Silver Basilisk - Zoe Chant Page 0,79

Linette was busy cleaning up a spill. One of her kids handled the orders and the register, as the regular morning trade was pretty brisk.

Doris straightened a chair and turned to greet Godiva and Rigo, her face flushed. “We had everything organized, but some drunk rolled in a couple minutes ago and managed to crash into the table where the buffet for our party was laid out. Luckily a few customers saved most of the pastry, but the big coffee maker went flying and splashed half the room.”

Jen stepped to her side, sipping herb tea, from the smell of it. “Why is it that when liquids spill, they seem to multiply by about ten extra gallons?”

Godiva said, “Does Linette want help with the cleanup?” At least it wasn’t me this time, she thought—and caught a quick, secret grin from Rigo.

Doris waved her off. “As you can see, we’re about done. There’s fresh coffee right here. Linette just brought out the pot from the back room. Godiva, you have to be at your station by seven, so grab your pastry and coffee, don’t wait!”

Rigo leaned down to kiss Godiva, then said, “I see Mikhail over there. I guess it’s time for me to go be backup. Which means right now getting the out of the way of y’all.”

Godiva watched him greet Mikhail and Nikos, who had finished straightening tables and now were chowing down on pastry—a plain donut for Mikhail, and something nutty and spicy-looking for Nikos. Rigo quietly passed up the sweet stuff and poured himself a cup of fresh coffee. Godiva then remembered he didn’t like sweets in the morning, though he wasn’t saying anything to anyone. Being the class act he was.

Pride surged through her as she grabbed her favorite strawberry tart. “I’m off.” She left, devouring her pastry as she walked, her elbow pressing tightly against the spritz bottle in her tunic pocket.

How are we going to talk about where to live, she wondered as she headed down the street. She definitely wanted to visit the ranch, especially as Alejo lived there, but . . . the thought of leaving her house made her insides squeeze.

And yet, did she have a right to ask Rigo to give up his place?

She gulped down her coffee, finishing it before she reached the coffee place across from her target’s apartment. She tossed her paper cup, closed one hand around her bottle, and pushed the door open.

Her target was a big buff guy with red hair, who invariably started his day with a double-espresso. He was supposed to be part of the team attacking Joey’s night patrol on the cliff above the Oracle Stone site—but no matter what he did with his days, his watcher had said he always got espresso first.

Godiva squeezed between the chattering college students and a clump of people in business attire, all needing their infusion of the good stuff before heading off to work. Absolutely no one paid any attention to her.

She pulled out her cell phone to look busy, so she could watch the time. 6:53.

6:56.

6:59.

7:00.

7:02 . . .

He’s not coming, Godiva thought—as the door opened, and a huge, glowering guy somewhere in his late twenties began pushing his way in.

Godiva sniffed. The room was filled with smells, coffee over all, but—

There it was, the sinus-scouring aroma of eucalyptus. Made bitter by something else.

Godiva had prepared a speech to mutter in case anyone was watching, but nobody so much as glanced at her. So, using a pair of lanky students as cover, she spritzed the air directly in the path Red was going in.

Then held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice . . .and Sara was right. Once you’ve doused yourself, or dosed yourself, with something strong-smelling, you get so used to it you don’t notice a fresh dose.

He walked right through the spray without so much as a nose-twitch.

As he muscled up to the counter, Godiva headed for the door and slipped out before texting Doris, Done.

She started back toward the bakery, mentally checking the positions of her small army. Hey. Her old friend Mattie was only half a block away. Why not cruise by and watch?

Godiva lengthened her strides. She spotted the convenience store where Mattie sat on a bench outside. Mattie was one of those rare beings, a person even smaller than Godiva, a shy, pink-cheeked, cheerful chatterbox of a woman with a riot of gray curls. Mattie could talk the hind leg off a donkey, as they used to say back