Rafe was supposed to be the bridge. The one who could get me close without setting off alarms. But when it came time to act, he folded. Said it was “too messy.” Said Kat wasn’t the target anymore.
Coward.
Now I was stuck with Tiffany — Rafe’s castoff, still clinging to relevance like it was perfume on her skin. She paced the motel room, muttering about Luca and how he was “ruining everything.” I let her talk. She needed to feel useful.
“They’re heading to Kansas City,” she said, tossing her phone on the bed. “Kat, the kid, and her dad. No Wolf. No backup. Just them.”
I didn’t look up. “You sure?”
She scoffed. “I’m not Rafe. I know how to listen to people, they talk too much when they think people aren't listening.”
No, she wasn’t. Rafe played the long game. Tiffany played dress-up an
