I pull over at a large truck stop, parking in the middle of the lot mixed in with the other cars, knowing they’ll disguise the truck a bit since there’s a chance it’s been reported stolen by now. Best guess, the truck was put out there by one of the workers at the strip mall, and if so, they’ll notice as soon as they get off shift.

Maggie digs in my duffel, handing me the burner phone. I remind myself to buy a new SIM card for it, but one or two more calls shouldn’t be a problem. I turn it on, and before I can even speed-dial Chucky, it rings, and I recognize his number on the display.

Shit, that’s not good. I answer, putting it on speaker and staying silent as we always do as he jumps in. “Shane? You okay?”

“Yeah, Chucky. Fine and fucking dandy, except for the hitman who took us by surprise at the fucking motel,” I reply, holding a finger up for Maggie to stay silent. “What the fuck’s going on?”

Chucky hisses through the phone, sounding upset. “Yeah, I’ve been watching for you to turn the damn phone back on so I could warn you. Got word earlier today that he’s looking for your girl because she saw his face. Loose ends, you know. He wants to disappear.”

I reach across and take Maggie’s hand, her face remarkably stoic for having confirmation that she’s on a hitman’s shit list. “Well, he found us already. Got a few shots off, hit me too. Took a nick to the left bicep, but nothing serious. Meghan’s fine.”

Chucky’s voice drops to a whisper, and I can hear him lean into his mic, the wheeze unmistakable. “We need to talk about her, Shane. Your girl is in some deep shit, not just with the hit.”

Maggie pales slightly, squeezing my hand, and Chucky continues. “You had me check out all the employees at Petals, and I did. I checked out Meghan Postland and she was clean. But when the shit hit the fan, I ran a wider search, and found a Maggie Postland . . .”

Maggie suddenly yanks her hand back, her knees pulling to her chest in a position I know all too well and was happy to see go.

She’s mouthing, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” silently, and I can see the fear in her eyes. This isn’t good.

My voice is hard as I answer Chucky. “What about Maggie Postland?”

I hear a few clicks, like he’s typing on his end, and then he reads. “Maggie Postland, 289 Westminster Drive, Apartment 175.”

I nod my head, knowing that’s where I’d taken Maggie the night I drove her home. This is nothing new. “Yeah, and . . .?”

“She works for The Daily Spot, Shane. That online tabloid rag that reports on celebrities and shit.”

Still hoping I’m wrong about where this is going, even as Maggie’s head falls and she hugs her knees, I sigh. “You sure? I’m not saying it might not be Meghan, but maybe she answers their phones or something? She told me she’d done some office work before.”

Chucky makes a tsking noise, and I can imagine him leaning back and giving me a sarcastic look. “I’m looking at her articles, Shane. She’s a reporter. She was the one who sprang that expose on the basketball player. And if I know, they might know—all of them. Dominick, Sal, the hitman.”

I nod, and I know I need to have a private conversation. “I gotta go, Chucky. Give me a minute and I’ll call back in. Stand by.”

I click the End button before staring across at Maggie. A reporter. A fucking reporter? My voice is icy, the anger turning my heart cold. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

She doesn’t respond, doesn’t even move, just sits there, small and curled around herself. She’s so scared, so afraid . . . and right now, she should be. Not from me, but from what her presence and digital footprint brings down on us.

“Maggie!”

My voice rings out sharply in the truck, and she flinches but raises her head. Her eyes are red-rimmed, tears tracking down her face. “Yes! I wanted to tell you, but then everything went all to crap and I didn’t know how to!”

“Well, do it now. Tell me what the fuck is going on with you,” I demand, my voice hard. “If there’s even a snowball’s chance in hell of keeping you safe, you need to tell me everything. Omit fucking nothing.”

She swipes her tears, her eyes flashing fire as she sits up a little, cobbling together the remnants of her courage from deep inside her soul. “Yes, I work for The Daily Spot as a reporter. I got a job at Petals a few months ago because we had reports there were a lot of celebrities going there for side action. I was undercover, reporting on that, like when Jimmy Keys came in.”

I mentally recall our hallway conversation where she’d been taking pictures of the basketball star and claiming to be a fan. I’d been duped . . . that almost never happens to me. And this girl has done it several times without me even suspecting. If we were in any other situation, I’d be impressed. “I see.”

“But I like the job, the people . . . like you, Allie, and Marco. Even Dominick didn’t seem like that bad of a guy. I had no idea about how deep things went. I mean, who would expect this? This is for the movies. I just thought it was a popular strip club, exclusive VIP kinda stuff for the celebrities and businessmen. And then people started shooting, and Allie had blood all over her . . . and we started running.”

Her eyes look to the left like she’s remembering the scene at the club, and she shivers. I have to force the next words out through clenched lips, but I have to know, even if it hurts to ask.

“Is that it? You lied about your name and you lied about why you were there. Is there anything else you need to tell me? Now’s your chance.”

My voice is a bit softer than before, but still harsh and commanding. Maggie notices and looks at me squarely, still so brave I want to pull her across and cuddle her to my chest.

“I did lie about those things. But nothing else. The things I’ve said to you, done with you . . . those were all real, all true.”

Her eyes are soft, wide and open, letting me see into her soul. She’s being honest. I can tell this time because the emotions I see are mirrored in my own heart too. I give a curt nod and turn away. “Okay, let me call Chucky back.”

I reach for the phone, but Maggie lays a staying hand on mine. “Now, it’s your turn.” Her voice is laced with steel. “You’ve been hiding things from me too.”

I look at her, a look of question in my eyes, but her expression is calculating now, the softness gone as she looks at me with a coldness I’ve never seen before. “Shane, is that really your name?”

“Have I given you any reason to doubt that it isn’t?” I ask, trying to deflect.

Maggie’s eyebrows lift, and she’s not going to give up that easily. “I’m not stupid. You seem pretty intertwined in a mob-owned strip club. You had a bugout bag, a stashed getaway car, and you apparently carry a gun that you’re skilled with. Those are all things a mobster would have, and I bet somewhere in that duffel of yours are some pretty good fake IDs. But there’s also Chucky.”

“What about Chucky?” I ask, scared but at the same time impressed. She’s seeing a lot. No wonder she’s a good reporter. I thought she was smart before. Now I know she’s smart. And has probably been putting things together all along, just biding her time until the moment was right.

“Earlier, you didn’t say you needed to call him. You said you needed to ‘report in’ and see if he had any ‘intel’. It made me think back. You weren’t close with Dominick, not any moreso than the rest of the employees. He trusted you, I could tell that much, but you were just professional with him. Same with Marco and all of the girls . . . and me, at first. I’ve been undercover for stories a lot. I can blend into the background easily, being small and underestimated. But that’s not how you play it when you go undercover, is it? And I’m betting you’ve been undercover a time or two before too. So, what are you, Shane? ATF? DEA?”

Fuck. I need to get her on another track real damn fast. Even if it hurts. I make my voice harsh, glaring at her. “Maggie, you’re seeing zebras instead of horses when you hear hoof beats. Just because you lied about everything from the moment you walked into Petals doesn’t mean I did. I’m a security guard. That’s why I know how to shoot a gun. Dom wasn’t going to hire some idiot to head his club security team who didn’t know how to do anything but use his fists. And Chucky’s a buddy who helps me out. That’s it.”

Maggie jerks when I mention her lies, but she doesn’t back down. “FBI?”

I’m a pro, so I know there’s no reaction on my face, but that lack of response must be what solidifies it for her. She narrows her eyes, nodding almost to herself. “So that’s a yes to the FBI then.”

It’s quiet in the truck, the gravity of the situation sinking in like a fog of heaviness. It’s hard, and I feel my facade of sternness crumbling under her soft but unrelenting eyes. “Maggie.”

She lifts a finger at me, silencing me like I did to her earlier. “So, to recap, I’m an undercover reporter for what is mostly a two-bit gossip rag. You’re an undercover FBI agent working in a mob-controlled strip club. I’m guessing you’re there to investigate Dominick. And now a hitman is chasing us because I’m the only witness to a hit. And we’re in a stolen truck with a guy named Chucky as our only backup. That about right? Anything I missed?”

I nod. “Yeah, close enough. My name really is Shane, but my last name isn’t Nelson. It’s Guthrie. Special Agent Shane Guthrie, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

I hold my hand out, offering her a shake even though we’re way beyond that now. Still, it’s the only thing that seems appropriate, and she returns the shake, smirking a little. “Maggie Postland. Journalist with The Daily Spot.”

We eye each other, so much unsaid between us but neither of us knowing where to start with this tangled web that’s quickly unraveling. Finally, she clears her throat and looks at me expectantly.

Maggie hums. “So now what?”

“Now,” I reply, “we call Chucky back to see what else he knows. By the way, that’s not his real name, but he always says his work is child’s play, and he can be an evil son of a bitch when he wants to be . . . so the nickname was pretty natural.”

She nods, and I reach for my phone once again. The line connects quickly, silence on Chucky’s end.

“Hey, Chucky. So, we’re transparent on all fronts on this end.”

Chucky’s voice is hesitant through the speaker. He’s not used to this type of communication. “Just how clear are we talking?”

“Crystal, man. Say hi, Maggie.”

Maggie grins and puts on her ‘club voice.’ “Hi, Maggie.”

Chucky doesn’t find it funny though. “Fuck, Shane. You can’t do shit like that. She’s a fucking civilian.”

Chucky keeps babbling, but I don’t have time for his shit. “It’s already done, Chucky. Just be glad she doesn’t know your real name. Now what’s going on back there?”

Chucky sighs, still wanting to speak his piece about Maggie knowing I’m FBI, but we need to move on, figure out the next step. “Okay, so it’s looking like Sal sent Carlos into Petals. Told him it was a power play or some shit, just to go in and see how things were looking, not make waves if he got recognized but to lie low, observe, and report back. Later on, he would use the fact that his son was able to penetrate Dom’s HQ as leverage.”

What a crock of shit. I know too much about Sal Rivaldi to buy that. “It was a setup then. But Carlos was his own son. That’s pretty fucked up, even for Sal Rivaldi.”

Chucky’s hum tells me he’s thinking the same thing. “Yeah, apparently, Carlos was sowing some dissension among the lower lieutenants and Sal decided he needed to clean house. On the down low. He contracted the hitman himself, but he’s selling that Dominick killed Carlos for being in his club. Sal’s wanted to declare war on the Angeline’s for a while, and this way, he’s getting a two-for-one . . . rid of his asshole son and riding into battle like some sort of avenging father.”

“We can’t let that war happen,” I growl. “Those two kick off, and the streets are going to turn to rivers of blood.”

“No shit,” Chucky replies. “You’re the one working with the guy. What’s he like?”

I shrug, looking over at Maggie. “He’s careful, methodical, and strategic. More businessman than loose cannon, even if he is a crime lord. He’s scary, but it’s like a controlled burn with him. If we let the Rivaldi’s get even a small foothold on more power, Sal will destroy the city and everyone in it with his crazy power plays. He’s more like a wildfire . . . it’ll be chaos.”

“That’s what I’m seeing too. You want to call it in?”

“Not yet, that’s a lot of bureaucratic red tape I’m not ready to jump into,” I reply.

Chucky understands and laughs softly. “I gotcha. I’ve looked at this from every angle to see what the best move is and to be honest, I’m not sure, man. It’s your call.”

I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, doing the same analysis Chucky says he’s done and coming up with the same results.

Maggie clears her throat. “I have an idea.”