Logan
I arrived at the bookstore café forty minutes early.
The place was exactly what I needed.
Quiet.
Private without being empty.
Public enough that Missy would feel safe.
It occupied the second floor of an old bookstore on the edge of the city, far from the restaurants and hotels where athletes were usually photographed. Tall shelves divided the café into smaller sections, and the tables near the back were partly hidden by rows of books and hanging plants.
I had reserved the corner booth under the name Luke Grey.
The irony was no longer amusing.
My black cap rested low over my face, and dark sunglasses covered the rest. I wore a plain coat and clothes that would not attract attention. Anyone glancing toward me would see another man waiting alone with a cup of coffee.
That was
