy were here to share the beautiful day with him. He stopped at the corner and was about to cross with the light when he glimpsed a reflection of a woman stepping into a doorway. He glanced discreetly over his shoulder and noticed her black, low-heeled shoes—she was waiting, not entering the building. He couldn’t see anything else to identify her. He crossed the street but turned north, away from his apartment.
Did Colton put someone on him? Colton knew where Sean lived; he hadn’t made it a secret. Or did Paxton hire someone? That would make more sense.
Sean turned into a corner grocery and bought a water bottle and pack of gum. While he paid he looked at the reflection in the curved mirror behind the cashier. He couldn’t make out any details outside the store but caught sight of a blondish woman in a beige blazer and dark slacks. The shoes were low black pumps, like the ones he saw in the doorway. It was her. She passed the store, but Sean suspected she was waiting on the other side. She looked like a fed, the way she moved, the way she dressed—what if she was Paxton’s mole?
He grinned.
The clerk said in a thick accent, “I say some-ting funny?”
“No.” Sean put his pennies in the tray next to the register. “I just thought of a joke.”
This was going to be fun.
* * *
Where the hell was Sean Rogan going?
After her meeting with Juan Martinez, Deanna had crossed Central Park and staked out Colton Thayer’s carriage house. She often found herself in the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rogan, but while she sometimes saw him entering, he always seemed to elude her when he left.
She’d followed Colton this afternoon and was pleasantly surprised that he met with Rogan. She only popped into the pub for a minute, exiting immediately, not wanting Rogan to see her. She didn’t think he’d recognize her, but she didn’t want to take the chance. She sat in the Starbucks down the street and watched the door with an eagle eye. Colton left first, nearly an hour after he entered. She expected Rogan to leave immediately, but he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t leave for another thirty minutes, and she’d feared he had skipped out the back. Just when she was about to give up, she saw him at the corner.
Deanna nearly had to sprint to catch up with him. He crossed the street, turned north, and entered a grocery store. They were on the border of SoHo and the West Village, two neighborhoods, either of which he could live in. All she had on him was that he had been in New York City for the last three weeks.
What she wanted was his address, so she could search his place. Not legally, but she was beyond that at this point. She needed a direction, some tangible proof of what he was up to, and then she’d find a legitimate way to get the information before going to her boss.
Rogan seemed to be walking in circles. He went around the same four blocks twice, going in and out of stores without purpose. He took the subway and she followed. One stop later, he got off.
She was hot and crabby, and chasing a crook around New York wasn’t her idea of fun on her day off. Either she confronted him or she walked away. He obviously knew he was being followed.
She approached him and he stepped into an art gallery without looking at her. Dammit, she would have rather talked to him on the street. Maybe she should leave it alone—she had no cause to arrest him. She just wanted to find out where he lived. She could demand ID and then fib and say she thought he was someone else. That might work—he had to produce identification to a federal agent. That way she could legally get his address. He might recognize her, but it had been twelve
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