He was running on about three hours of sleep, which, back in his deployment days, would have been no big deal. He’d trained himself to operate on as little as that a night for sometimes a week’s stretch at a time. Three hours now shouldn’t be too bad, especially if it was just one night out of the week. His new goal was to definitely not go under that again.

But what if he met up with Laurel again?

He’d left her downtown condo after fixing up some coffee and scrambled eggs, which he’d left warming for her upon her wakeup. One last little thank-you note for his unexpectedly exquisite first night in Atlanta. It was hardly enough of a thank-you. He made plans to revisit her for that, as soon as tonight or tomorrow. The sooner he’d see her again, the better. Whatever they had together seemed like a delicate little spark, a small smoldering ember that he wanted to keep warm. It was so new, so small and fragile, a flame that he wanted to make sure to not let go out. They made sure, last night, to stoke the ember with kindling, each of their romps in her bedsheets adding to something that could be totally amazing. He wasn’t sure what that would be, or if it would even be at all, but the possibilities were tantalizing.

The possibilities ran through his mind as he stopped at his hotel room for a change of clothes. He’d already showered at Laurel’s, another step in their progress, gaining access to the woman’s domestic inner sanctum, her personal life displayed in the various skin-care products and cosmetics. He showered with her soap and dried off with one of her old towels hanging on the door, smelling her in the towel and on him. If he was going to clean her scent off him with the shower, he could at least apply a little more before leaving and taking on the day without her.

Matthias took one last look at his still unused hotel room, the perfectly made bed, everything untouched, and then he headed out to face the day. It would begin with an early morning meet-up with Ernesto. Ernie was already a few hours in with a surveillance mission, scouting a small private airport just outside the city limits. He’d gone there immediately after leaving the bar, pulling an all-nighter in his car parked by an access road. Matthias presumed that, by now, his friend would be tired and grumpy. Especially if he heard about how Matthias had spent his night. It was a little more stimulating than sitting in a parked car for eight hours.

They were meeting in the parking lot of a nearby coffee shop, Matthias taking his bike there despite the threat of darkening skies. He hadn’t planned on what would happen if it rained. Back in the city, if the weather was threatening rain, he’d just leave the bike at home and hop in his black Camaro. Here in Atlanta, “on vacation,” he was stuck with the bike and no roof to block whatever weather he had in store.

Matthias checked the sky one last time before stepping into Ernesto’s undercover car—a white Chevy Impala.

“I’m surprised you’re awake,” Matthias said, passing him a cup of coffee.

“Same to you.” Ernesto took a sip of what was most likely, by now, his fourteenth coffee in a row.

“You know me, I’m an early riser.”

“Yeah,” said Ernesto. “But after last night?”

Should he tell Ernie about not only his late night, the trouble they’d gotten into at the bar, and what it had led to? Maybe he’d get to it later, leaking out the info and testing the waters with a guilty laugh. “What about last night?”

“Flirting with that blonde?”

Blonde? Laurel was a brunette.

Ernesto kept eying him. “When I left the bar, you were dancing with her. Swing dancing. And you were doing a pretty good job of it, too.”

Matthias chuckled quietly. He hoped the conversation would shift away from his personal life and to work, their surveillance mission.

“But you not remembering that . . .” Ernesto said. “It tells me just how late of a night it was for you. You don’t waste any time, huh?”

“Well, you told me to enjoy myself. I remembered that.”

“You certainly did.”

“It wasn’t the blonde, though.”

“Wow.” Ernesto shook his head. “So it gets better, huh?”

“Much.”

“Wait. Do I really even want to know?”

“Probably not.”

“That bad, huh?”

Matthias couldn’t hide his grin. Yes, it was that incredibly bad. So very, very bad.

“Just be careful you don’t step into any honeypots.” Ernesto took a big bite of his sugar-glazed donut.

“You too,” said Matthias, watching him chew the sugary snack.

“Huh?” Ernesto said with his mouth full.

“Nothing.”

“I mean it, though. People might start noticing you, especially the more you hang around with me.”

“You think you’ve got eyes on you?”

“Hell, yeah. I can feel it.” He put the donut down on top of a napkin on the dashboard. “Of course, some of this could be the paranoia from the security breaches, from hackers tracking our cars. I always feel a little on edge these days, but you never know.”

There was some truth to that. Matthias certainly didn’t know about Laurel, if she could in fact be some sort enemy operative. A honeypot, a sweet trap that he’d already stepped into. She mentioned working in computers and security. And she was drop-dead gorgeous.

But where did Jason fit in the mix? If he was her handler, he sure committed to the role of ex-boyfriend, getting a busted-up face and a criminal charge for his efforts.

No, she had to be legit.

She had to.

If not, Matthias was in a world of trouble.

“Maybe I’m just being paranoid,” Ernesto said. “Forget it. I’m sure she’s a sweet girl. Not sweet like honey, either, but just . . .”

The raindrops began to fall softly, almost imperceptibly, pattering on the car’s roof in long intervals before quickening and building up to a steady shower, which washed ripples of rainwater down the windshield. Matthias stared out of it at the murky, distorted neon sign of the coffee shop. It looked even darker outside now, and colder. A shiver ran down his spine.

“Anyway,” said Ernesto. “Enough about that. Congratulations on getting laid and everything, but it’s time to get to work.”

Good. Matthias was happy to finally start working. He was even excited. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt like that.

“I’m just about done for the morning,” Ernesto said. “So it won’t take too long. But what we’re going to do is tail Jim Malloy. He’s the Commissioner of Resources and Economic Development. We’re going to tail him from a doctor’s appointment. Our intelligence tells us that he’ll end up, one way or another, at a meeting with the Southern Dragons.”

“Sounds like you’ve already got your hooks in this guy.”

“Not really,” Ernesto said. “We tapped his office phone, but it’s been pretty quiet. That’s why we’re chasing him around with these doctor’s appointments and small-time bullshit.”

“Any idea why he’s meeting with members of a biker gang?”

“We’re still working on that,” Ernesto said.

“But you think he’s going . . .”

“I’m just hoping.”

“Hoping?” Matthias said. “That’s an odd choice of words.”

“Well, yes, fine, of course I don’t want a prominent politician to be involved in any nefarious activity with a biker gang. So, right, I’m hoping he doesn’t go there, that he just drives straight back to his office, where he’ll continue serving the needs of the his constituency and those of the community at large.” Ernesto took a breath.

“Okay,” said Matthias. “But that would make for a pretty boring day.”

They were headed downtown, with larger and more extravagant apartment buildings appearing on either side of the street. The rain had picked up steadily and the sound of it on the car’s roof began to drown out the quiet background music of Ernesto’s radio.

“So you really have no idea?” said Matthias. “About what he’s doing with the Southern Dragons?”

“I never said that.”

“Then let’s hear it.”

“It’s foggy. We have our suspicions that some members of the State are funneling tax money into various economic projects, all for giant kickbacks. Their relationship with the Dragons, as best as we can guess, is a thugs-for-hire type deal.”

“The muscle.”

“Right. We’re just not sure what they’ll be using it for.”

“You better hope it’s not for you.” said Matthias. “To take out nosy FBI agents.”

“That’s another reason why I’m starting to hate this car.”

“Because of the trackable software? Why not just use another car?”

Ernesto tossed his half-eaten donut back into the grease-spotted white paper bag. “Some asshole in D.C. passed a law about that. We have to be using the technology.”

“Next time we do this,” Matthias said with a grin, “we can use my bike.”

Ernesto’s somber expression didn’t break.