Really concentrate.” The man pointed to his face.
Kin didn’t need to be an active secret agent to figure that out. “And we’re eighteen years late.” The man’s downturned mouth and low-pulled shoulders gave off an air of regret. Heather hated the aroma of Kin pouring honey into his coffee.
I only wish they wouldn’t look at me strange when I asked for honey in it.”Ĭoffee with honey. “You know what I love about era twenty-one-A?” He held up his paper coffee cup, a little dribble forming a dark brown trail down the side. ‘Assess and execute,’” he said, his fingers forming quotes in the air. “You field agents think you’re so clever. “Right, the whole ‘silently darting eyes’ is actually you contemplating life, huh?” He laughed. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Was it that obvious? Kin thought he still had all his agent skills, but time must have worn away his ability to be subtle. If they overheard, would this man get a demerit on his record? “Agent visualization method, huh?” All of them remained out of earshot, which probably was a good thing, what with the whole timeline corruption thing. Sit down?” Processing the coffee shop interior, Kin noted four other people, three customers scattered along chairs and couches and one person behind the counter. I heard someone coming so I got out of there. Sorry about disappearing on you last night. “Guess we’re gonna have to work back up to that. “Okay, then,” the man said, pulling his hand back. Where did he pick up that detail? And why wasn’t his head pounding him into submission at remembering it? Gone was the delivery uniform, the disguise of choice in residential areas, replaced by gray pants and a black jacket-standard-issue casual clothing for mission events in public places, a look that blended in easily during nearly any modern era. Kin approached the café and then the table, keeping his arms at his side while he studied the man. The ultimate choice seemed logical: meet the man, find out what he wanted, then reassess. Pack up Heather, Miranda, and Bamford and run like hell. Rather than go to work, he’d driven to a park two blocks away from Noble Mott Café and sat. After that, he’d spent all morning debating whether to show up for this clandestine meeting, while dodging questions from Heather about what was bothering him. The night before had been a blur of staring at the ceiling waiting for some further sign of the TCB, followed by strange, too-real dreams of a mysterious woman silhouetted against the backdrop of a futuristic cityscape, something straight out of Heather’s movie collection.
0 kommentar(er)
